A lot of philosophical thinking seems to happen on public transportation. The train, the bus, the commute in general. Its just part of the waiting. You think about your life, make up stories about the people around you, and listen to the hustle and bustle of the city. I create lives for those around me, who they are and what they do, how their clothes tell their stories. How the sad look in their eyes shows their struggle, but those new-looking shoes seem like a small win. How the briefcase versus backpack gives me an idea of full-time jobs or full-time students, sometimes even both. How the way they look out the window or at the other people around them, tells me they are making up stories about me too.
Do they know that I threw away memories yesterday? A garbage bag full of them. Do they know that I use the small book library in my apartment complex? I just put back Beowulf. Do they know that my heart hasn’t stopped racing all morning? And I don’t know why. Do they know that I don’t wear makeup more often than not? It bothers my eyes. Do they know that I always pack a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch? It feels like home. Do they know that the music I listen to means more to me than most people? It saved my life. Do they know anything about me at all?
Do they know the socks I’m wearing remind me of a friend? That the bracelets on my wrist aren’t there just for looks, but as a reminder? That I’ve worn the same tank top for a week because I don’t feel like doing the laundry?
Do they know that in two weeks from today I will be on my way back home? That I actually don’t want to go that much? But that I can’t wait to spend weekends at the lake-house with my family?
Do they know the planner in my backpack is my whole life? That I’m sad sometimes when I think about my future? That I call my mom every single day? That I’m scared of commitment? That I only take the bus three days a week? Because if its nice outside, I walk. That I have utilities, gas, and groceries to pay for? That this summer doesn’t really matter to me? That I don’t deserve the kind of treatment I get?
That I am looking out the window, thinking about what they think about me. Trees, cars, people blur by as we pass. A part of their life I was part of for only a second if that, and them part of mine. It seems like a lot of philosophical thinking happens on public transportation.