I have a forty-minute commute and for years I spent it replaying every mistake from the workday, arriving home tense and short with my kids. Then I made one rule: the first song of the drive home has to be one that makes me happy, loud, windows up or down, my choice daily. It sounds too simple to work, but that one song acts like a decompression chamber. By the second verse the workday is a closed file. My kids noticed the difference before my husband did. Some people meditate. I have a chorus and a steering wheel.
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