Awakening on the I-95

In the rush of suburban, capitalist, 30-something, parenthood its easy to forget. Maybe that’s partly why we clutter up our lives so much. But every once in a while, it hits you upside the head. Today it did.

It’s hot today, but the air is clean, it’s a slow and summertime day. It’s Sunday but I’m working to make up hours spent otherwise during the work week. I had a good breakfast with the kids then borrowed the car.

As I drive downtown to the library my mind is on my family – how they are all contented and well and doing their own things.

Then BOOM. It tumbles down on me: How alone we each are.

We ride, swim, fly or crawl through life. We frantically attach ourselves to others.

Some of us create new life; as if we were God – though we clearly are not.

We are pitiful little bodies, stoking the machine of life.

Ultimately each is on her or his (or there) own: We are sick alone, we are sad alone, we are happy alone. We love alone and we die alone. The world goes on without us.

It’s mostly okay. But sometimes its not – then singing is my only way out.  “Aaaa-mazing Grace how Sweet the Sooooouuuund”.

‘Shit – why did that guy cut me off without a turn signal. “Learn to drive Charly.”

I hope the library is open” (written in June 1995)

I just found that old memo-to-self and it made me think: Clearly there is a reason why Americans love their commutes. I think it has to do with forced quiet time. You can listen to the radio or to audiobooks, but you cannot do much else. One must sit quietly with one’s thoughts and feelings.

This is no longer my reality. I no longer drive, the fact that I don’t need a car is, in fact, one of the major reasons I love Paris. I find public transport for my commutes to be much more social (in a very passive way) than is a car. On the metro, I feel like part of the bigger world somehow. There are other people here just like me, they may not look like me or even look at me; but because we live in a civilized country, I trust that if the chips were down, we would help each other. That definitely gives me a sense of security.

Of course, there are ‘bad guys’ in the world. But honestly, I think most predatory people (though of course not all of them) are in positions of authority so that they can conquer and compete with each other for loot and power. They don’t mingle with the masses. Also, I have found that if I don’t present as pray the predators go away.

So luckily, I like most people. Like Blanche Dubois from a Streetcar Named Desire, “I have always depended upon the kindness of strangers”. I even like hearing my neighbors moving around in the apartment upstairs from me. I know them, though we seldom chat, and they are nice folks. I trust the general public (most people) to be on my side.

Now of course, crowds are a different species. I go to peaceful demonstrations, for example, until there is any hint of conflict then I flee. I don’t like crowd.

But commuters are not crowds – we are just regular folk going about our days, even though we are often packed in together.

Clearly, I am not a “Lone Wolf” like so many people claim to be (notice how predatory that term sounds as well).

I have lived through some potentially life-threatening events: earthquakes, blizzards, strikes, and getting lost in the woods – though thankfully never war; and I know that people come through for each other most of the time. I want to live near people, I want to know they are there, and I love to socialize.

And yet I happily live alone.