A few weeks ago when I rode the BART for an hour, my Ipod died and I didn’t bring my book, which forced me to sit with myself and enjoy the ride. No distractions. So I got my notebook out and began to write.
…Not only do I have a weird fascination with men in kilts, Renaissance choral music, and hidden urban staircases, but I love exploring cities and mastering public transportation systems. There is a strange sense of achievement that I get by confidently hopping on a vehicle with up to hundreds of people I don’t know, sitting with them for however long, and then getting off again at a totally new place that I want to go. It helps me grasp my geographical bearings and makes me feel like a native. Sometimes I feel like my life’s a movie riding the BART. Passengers are always so much more fast-paced, especially in the morning when we all rush toward the station in hoards of business suits, Starbucks coffee, and high heels. Time speeds up when we all walk quickly down the escalator, dodging other commuters to get on the waiting subway. We settle amidst hundreds of other commuters as the door beeps and then ruthlessly closes. Then the subway moves away at rapid speeds as my Guster or bluegrass music hums in my ears. No one talks to each other and when you take your earbuds out you are surprised to hear silence. Sometimes, though, the sound of wheels grinding on the rail is so loud that I can hardly hear my music anymore, the train playing its sweet but abrasive metal symphony to drown out any other music. When you get off the BART, there’s an unspoken rule to wait your turn in line to get on the escalator. Sometimes I can’t help but laugh as I become part of the faceless throng, a phenomenon that is commonplace and exciting but also disturbingly typical of our fast-paced, almost impersonal 21st century American society.
I also love riding the bus. If I sit and read a book, I can get some reading done and get to where I need to go. If I plug in my ipod, I can sit back and just observe. Last week, I saw men playing chess on makeshift tables by the Powell BART station. They all looked different, the men and the chess boards. There was also a man following the bus in the bike lane. He rode the length of the bus line, keeping up with the bus. Way to go! And way to show that with a little leg work, you can get somewhere just as fast if not faster than a vehicle. It really is possible to take ourselves off the grid even if it’s just for a half-hour bike ride.
If I unplug from everything—Ipod, book, my own thoughts, and just let all the sights, smells, and sounds around me infiltrate my consciousness, I can really begin to know and enjoy a city—with all its quirks, idiosyncrasies, and flavors. I always hear a diversity of languages—from Chinese to French to Spanish to Russian, to Italian, to another unrecognizable tourist language. I always wish that I could understand their words fluently so that I could take part in their conversations, even if it’s just to listen in. But alas, they can converse without anyone eavesdropping. I can hear profanity uttered from the back-bus dwellers. I can hear people’s conversations about their day and their workplace, getting just a glimpse into their lives and their spheres of being.
Whenever I’m on the bus, BART, MUNI, or in any other public area, I cannot help but think where the strangers around me are coming from and where they are going. Where do they work? Where do they live? Do they have a family? Who are their friends? What do they enjoy doing? What is their favorite food? What are they thinking about underneath their Ipod earbuds? What kind of a person are they? What kind of conversation would we have? We are all living our lives separate from each other (or so we think) and for even just a minute or for a whole bus ride, we have infiltrated each other’s spheres. The thing that is so bizarre to think about is that with one “Hello, how are you?” to this stranger like I said to the elderly man on the LA Metrolink, we can break into this sphere. We can be part of each other’s life story for a small amount of time and maybe we will get the chance to know where each other is going. Our spheres may already touch somewhere, who knows? My hope is that six degrees of separation is not as complex as we think.
