August 10, 2005
Sometimes I like being the passenger...To notice how the moon curls its pointing ends in the direction which we are traveling, to wonder at the only two stars which make an appearance on such a mild evening and to simply feel the trees whisper in the wind as we pass. To be out in the open, upon a motorcycle, riding gently down a rugged road which holds no sense of my geography. Lost in the world and lost in thought.
As I peered through the brightly lit windows of the thousands of houses we passed by, I could not help but imagine what the occupants must be doing. I could see the flicker of a television in one house, the cowboy tending to his horse in this Western film, and how the man upon the couch, watching, seemed to slump loosely over the arm. Perhaps his body was exhausted after a long day of setting brick upon brick of a building which would soon be a Star Bucks inside a new strip mall on the corner of some street. Perhaps his mind was drained after having attended to the assorted needs of fifteen patients who desperately required his time and skill for the duration of an eight hour day. Or, perhaps, he had just returned from a trip out of state which included the duties of laying his father and his estate to rest. His wife in the next room, preparing dinner, holding back tears and unable to mask the mournful expression seeded deep within her frowning features.
One cannot know, simply glancing into the window of a house of another, what toils might reside within.
I saw the faces of laughing children, as they looked up at their mother with joy, and I could not help but wonder what brought such happiness to their hearts. Seated at the kitchen table, were they ready to be fed, glad of the full and sunny day outdoors or were they giggling at their father's jokes? Had there been a birthday party, full of brightly colored presents and the richest chocolate cake? Perhaps all the world seemed right, just then, and what of grief could be known in a home beaming with security and love?
One cannot tell, capturing the moment with a brief snapshot in time, what rapturous glee began such a day.
Does my window at night attract the fervent curiosity of passing outsiders? Can the singular light of my computer this eve, envelope a picture of curiosity in the minds of those whom I shall never know? Do they wonder of me, or stop just to ask, what is it that draws the deep breaths from my chest? Could they be mistaken, of my sedentary position, and conclude the exact opposite of my intentions? Or do they simply pass on by blindly, never seeing or feeling, touching or smelling, wondering or guessing?
One cannot say, merely glancing outside at all of the people passing by, whether or not this or that person cares.
That is why, sometimes, I like being a passenger. Rather than taking the wheel and charging on forward, it is somehow refreshing to see the world from a lessened pace. To allow someone else to drive so that I might relax and take it all in and notice the hills and the trees and the sky. To just feel alive and open and free and let the rest of the people out there be exactly whomever they wish to be...