Day 1: Nothing In My Ears
I have developed a routine of putting my earphones in, hitting play to the last song listened to, and throwing my iPod in the pocket of my bag just before I leave for work. The music is usually too loud for the stillness of 7:30am. After shuffling through multiple songs, I find the perfect one to start my commute.
But this morning, instead of putting the earphones in, I wrapped the cord around my iPod and threw it in my bag. I proceeded to leave my apartment, go down the three flights of stairs, and start the 10 minute walk while enjoying the sounds of the morning.
It was a simple choice, but I would have missed so much more if I had been distracted with the best song to suit my day.
I made my way to the station where I waited 5 minutes for the Green Line train to take me to St. Paul. I stepped into the train, eyed what I thought would be the perfect seat, but moved two more times until my favorite seat was open. Yes, when you take public transportation you become critical about where the best view is, which seats will give you less whiplash, and which part of the train is least crowded.
A few stops after I settled in, a small boy and his mother stepped into the train and sat where I had initially started. I watched as the two worked together to pull on the seat and plop down. They began conversing with each other; the boy had so much energy for the early morning, and the mother was patient and listened closely to every word he said.
After some time, the boy wondered across the aisle to fulfill the curiosity he found in the identical seating that was unoccupied. While using his whole body, he pulled the seating down, crawled on top, and looked out the window. This went on for a majority of the ride. He would jump off the seat, pull it down, climb up, sit on the top of the seat, test his limits by trying to swing on the handles, and then jump off again. At first his mother would mutter some words telling him to stop, but he insisted on playing.
I suppose the color of their skin or the language they spoke doesn't really matter, but in this moment it meant something to me. The mother and her son were Somali. I found it so beautiful to witness the mother's gentleness and the child's joy without needing to understand their words.
I believe if I would have stuck the music in my ears before I left my apartment I may have missed these moments of the morning. Yes, I am quite an observant person and I'm sure I would have noticed these two on the train, but I wouldn't have heard the faint, child-like voice of the boy or the words the woman spoke as her son ran back and forth from the seats.
So here's to more beginnings of my day being guided by the awakening of the city.
Also, toward the end of my train ride, a woman got on the train and wanted to sit in the empty seating the boy was playing on. She was struggling to pull the seat down for it is very heavy (I struggle, too). So the boy jumped out of his seat and helped her pull the seat. It was the most adorable thing! The woman had a huge smile on her face after she realized the boy did most of the work to pull the seat. I couldn't help but smile, too.
But this morning, instead of putting the earphones in, I wrapped the cord around my iPod and threw it in my bag. I proceeded to leave my apartment, go down the three flights of stairs, and start the 10 minute walk while enjoying the sounds of the morning.
It was a simple choice, but I would have missed so much more if I had been distracted with the best song to suit my day.
I made my way to the station where I waited 5 minutes for the Green Line train to take me to St. Paul. I stepped into the train, eyed what I thought would be the perfect seat, but moved two more times until my favorite seat was open. Yes, when you take public transportation you become critical about where the best view is, which seats will give you less whiplash, and which part of the train is least crowded.
A few stops after I settled in, a small boy and his mother stepped into the train and sat where I had initially started. I watched as the two worked together to pull on the seat and plop down. They began conversing with each other; the boy had so much energy for the early morning, and the mother was patient and listened closely to every word he said.
After some time, the boy wondered across the aisle to fulfill the curiosity he found in the identical seating that was unoccupied. While using his whole body, he pulled the seating down, crawled on top, and looked out the window. This went on for a majority of the ride. He would jump off the seat, pull it down, climb up, sit on the top of the seat, test his limits by trying to swing on the handles, and then jump off again. At first his mother would mutter some words telling him to stop, but he insisted on playing.
I suppose the color of their skin or the language they spoke doesn't really matter, but in this moment it meant something to me. The mother and her son were Somali. I found it so beautiful to witness the mother's gentleness and the child's joy without needing to understand their words.
I believe if I would have stuck the music in my ears before I left my apartment I may have missed these moments of the morning. Yes, I am quite an observant person and I'm sure I would have noticed these two on the train, but I wouldn't have heard the faint, child-like voice of the boy or the words the woman spoke as her son ran back and forth from the seats.
So here's to more beginnings of my day being guided by the awakening of the city.
Also, toward the end of my train ride, a woman got on the train and wanted to sit in the empty seating the boy was playing on. She was struggling to pull the seat down for it is very heavy (I struggle, too). So the boy jumped out of his seat and helped her pull the seat. It was the most adorable thing! The woman had a huge smile on her face after she realized the boy did most of the work to pull the seat. I couldn't help but smile, too.
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