In the cab I dealt with the public all the time. Dozens of small social interactions every day would pass without a second thought. Now I rarely see anyone I don't know. Most of my hours are spent in the house and when I leave it's usually with my girlfriend or to visit friends. A cabdriver's city is necessarily vast and unpredictable whereas most others' is confined to their daily routine –the commute to and from work, their neighborhood and the occasional foray to a restaurant, bar, theater or ballgame. Given the opportunity to go where and when I want for the first time in years, I've chosen not to go out much. What might strike most as a mundane existence is a welcome change of pace after all that time flitting about at others' biddings.

I haven't quit driving completely. My girlfriend has a car and enjoys having me chauffeur her around, but driving a car is nothing like driving a cab. The ecosystem of the road is made up of a variety of species: large and small, predator and prey, strong and weak. In the cab, that blacktop was my territory to fight over, whereas now it's merely a way to get from one place to the other. I notice the attitude of others toward me is different as well. There's a well-earned weariness to drivers who spot cabbies in their path. They almost expect to be cut off or otherwise impinged upon or inconvenienced.

Knowing that others perceive him antagonistically weighs on the cabdriver and alters his driving style. Some become over-aggressive while others lapse into stupor-like slowness. It's all a reaction to the constant stress of the occupation. A cabdriver has to be aware and respond to everything else that happens on the roads he travels. Not taking this care may result in accidents and a loss of income.

Now when I get behind the wheel the stakes are much lower. I'm not compelled to go fast or hold grudges against other motorists as I used to as a cabbie. I laugh as cabs zip in and out of lanes, tailgate and blare their horns, passing drivers like me as if we were standing still. I've gone from being on the track to practically sitting in a lawn chair on the sidelines, watching the racers roar by.

Better still are the times I take the Rock Island Line train downtown and look out the window at the standstill on the Dan Ryan. I used to have to sit in that gridlock daily, but now it's someone else's headache. It's such a luxury to have someone else get me where I want to go for a change. Even more than whether I'm driving or being driven, it's a pleasure to be going where I choose rather than getting others where they want to go. When you're the traveler rather than just a transporter of others you can look forward to getting to this destination or that. A cabdriver can't do that other than waiting for his shift to be over.

When I quit many people asked me what I'd do, what would I paint and write about? Driving was always a way to pay the bills but someplace a few thousand miles in, it began to inform my art and my thinking as well. It became a way to see the world. Despite the weight gained and the nerves frayed, I'll always remember being a hack with a measure of gratitude. I won't miss it though. Closing that driver's-side door has given me my own place to go.