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Dream world
We all want the same things out of life;
to give love and be purely loved by someone else,
to be taken care of and to take care of someone else,
to live a happy, purposeful and fulfilled life.
I could get down on my life, and they say that New Engladers are a grumpy, bitter bunch. Could be the weather, the cost of living, or just the general sense of gloom that settles over Massachusetts?
Year after year, it's the same, nothing changes. Yet above all this, Boston seems to possess an endless sense of optimism. It's not always reinventing itself, as an old city, it takes particular pride in preserving it's historic character. Such that major change can move at a glacial pace.
Yet, in tiny small, very personal and individual ways. Boston is less a muddy stangnant pond, than a gently flowing river. It does look the same, but there's a constant influx of stories flowing through. Perhaps it's all the students, and the colleges. As a group, they seem the same every year, but individually each is on the verge of fundamentally changing their lives. Education is proof that one has faith in the future. Proof that one can change your life for the better.
I know there are cynics out there that are saying:
"This guy must be crazy. He's living in a dream world."
To them I'll respond:
"No, I'm not living in a dream world; I was rudely taken from it against my will."
Coming home yesterday it, the weather was positively dreadful, late afternoon thunderstorms lit up the sky, and a the sharp rumble of thunder creaked through the office, as I was preparing to go home. I decided to minimize my exposure, and take the train home. Yet despite the valient attempt too stay dry, by the time I had gotten to the train station, I'd been completely soaked to the skin.
Standing at the station, I watched as a woman struggled with her umbrella, which the wind had inverted. I shrugged expecting to curse at something but she just seemed flustered she scrambled to the platform. She commented on how comical she must look. Then just as quickly, she stood there, rummaged through her purse, then ran back out into the rain, back to her car to grab her wallet. I looked at the fellow passenger, sitting at the station... I shook my head and mumbled about the train already being late a couple of minutes, and to myself, wagered 50-50 that she was going to miss the train.
Through an amazing string of fortune she was able to make it back. Like most normal young folk (sadly) I wondered what a woman like her was doing catching a train in the suburbs. Usually the people heading into town on the commuter rail, were wearied commuters or teenagers without cars looking for a night out on the town. Most of the riders carry a resignedly begrudged space about them.
Yet, this young woman, carried a positivity about her, so I figured she wasn't doing this kind of thing all the time. She said she lived in the Back Bay, but come out to to this neck of the woods, to park her car at a friend's house, she was getting her affairs in order before she went on a trip long trip. She had just passed the bar so was celebrating, and treating herself with a trip to Australia for a month.
Although running late, the train made an unusual, but not atypical stop in Back Bay Station. I got off, thanked the conductor for stopping, exchanged a few words with a young lawyer, and we parted ways.
The rain had stopped and I slowly made my way over the river back to my house.
August 19, 2005