Many times in this space I have written about what I have observed on my daily commute between the two cities of St. Paul and Minneapolis. There has seemed to be a never ending source of inspiration as I tool along at 55 miles(most of the time) per hour. But over the last several weeks I have been making my way from my home to the church using the light rail system. This has made for a completely different experience of getting to work, one I have been relishing.
The route I travel most people would think a bit cumbersome, certainly not direct. Getting on at the Fort Snelling station I travel downtown and get off at Nicollet Mall. Then I walk the mall, through Loring Greenway and across Loring Park. It makes for a good walk through some amazing scenery, past lovely gardens and the fabulous array of individuals I meet along the way.
What this has pointed out to me is what an isolated thing driving in a car really is. In addition to being a pull on the environment, driving alone(which most commuters do) creates this sense of individuality that is false. Especially in a culture that spends so much time in cars, it is easy to believe we are walking the world in isolation of our fellow human beings, alone, held safe in our little metal boxes with wheels. This is, of course, not true.
As I ride the light rail in the morning, I look at the other riders. I want to say to the young man dressed in what may be his first suit for his first real job, "I am connected to you." To the young Muslim woman who sat beside me on Monday, her head covered allowing the beauty of her eyes to shine, her smile to be brilliant, I say "I'm connected to you." The many rushed, suited, workers, briefcases held tightly to match their pursed lips, their furrowed brows, I want to say, "Breathe. We are connected." To the elderly man with the dirty clothes, the shoes so worn I could see his gnarled feet sticking through, I want to say, "I am connected to you."
Of course, I do not say this. I know the lines of eyes-straight-ahead privacy that seem to go with riding elevators and public transportation. But in my heart I say these words. And I mean them. I recognize that I ride this train out of privilege, because I can. I could be driving, alone. But if I did I would miss seeing my fellow life travelers, whose names I do not know, but who have shared the beginning and ending of my day. We have shared space and air and point A to point B. That has to count for something, I believe. If nothing else it has helped me remember all the invisible lines of connection that hold my days, that hold yours. And what a gift that remembering is.
"Traveling mercies: love the journey, God is with you, come home safe and sound." Anne Lamott, Traveling Mercies