The City Bus

I spent quite a bit of time on the city bus this morning, and one of my thoughts as we head into this unprecedented election was: what if every major candidate were required (yes, required) to spend several weekdays during the election cycle traveling incognito on a city bus -- in any major (or even medium-sized) American city? Their lives are lived in such a privileged bubble. The city bus may be a bubble, but of an entirely different sort, one that we all should experience. I guess I don't have to tell you that there are people from every possible walk of life traveling by city bus; every color, nationality, religion, gender, age, and place on the economic, mental health, disability and addiction spectrum. It's ridiculous after all these years living on the edge that I still have an instinctive default to snobbery ("I am not one of these people") but these days, it lasts about two minutes, until I realize, yes, I am one of these people. I am probably far more "one of these people" than I am a person of the cookie-cutter suburbs or wealthy gated communities or doorman apartments. I have friends across the entire landscape, but even a sudden change upwards in my life situation would probably not make me, at 60, fit any rigid stereotype, and overall I am glad for it. I've been fortunate in that I can imagine, and function in, a huge range of social milieus. Can our candidates? Do they have any clue about the daily lives of the bus-bound?

Riding the bus promotes compassion, empathy, and patience. There's that lady who always comments on your nice earrings. There are people complaining about their work in the box stores or about their efforts to balance three jobs. There are university students talking about philosophy finals and guys comparing notes about their experiences in prison. There are people talking to themselves. And yes, the bus may be late. It may spend five minutes at a stop, facilitating the ride of a wheelchair-bound patron. You can't just drive impatiently by in your big SUV. You are sitting on a seat, someone else is driving the bus, and your "fate" is joined with the other ten or twenty or more people around you. The first thought on seeing the wheelchair is, darn it, what will this do to the bus schedule, but then you look at the person in the wheelchair and realize with humility and gratitude that your two feet still get you around. All in all, you are really the luckiest person in the world. And you send a little prayer to them, imagining the hard, almost nonstop impatience they must feel on a daily basis.

If it were not for the fact that I truly believe our world is becoming more and more love-, liberty- and beauty-filled, I would be quite downcast right now. This election is opening up an almost toxic cauldron of buried rage, and however the immediate election turns out, I suspect we are in for a "hold onto your hats" kind of decade or two. It's difficult, even after many years of deliberate, positive spiritual work, not to anxiously sense the complexity of what is coming down the pike.

As events unfold, may I remember that in the end, we are all on one bus. We are part of one whole. We are "them," and they are "us." May I retain a sense of patience and humor about this ride on Route Earth. May I frequently remind myself to look out the window to get a broader perspective, and, all in all, may I enjoy the ride. We are here to do that! Yes, we are.