The wheels churn. I feel my body begin to vibrate. I hear a cry for money from the same unshaven man--who tries to sell newspapers, each night to support his family.
I hum along and nod my head to someone's iPod that is on just a little bit too loud. One of my favorites is playing. I smile.
I smell a mix of cologne, perfumes, and morning cups of Joe.
I lick my lips and pop a piece of gum in my mouth.
And I watch.
My favorite place in New York City, I imagine, differs from many other people’s favorite places. I love the New York City subway: the energy of the subway stations on a day where the train schedules run just right (which as rare as it is—is always a treat); the upbeat drummer on the L train platform at 14th and 6th Avenue; the break-dancers on the upper platform of the Union Square Station; the guitarists trying to make it; the smiling mariachi band; and of course the ride—one that’s always unique and it’s own.
I love the people—the performers—the beggars—the readers—the conductors—the families—the diversity.
I love the way the wheels rattle and seem to synchronize with the beat of my heart—and that bassy hum that accompanies.
I love the opportunities for shared moments—glances—eye contact—giggles—the chances for true, pure human interaction with complete strangers.
I love watching people—and writing stories—creating alternate worlds where I know the families and lives of each of these straphangers.
And I love the alone time.
I love sitting with myself; I love disappearing into my music or a book or my writing; I love the morning meditation—the evening energy escaping my limbs as I lean my head back; I love feeling so private yet in such a public space. I love this shot at being a fly on the wall—at taking it all in—at observing—at breathing.
I often miss my stops. It’s okay, I am the earliest person you will ever meet, on most occasions—and I know the subway like a doctor knows the veins that run through a body. This is part of my home.
The doors open—the doors shut. I don’t actually notice. I am enthralled in my thoughts—my ideas—the people that I am seeing. I feel myself breathe. I love this. I am in transit.