I used to hate the rush hour when commuting on London’s tubes. It wasn’t being cramped as such, I’m fine with personal space invasions to a point. It was the *rush* – people having to push to get off at their stop. Worse still, people bustling others for a chance to catch that next train. Is there a sort of selfishness in their self-serving rush and rampant overtaking? I do wonder that in fury when I’m in a mood. Do they really need to cut those few seconds in your speed-walk? I suppose they might really do, or they could wake up 15 minutes earlier.
I plod a long, a stone in the current, people passing by. I may be in the way when I stop to look for directions. I try to practice not judging the rushers, the hustlers and the busters. Let them pass, but I’ll pass on being caught up with them.
But I often do; the train is departing! I am so close, if I just pick up the pace and dodge that woman I could make it! The stress is just not worth it. I don’t feel a sense of achievement if I do make it, only the sweat trapped in my shirt and the guilt of having got in the way or abandoned my sense of calm. If I don’t… well I am disappointed and effort is wasted.
Don’t have to face any of these dilemmas now. Interesting to reflect on those moments, now they are over a year old. So long commutes, if they return I hope I can face them with a bit of equanimity.
Thought Vacations 