On the train

 

For several years I've enjoyed listening to a song by The Roches. "The Train" is a ballad of the frustrations of commuting.  Until recently, the words and message were an abstract concept.  Now I am a regular train commuter.  With time, my train experiences are growing and the song resonates on a whole new level.

I've adjusted to the occasional sleeping homeless person, the man shadow boxing his demons in the reflection of the glass door, the people selling socks, asking for change, or speaking to unseen companions.  But, until today, I had not encountered the wild children.  Boarding the train at 5:20 pm, there were many empty seats and I joined the ear-budded riders with my podcast of "Hardcore History" describing the reign of Genghis Khan.  At the next stop a family entered our car with two children, a girl of about 4 and a boy of perhaps 7 years of age. The kids screamed and ran up and down the car, they swung from the handholds, they climbed on the seats.  At each stop the car filled and the parents tried to gain control. I'm usually pretty sympathetic to parents traveling with children, I actually volunteer to sit next to them on planes. But, as these kids clambered on the bench next to me, I seriously considered hopping out and moving to another car.  The more the father tried to discipline him, the louder the boy screamed...and I mean SCREAMED.

At this time of day, the train is mainly filled with workers heading home after their long days of labor.  We are a quiet and respectful group for the most part. There is rarely any conversation, any noise other than the recorded announcements of the next stop and admonishments not to lean against the doors. I had not realized how peaceful the ride was until that peace was disrupted.

I exited the train at my usual station, glad to leave the chaos behind.  As the Roches sing,


"Once you step on
you might never get off
of the commuter train
it doesn't go very far away
but just the same
it s a trip and a half"

Eye of the beholder

I read this today:

 "(her) path to (this position) was a wild ride—unpredictable, nonlinear, and filled with surprising twists. Over the course of her life, she has found one constant: pursuing her fascinations, no matter how circuitous and rudderless her career journey sometimes has seemed. She has taken risks and exemplified other qualities noted in highly creative individuals, seeking out new experiences and connecting the dots in seemingly unrelated situations, as she has followed her interests—and discovered her passions."

Wow, who is that person?  She sounds interesting and adventurous.  Wouldn't it be neat to live a life like that?
    
                        

Gaining through loss

I'm interested in reading a book titled, "A Field Guide to Getting Lost," by Rebecca Solnit.  I was drawn in by a review I read which included some excerpts. My favorite was

Lost really has two disparate meanings. Losing things is about the familiar falling away, getting lost is about the unfamiliar appearing. There are objects and people that disappear from your sight or knowledge or possession; you lose a bracelet, a friend, the key. You still know where you are. Everything is familiar except that there is one item less, one missing element. Or you get lost, in which case the world has become larger than your knowledge of it.

 I think the difference between losing things and losing "yourself" is an interesting comparison to make. When you lose a thing, what you know falls away.  When you lose yourself, you are in moving into uncharted territory. 

It struck me since with my move to a new city and new job I feel in some ways I've both lost things and lost myself.  Everything is new--the people, the neighborhood, the sounds, the garbage collection day.  Being in a foreign place requires more energy, more confidence, more attention.  You are forced to deal with new and unfamiliar things every day. At the same time, those experiences, and now this move, allow you to find inner reserves you didn't know you had, skills and abilities you never had to exercise before.  This experience reminds me of my two extended stays abroad, as a college student and nearly 30 years later as an adult.  After both of those times I felt I was a different person than before.  I already feel that now.

Feeling lost helps you find things.