Ten years ago, this month marked a turning point in my life. I lost my corporate job in customer service and with it, the security I thought I could count on. I began sending out hundreds of résumés, but the few responses I received came with salaries that were insultingly low. Some offers were barely enough to survive on. I realized that waiting for someone to give me a chance wasn’t going to work.
That’s when I decided to start driving for Uber, and later Lyft. I began with a Hyundai Sonata and quickly learned the rhythm of the rideshare world early mornings at the airport, long nights downtown, and the constant balancing act of hours, miles, and earnings. Eventually, I moved into driving black car rides, which paid better and came with more professional clientele. At one point, I even managed a fleet of three cars. I built a life around it. I wasn’t rich, but I was comfortable. I could take care of my kids, pay my bills, save a little, and even take a vacation now and then.
My very first black car ride on Lyft was just over a mile long, and I made $21. That small success was all the motivation I needed. I thought, I can do this. For years, it worked. I loved the independence of being my own boss no meetings, no cubicles, no one looking over my shoulder. It was just me, my car, and my effort deciding how much I made.
But this year has been different. The work that once gave me stability has started to slip away. Demand for rides has fallen sharply in Atlanta. I used to earn at least $300 a day enough to stay ahead of bills and expenses. Now, I can go two full days just to make that same amount, driving longer distances for fewer passengers and burning through more gas. My car’s wear-and-tear costs have gone up, and my income has dropped. I’ve gone from living comfortably to driving just to keep the lights on.
The difference has been devastating. Last September, I earned $4,549 driving for Lyft. This September, I made just $1,166. That’s not a small dip it’s a collapse. I’ve watched the city grow quieter. Fewer tourists are visiting, and even local riders seem to be cutting back. I think domestic travel is down too. I’ve read reports that hotel occupancy in Atlanta has fallen, and that matches what I see every day behind the wheel.
Business travel isn’t what it used to be, either. Riders tell me that conferences, conventions, and corporate events are half-empty. The steady stream of businesspeople needing airport transfers and hotel pickups my most reliable clients has slowed to a trickle.
And then there’s the new competition. Waymo self-driving cars have started offering rides in Atlanta through Uber. At first, the fares I saw were roughly equal to what human drivers earned. But lately, I’ve noticed that Waymo rides are cheaper and it looks like Uber has lowered driver rates even further to stay competitive. Uber hasn’t responded to my questions or complaints, but it’s clear to me that our pay has been cut.
To make things worse, I’ve had to start accepting lower-tier rides like Uber Comfort one step below Uber Black just to keep my income somewhat steady. Some passengers have figured this out and intentionally order Comfort rides, knowing they might still get a driver like me in a luxury car for a cheaper price. It’s frustrating because I worked hard to qualify for premium rides, and now that advantage barely matters.
The emotional toll has been heavy. There are days when I just sit in my car and cry. I think about how hard I’ve worked for ten years how I built this career from nothing and yet it feels like it’s slipping through my fingers. The gig economy gave me a second chance once, but I’m not sure it can sustain me anymore.
When I talk to friends who still work in corporate jobs, they tell me not to come back. “It’s just as bad,” they say. But for me, that’s not exactly comforting. I’m a 60-year-old Black woman. I know the reality of the job market. What do you think is out there for me in corporate America now?
I’m still proud of what I’ve built. I’ve provided for my family, paid off debts, and survived in an unpredictable industry for a full decade. But lately, I can’t help but wonder how much longer I can keep doing this. The freedom that once made driving worth it now feels like a trap one that’s harder and harder to escape.
