TGIF lessons on humility...on MUNI, no less!

This morning, my unemployed self had a planned and then an unplanned meeting with treasured former coworkers back at USF (thanks Christina and Barb!). Navigating a new MUNI route there was no problem early in the morning, and got me there (with one transfer) even faster than I allowed time for. The ride back to my sublet was where the lessons came from.

At the bus stop, a person who had just crossed the street waving arms frantically at the cars that stopped at the intersection started pacing, rocking in place, and then staring at me. "Oh great," I thought. "Another crazy homeless person to avoid." Then I noticed the person mouthing something to me, so I took out my earbuds and said politely, "I'm sorry, were you saying something to me?" Well, the person started talking about how nice it was to see someone listening to music because we live in a world that is assaulted by sounds these days and none of them are very nice. The voice was low and surprisingly gentle and coherent like a kindly older man's, but the body (even with an arm brace, torn sweatpants, bejeweled glasses (on a typical San Francisco foggy and overcast day), and hooded sweatshirt over long gray hair) was the form of a slightly older woman. OK, not the first trannie I would have spoken to in San Francisco, but I still found myself checking my assumptions. She proceeded to identify herself as a music activist, playing violin and piano and bongo drums, and even singing in the public libraries until security guards threw her out (and yes, she used self-referential female pronouns, so mystery solved). I realized that I put up my own defenses and this little chat before the bus arrived was totally harmless, and possibly even entertaining. I mean: I'm sure there was a whole documentary behind this person's story - former musician? music teacher? street artist? She actually named some favorite pieces of Brahms, Mozart, and Beethoven that she liked, and seemed to know a fair bit about techniques too. So I was humbled for the first time thinking about remaining open to chance encounters and even friendly conversations with strangers, no matter how strange they may at first appear.

One stop after I boarded the bus, there was a long delay with a lot of passengers getting on. One person in a wheelchair was being assisted by two older companions. Then I saw that these older adults were chaperoning the person in the wheelchair and four or five younger kids with the characteristic faces of persons with Down Syndrome. They were all quiet and respectful, and the other passengers didn't put up a fuss to give up their seats and make room. They even moved past the music activist, who told all of the children, "Aren't you all so lovely! Have a great day, sweet ones," before she left the bus. So that's what I get for fearing the crazy homeless person: I get slapped in the face (metaphorically) with a refreshing dose of explicit niceness directed towards bus passengers that everyone else on board (myself included) thought would be better respected with minimal eye contact, let alone a friendly greeting.

But the stop seemed to linger, and then I looked forward and noticed another wheelchair coming on board, assisted by the lift by the driver. This time the wheelchair was a massive vehicle and the older man in it seemed to be controlling the machine with a combination of breathing tubes and a netbook computer on his lap. So the next lesson in humility was my awareness of my own (admittedly temporary) health and mobility. "That must be courageous to get out of the house and get on a bus on your own like that," I thought. And then the last lesson hit me: who was I to think of this man's commute as courageous? Wasn't it entirely possible that this was just his usual routine? Was my characterization of courage just a nice way of feeling pity? Perhaps. Check and double-check on me.

I was a bit annoyed when just a few minutes later, the driver failed to stop at my stop, and then drove past passengers waiting (and one flagging her down) at the next three stops. Finally, two more pulls at the cord and one push of the "Stop Requested" button by the back door let me get off the bus many blocks away from my desired connection spot. But as I walked back to where I needed to go, I thought that I wasn't really that far away at all. All the bad feelings I may have had were all invented. Just like the fears and assumptions I had experienced throughout the journey so far - all my own inventions.

So I made it back to my sublet to look for more jobs, catch up on messages, shred now-obsolete business cards, and in my current life phase of unknowns, I am at least happy to know myself and my world a little bit more sharply. TGIF and thanks, MUNI. On to the weekend...