It was one of those hot Los Angeles Thursdays where the sun reminds you who’s in charge.
I sat in the back seat of a black Lexus SUV, headed toward Servicon Headquarters to pick up my new laptop. After that, I’d catch the train and continue on to Los Angeles General Medical Center for another evening leading my Environmental Services team.
To most people, it probably looked like an ordinary day.
To me, it wasn’t.
Years ago, I couldn’t decide where I would wake up tomorrow. Every decision had already been made for me. Steel doors, prison counts, and concrete walls dictated my movements. Freedom wasn’t something I possessed; it was something I imagined.
Today, I’m carrying a laptop instead of prison property.
That isn’t just a change of scenery.
That’s a change of life.
It’s funny how we celebrate promotions, new jobs, and big accomplishments, yet rarely stop to appreciate the miles between them. We celebrate the destination while overlooking the commute that made the destination possible.
I’ve learned that the commute matters.
It teaches patience when traffic refuses to move.
It teaches humility when you’re standing on a crowded train beside people carrying burdens you’ll never know.
It teaches gratitude because every stop reminds you that you’re still moving forward.
Every mile represents another decision to keep climbing.
People often assume leadership happens in conference rooms, behind polished desks, or during important meetings.
They’re wrong.
Leadership begins long before any of that.
It begins when you decide to prepare before anyone is watching.
It begins when you show up consistently, even when the excitement has worn off.
It begins when you choose purpose over comfort.
That laptop I’m picking up today isn’t just another piece of technology. It’s another tool entrusted to me. Another opportunity to solve problems, develop leaders, communicate better, and leave every place I touch a little stronger than I found it.
Tools don’t build legacies.
People do.
The tools simply allow us to do the work more effectively.
By the time you read this, my train ride will be over. I’ll be walking the halls of a hospital where patients, families, doctors, nurses, and staff may never know my name. They may never realize the amount of planning, coaching, accountability, and stewardship that goes into creating a clean, safe environment.
And that’s okay.
Not every contribution requires recognition.
Some of the most important work is done quietly.
As I looked out the window today, watching Los Angeles pass by, I realized something.
I’m still commuting.
Not just across the city.
Across life.
I’m still traveling from who I was toward who God is still shaping me to become.
The destination hasn’t arrived yet.
The journey continues.
So today, don’t despise the ordinary.
Don’t overlook the hot Thursday.
Don’t underestimate the train ride.
Don’t think the small assignments don’t matter.
Legacy is rarely built during extraordinary moments.
It’s built on ordinary days, faithful decisions, long shifts, crowded commutes, and the quiet determination to keep climbing, even when no one is watching.
That’s where character is forged.
That’s where purpose is refined.
That’s where legacy begins.
Keep climbing.
Tommy D. Ramsey
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