Now that I’m in the last third of my
life, I push myself to use public transportation. After an empty bus to NYC
last Thursday, I met a philosophical taxi driver. His optimism as he swerved
through traffic buoyed me.
During my twenty-block walk to my next
bus on Friday morning, I had quick eye connect with the actress Scarlett
Johansson. As I lugged my wheeled suitcase up a hill, I eavesdropped on a
father with his beautiful young son. On the bus to Montauk, NY, I watched a
woman my age as she flipped her grey, long hair and connected with the bus
driver. Their words sounded trivial but I could hear warmth behind them.
The way back home proved even more
fruitful. From sunny, serene Montauk, which I call a cross between Hawaii and
Vermont, a dog and a baby boarded the bus. I had just spent the weekend with my
fabulous, seven-week-old grandson, who charmed me deeply but also cried a lot.
On the bus, this baby cried a lot. The air conditioning didn’t work, and none
of us were happy. All of us, including the dog, panted with open mouths.
In NYC, I walked a new street to Port
Authority for my final bus, but somehow got the time balled up and planted
myself on the floor for an hour wait. A chatty young woman opened her heart to
me with tales of all she had seen in three days in that glorious city. Then, on
the bus, a blue eyed, blond woman sat next to me. That two-hour trip seemed
like ten minutes, as we quizzed each other about our lives. I loved the story
of her adoption of twin boys from Haiti, fifteen years prior, and I giggled at
her reaction when she texted her daughter with a psychic prediction I had made
and it turned out to be true.
It’s odd and delightful to connect with
strangers. It’s a slice of love, and a bit like being a part of a couple, but
only for a moment or an hour. I do know that love comes in all forms, so catch
it where you can.
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