I hate the bus. The bus is different from the train.
It's the difference between poor and rich. Have you ever seen a businessman take the bus? Probably not, but they crowd the trains daily.
Is it the punctuality of the train that makes the difference? The smoother ride?
When sitting on the bus one sees unpleasant things and is forced to admit they really exist.
Image by Bettsy1970 via Flickr
I look a few seats forward and see an old lady. Her body speaks its age, and yet she's up and about, forced to wait on the bus and then walk in the heat. I can't help wondering how she was decades ago, and can't avoid realizing that she's on the bus since she can't afford a car. And it bothers me, but I swat it away… checking my reflection in the window… good, no feeling is
reflected outside and my face remains stony.
It's easier to ignore, to ignore proud educated people, forced to pack groceries in the supermarket come their old age.
In the past I let myself succumb to the feelings, sink into the sadness, empathize and imaging how their day-to-day life is. Do they keep thinking about their state? Do they feel sorry for themselves? Have they swallowed their pride, taking refuge in the routine they are forced to endure? Or am I simply a patronizing fool, feeling sorry for them, while they live, happy that they can support themselves and their families?
Then I realize it's my own fear that I feel. Fear of not accomplishing my goals, fear of living beneath the standard of living I wish to achieve. It's the realization that I am probably not better than most of those people, and that it's not only about talent and determination, but mainly luck… and you can't control luck, can you?! How do people deal with things they cannot control? Risk assessment, or simply ignore it? Which one am I doing?
The bus stops.
The old lady gets off, looking rather happy… maybe I got it all wrong…
I'm off too, and a few steps take me to my air conditioned bubble. In the evening I have a ride back home, and soon I forget all about the bus.
Or do I?
