Long way to work

I take the long way to work. The Bryn Mawr Red Line to the transfer at Fullerton to a short walk is an option; instead, I take the nearly hour-long ride down the 22 bus. Most of my co-workers fall into the “10–15 minute walk from the office” bucket, and I commend the logical choice of a quicker commute when we’re in-office five days a week. My slow & steady commute is a choice, and I’d choose it over and over again.

I’ve gotten better at holding myself accountable to stay unplugged on the way to work, respectfully ignoring the urge to obsessively check Slack. It gives me space to clear my unread texts, maybe squeeze in a FaceTime, or send a few voice memos to love on my friends the way they deserve.

I’ve also found ways to make the ride feel wholesome. A couple of weeks back, a five-year-old named Phoebe sat right next to me. I forget what got us yapping; with kids, for me, it usually starts with a little wave and a soft smile as they’re people-watching and we happen to lock eyes. Most of the time, I just get a shy smile back before they hide behind mom or dad. But other times, like with Phoebe, it wins me an interaction. Lovely, really, ‘cuz sitting silently has never been a strong suit of mine.

Phoebe and I yapped for about 35 minutes until her stop. She told me all about her love for dragons, especially in Wings of Fire. Starflight was her favorite; she even had a special voice for him as we read through snippets online. She decided Morrowseer would be the dragon most likely to be my friend. She didn’t have a reason, and when I asked if it was because of alliteration, she looked at me like I was a little cuckoo-cuckoo. Truth is, Phoebe taught me more about dragons than I taught her about English. Turns out, little ones are often better teachers than we are.

Before she got off, I gave Phoebe an Only Humxn sticker. In a bittersweet voice, ever-so different from her Starflight one, she left me with a soft, sweet “Bye, Marty!” as we parted ways. I really wish adults could channel their inner child more when it comes to stranger danger. Like, when I awkwardly wave and smirk at you slightly, that’s my signal that maybe we could be something in each other’s lives. Let’s yap next time.

Yesterday, during my commute, I went all in on the people-watching, trying to gauge what everyone else does as they meander to wherever they’re headed. I observed an entire side row and here’s my take on the lineup:

• Rider A: definitely texting a crush, maybe still stuck in the dating app DMs. The giddiness was too good to be anything else.

• Riders B & C (a very straight couple): I usually barely care about straight love; naturally, I get more feels from the gals, gays, and theys I empathize with in our ongoing fight for why love is love is love is the light we need in this daunting, dark world these days. But even watching these two reassured me that you gotta love love. Rider B was your Vineyard Vines-wearing golfer bro. Rider C was his boo, the SoulCycle girliepop in her matching yoga set. The way they stared into each other’s eyes gave me the cringe, but also kinda cute cringe, in my judgy review.

• Rider D: chatting away with her BFF on the line. Likely Italian, given how her arms were swinging as much as her words.

• Rider E: an older gentleman who, at every other stop, warned any passenger across from him about the leak dripping from the front row seat they’d just taken.

• Rider F: a nice ginger guy bopping to whatever was playing on his ‘pods. My guess is Miley Cyrus’ Party in the U.S.A.

I don’t fully know what I’m trying to get at with this post. But maybe, it’s that from time to time, consider taking the long way home. It just might fill your cup a little extra and fuel you more for the day ahead.