Monday, July 23, 2012

Life Lessons on the Subway Commute


Brooklyn Sunset

After moving to Brooklyn from Long Island, it was immediately apparent that public transportation would preserve my sanity better than the parking-driving hassles of commuting. So, every morning, regardless of weather, I walk nearly a half-mile to my subway stop, the terminus of an occasionally reliable local line, and then spend 30-45 minutes observing humans and reading. Very little shocks me anymore, but then again, the unpredictable nature of people is a beautiful part of life.

According to reliable sources, in 2011, the New York subway system serviced an average of 5.3 million daily week-day “rides.” Those numbers translate to much better people viewing than any reality television show, and as much creative talent vying for your spare change as the creative TV talent vying for your votes. On the subway I've seen a tatted up guy in leathers openly reading “Fifty Shades of Gray,” and a duo of rappers perform Capoeira during rush hour [on a moving train!]; I've been serenaded by a mariachi band and by a trumpet playing “Amazing Grace” [very loud in the car!]. In the stations I've heard a musical saw [Atlantic Terminal], live jazz [Union Square], and a Barry White wannabe [Penn Station]. And, at least once a day, I am humbled by some situation that screams at me to look at how blessed my life and circumstances really are.

On any given day I am presented with many opportunities to give my spare change to others. In addition to the buskers, there are the 'regulars' asking for spare change as well as various other presentations of need. My inner emotional responses to these requests vary from pity and compassion to anger and skepticism. Sometimes there are people who do not make outward requests—their appearance and plight is the most humbling of all.

One particular man in the breezeway at the Borough Hall station indirectly taught me the true essence of feeling gratitude and being present in life. On most days after work, this man stands in the breezeway with his shopping cart of possessions. He does not ask for change, but people regularly stop and hand it to him. He always offers a “Hello” and is usually reading a book. One evening on my way through the breezeway, he politely asked me if I would spell the word “little” for him. I did stop and his enthusiasm for learning was uplifting. The joy in his simple request clarified for me just how much of my life, skills, and opportunities that I take for granted.

I also realized I was not fully living in and appreciating my present circumstances. A few years ago I wrote a blog about my wish cup—a cup I fill with found money as I work toward something I am wishing for; when the wish cup is full, the wish will have manifested. About six years ago I had started a wish cup and was diligently collecting found money. I kept the wish cup in an ancient Chinese rice box, and eventually the change began spilling out into the box. Although my 'wish' had not yet materialized, my faith and the fun of the process kept me collecting. 
(For an idea of how much money I have found, see the picture here of the bag).

Fast forward to my spelling moment in the subway station. The joy that man expressed at learning something I took for granted shifted my perspective. I realized how much I take for granted. I did not need to keep wishing for something when what I really needed was to appreciate where I was and what I had right now. Because I had always felt like a caretaker for the found money anyway, I packed it up and took it to the man in the breezeway. I told him how all the money had been found and was full of wishes and full of luck. He smiled, thanked me, and went back to reading his book. Although I am still a proponent of goals, I admit there is also something liberating about setting wishes free.


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