Now and Then

As a kid, I thought getting older meant more freedom. Every birthday, I couldn't wait to see my birthday cake topped with a brand new number candle right out of the packaging. I felt like my friends and I were in a race to see who could get to "double-digits" first, even though this was not at all under our control. In my eyes, growing up meant gaining more control over my life. It wasn't until I arrived at the "how old am I again?" age that I learned how wrong I was.

I used to love my commute to school. When I first started my undergrad, I had to take 2 buses and 2 subway rides to school. Eventually, the city created an express route that cut my commute time in half. I tried every bus route possible to see which would get me on campus the quickest. My mission was to get from point A to point B as fast as I could in the shortest amount of time possible.

I used to love my commute to school. Why? It was the only time that I had no power over how fast I was moving. Sure, I ran to catch the bus, but once I got on board there was nothing I could do to make us move faster. Complaining about another subway delay never helped a police investigation finish quickly or the "obstacle at track level" disappear. I had to rest and trust in the driver or operator to get me to my destination. My speed was no longer in my control during my commutes. I could finally rest my legs from all the running and speed-walking, though with my short legs it probably just looked like regular walking. I could finally rest my mind. 

I miss my commute to school. Now, I drive to wherever I need to go. I get to decide how fast I want to go, which pedal I want to push. In a sense, it feels like I'm in control. If I want to rush, I can. If I want to slow down, I can do that, too. 

I miss my commute to school. It forced me to slow down. It made me accept that trying to hurry on a vehicle I'm not in control of only leaves me with an irritable, impatient, sour taste in my mouth. Self-centredness is essentially what it is. Daily, I was confronted with the fact that everyone else on the train mattered just as much as I did, with their own dreams and plans they set out for the day, trying to get to their destination as quickly as they could.

The train I wish would hurry arrives just in time for the man who's out of breath from running to the station because he slept in from a late night of studying. The bus driver who maintains the speed limit, even though I wish she'd drive just a little bit faster, is waiting to hear back from the oncologist about her latest test results. The man who I wish would stand on the right side of the escalator is short of breath, tightly holding onto handrails, because he's weary from having to stand the whole train ride. 

I miss my commute to school. Sitting on the train, seeing the faces of dozens of people. Most looked exhausted, miserable even. I wonder where they're heading. I wonder what they had for breakfast this morning. What are they thinking at this very moment? I should probably stop staring. 

My favourite people to watch are those with headphones on. You can tell from their expressions alone that they're listening to a bop and loving it. I know that most people find it annoying when someone else's music is so loud that you can hear it blasting through their headphones. But when I see people bopping their heads or tapping their foot, I'm so curious to know what they're listening to. So when I can hear someone else's music, it gives me a glimpse of what energizes them. 

I used to love my commute to school. It taught me that even if I'm the centre of "my world", I'm definitely not at the centre of the real world. It taught me to look at other people with compassion more than judgement, though I will openly admit that that didn't stop me from judging them. But eventually, compassion became instinctive. 

My commute taught me that I don't drive this bus or train I call life. No matter how fast I want to go, no matter how much I try to hurry through life, I can't speed up time. Standing in queue, gridlocked in traffic, waiting for the walk sign to light up — trying to hurry only hurts me. Now that I don't commute like I used to, I'm learning not to rush. I'm learning to slow down. 

It's funny how as a kid, I always looked forward to growing up. I was always so eager to reach the next stage of my life. And now, I'm just trying to enjoy the one I'm in as long as it's still now.