Thoughts on a Bus

Riding the bus is an insightful experience, and one that I rarely get to enjoy. Arriving at JFK in NYC I am overwhelmed with anxiety surrounding a particular situation at work and my upcoming unplanned journey to Jersey. I fear that I am transparent, that those around me can see my feelings on my face, but when I look around the bus I see that everyone else is transparent too.

I can see worry in the eyes of the old woman next to me. At first glance she looked strong and powerful, but when she felt my gaze and returned it, her eyes lacked the sparkle that I had expected and darted nervously from me to the driver to the destination sign. I can hear excitement in the voices of the French couple behind me. Although I have lost almost all of my ability to comprehend French, the inflection of their voices and the ease of their laughter draws them as a happy pair in love, which is much the opposite of the couple beside me. The woman, a pretty brunette stares blankly out the window. Her partner's body language suggests irritation or anger. He sits cockeyed in his seat facing away from the woman. His face shows no expression, but his left hand grips the headrest in front of him and his right hand taps his knee erratically and at an increasing rate. The ban in the back of the bus is the most difficult to read. His eyes are black, so dark that I can't see his pupils. For some reason this makes me uneasy. It's not only his eyes that give me an unsettled feeling; it's his raspy voice, the tired smell of sweat, cigarettes, and the street, and his outrageous green hat, that, coupled with his large front teeth, makes him resemble the Mad Hatter.

These thoughts are merely my perceptions, my unfiltered insight on the strangers sharing this crowded loud ride with me. I may be completely off base with my assumptions. But, in any case, this exercise has brought me comfort and eased my anxieties as I remind myself not to compare my reality with other people's masks.