There are days when it feels like everything in the City is working in my favor; every train is on time, and I am on time for them. My traveling companions are pleasant, and commuting is okay.
Aaaand – sometimes none of that is true.
A few weeks ago, I was on my way home from Manhattan. I knew that changing trains at W 4th was inevitable; the only question was which train to catch. February wasn’t pretending to be April that night, so in spite of the fact that the F was right there when I got to the platform, I opted to wait for the B. When the stars are aligned, it’s a shorter trip with a shorter walk.
The stars were not aligned.
I skipped the D (the next train to arrive) because it would mean climbing stairs and hiking across the Atlantic-Barclay station for yet another platform change to the Q. Another F train came and went. I began to question my decision-making skills. But the B finally arrived, and there was even a seat free; just a few stops, and I’d be home.
Ah, the best laid plans…
We loitered on the bridge for awhile, one of a long line of trains not going anywhere. We eventually moved slowly forward – only to stop again, this time in a tunnel. It was hot, the train was crowded; I dislike being stranded underground. The train inched forward again. We cleared the next station. More inching.
And then: “Ladies and gentlemen, this train is no longer a Coney Island bound B train. When we reach the next station, this train will become a Coney Island bound D train. We apologize for the inconvenience, but due to a lack of power at Prospect Park, all B and Q train service is suspended.”
And so it was that I found myself climbing stairs and walking half a mile in the cold and the dark to the nearest F station, to catch the train I could have just taken in the first place.
But along the way, I noticed things.
The beautifully lit stained glass windows of a church I usually only walk past in the daylight. An apartment with a ceiling painted the most gorgeous shade of blue. Gas lamps flickering in the darkness. The rhythmic sound of boot heels hitting the sidewalk. Stars sparkling brightly against a clear winter sky. And the quiet hush (though definitively not silence) of a city that truly never sleeps.
In this year of actively trying to pause, I find myself more likely to slow down and recognize the beauty in small things, even in the midst of unexpected commuting twists: shadows playing across the ground, the reflections of trees in puddles, the miracle of breathing lungs and beating hearts, the glory of starlit nights, the smell of woodsmoke, the warmth of sunlight.
No, the unexpected isn’t always fun – but sometimes it holds extraordinary moments.
photo credit: Patrick Fore on Unsplash
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