When I lived overseas, the public transportation was, to say the least, unpredictable. You might wait 30 seconds between buses or 30 minutes or more. The longer the time between buses, the larger the silent crowd would gather and the tensions would rise as people stepped forward out of place.
We’d hear the bus before it came over the hill.
There would be a quiet gasp, a push forward and a human surge when the bus that took a long time to get there would arrive and stop, unpredictably. You just hoped you were standing near a door or there would be a trampling herd to get to one. Where were they going? Where were they in a rush to get to? It was such a poor country, without a lot of hope.
a silence of human contact all around, emptied eyes, mindlessly trying to get somewhere. without knowing why.
I hated it.
I ran 5k’s in high school and those seconds before a gun shot to start the race would send my heart racing back to that time- then the jolt of noise and everyone was out for themselves, elbows out, to get ahead.
I feel the ache of it around me sometimes. That frantic desire to get ahead without much direction. It’s everywhere in our culture.
Sometimes I wonder if I wait well or that I’m just the same- pushing blindly. I try so hard to live in the moment, drinking in the good of the here and now but feel my thoughts pushing to the next thing. The next shiny distraction.
I don’t want to be like that, I struggle.
Because, if I was honest, my life is wrapped up on the return of a few phone calls.
I’m not sure but I need to stop waiting and start living. Life is a precious and short gift. There is more to this story, as there typically is, and a lot of it I just am choosing not to talk about because, at this time, there is really nothing but hope to share.
I hope to share good news, but I’ll share the opposite if that’s what happens. For now, I rest and enjoy every curl, dimple, breath, sunset, cloud and even the heat.