Riding the Bus... By Karen.

I ride the bus to work every day. Bright and early at 7am I begin my pilgrimage to work. This means walking through Boystown, down Broadway to Halsted and hoping on the number 7 bus. By car this would mean a ten minute drive. Using public transportation it takes me an hour. Since I begin my voyage at the beginning of the bus line, the seats are always there for my choosing. However once we start down Halsted the morning commuters pile on unceasingly. About halfway into my commute it is wall to wall people. I can’t begin to tell you the variety of smells and sounds that will accost you when the bus is that crowded. Being a writer and an avid people watcher it is all fodder for my imagination, but at times it is also exhausting. Yesterday when I left work , traffic was horrible. I was tired, and had three papers to start on for school when I got home, so I just wanted to be there. It took me well over the normal hour on the bus! It was so crowded, and people were crabby from their day. It was also over 90 degrees, so the pressed bodies were not very pleasant. Just as I was about to sink into a pool of gloominess, I saw a very pregnant, very tired woman climb on board. I was already standing so there was not a thing I could do. However, I witnessed as four people offered her their seat, and everyone moved out of the way in order to help her sit down. Then an elderly woman with grocery bags climbed on, and three different guys took her bags and passed them back to where someone had offered her a seat. In spite of the heat, in spite of the crowd, and the traffic, and the end of a long day, people on the bus remembered their humanity and common bond as commuters. Everyone tells me that living in the city is too anonymous. That people are selfish, self-centered, even mean. I have not found that to be the case. I see people all around me just reaching out for the tiny bit of human connection. People who will smile at you on the street. People who will give you directions or offer you their seat. On my way home from that long bus ride I dropped my keys and was juggling my backpack, my coffee cup, and my phone. A jogger stopped, picked up my keys, and said: You are almost home, hang in there. Simple human kindness. People who know me in Chicago have told me I may be too nice and too naïve to live in the city. I talk to everyone, everywhere. I do not want to lose that. I do not want to become jaded or solitary. I want to be me, and still be smart and street savvy. What I have seen over these past months is that it is possible. That people everywhere are essentially looking for the same thing. They are wondering: Do you see me? Does my life have significance? Do you want to hear my story? I know I need to be careful. I know not everyone is good, and not everyone is to be trusted. But sometimes on a crowded bus, at the end of a very long day, you can be reminded that we are all in this together.