Riding Metro North. Searching, for Important.

Jenny Offill : “To live in a city is to be forever flinching.”

Tuesday morning.

A brisk walk to train station.  32 F feels like 26 F.  No snow, no slush, no sleet.  Dry.  January.  I’ll take this all day, all winter long.

5:48 am train to Grand Central.

Plenty of empty seats.

I slide by her into a seat next to the window.

She offers me a smile, and tucks her legs in to let me pass.

I nod, offering my thanks.

She’s reading a soft cover book, verses of some sort. I can’t make it out. 98% of the rest of us are heads down into our gadgets.

She’s wearing a long (long), black puffer coat, that drapes down to the top of her black boots. A black knit cap. A knitted scarf wrapped around her neck.  She’s in her late 60’s to mid 70’s would be my guess. She turns the page. Why am I so distracted by her? Her elbows and knees are tucked in, and she’s sitting comfortably in her lane. Lady @ Peace comes to mind.

But for the industrial heaters blowing warm air through the ceiling vents, the train car is silent.

She gets up in anticipation of her stop.

The vestibule is crowded with passengers waiting to get off.

She waits quietly at the back of the line.

Then as the train car pulls up to her stop, she shouts:

“PLEASE, EVERYONE, LISTEN!”

She pauses.

Heads up and down the train car lift, waiting for the next shoe to drop.  A “Jesus Saves!” A “Please help me buy a cup of coffee.”  Or a “can you spare me a few dollars for breakfast?” Or “my Child has Cancer.”

But no, that’s not it. She did none of that. She continued on.

“GOOD MORNING EVERYONE.”

She paused. And then continued.

“PLEASE HAVE A BLESSED DAY.  AND BE HAPPY!”

She bowed her head, and walked out of the train.

I watched her walk down the platform, quietly, head down, minding her own business.

The train pulled away from the station. Heads drop, back to the gadgets.

Not so long ago, I would have shrugged, just another Crazy on the train. Duck for cover. Avoid all possible contact or confrontation.

Today, not so much.

Szymborska sums it up: “When I see such things, I’m no longer sure that what’s important is more important that what’s not.”

Notes: Photo: Dark Photographs. Szymborska poem excerpt: Thank you Beth @ Alive on All Channels