Isn’t it wild when the mundane gives you a glimpse into what you’re really about?
Jane & I walked to school this morning (thank God we live in a place where I can walk & ride transit, because currently we own zero cars that I can drive). On my way home, I saw the bus go by. I knew I had 20 minutes until I needed to catch the bus downtown.
20 minutes. That’s forever if I’m standing at the bus stop waiting. It is decidedly NOT forever if I have to get home, finish getting ready, corral my stuff for work, and make it up to the bus stop. Although I have a history of slow-loris-like behavior, I was super-speedy today. Totally on the ball. As I grabbed my to-go mug of coffee, I pulled up the MARTA bus real-time tracker and saw that I’d be cutting it close. So I booked it up to the bus stop.
I stood there for about 5 seconds, which was about all the time I should’ve had before the bus got there, and I whipped out the tracker again. Yeah. The bus was gone. It’d arrived 4 minutes early. 4 minutes is no time at all, unless you’re trying to catch a bus. Then it might as well be an eternity.
So, I faced the ultimate transit-oriented question: do I wait for the bus or walk up and catch the train?
I dig the bus. There’s a kind of warm familiarity to riding the bus (even though I’d never done it until I moved to Atlanta about two years ago). I like cruising along through my neighborhood & into downtown without having to fight the traffic. The bus puts me in really close contact with humans—and the fact is that I like people. But I’d have to stand at the bus stop for 20 minutes. That’s 20 minutes of thinking “I should’ve peed before I left the house.” 20 minutes of wondering if I unplugged the toaster oven. It’s 20 minutes where my anxiety, which usually doesn’t bug me, runs completely amok.
So, the train? That’s a 1.4 mile walk. Up hill. But, I don’t mind walking. I feel more connected to Atlanta when I’m trekking through the neighborhood, saying hey to folks, getting a feel for daily life. And the train runs every 12 minutes. So there’s no real waiting around.
In favor of constant motion, I walked up to the train station. Because, for me, easier is rarely better. I’ve finally learned most of the triggers for my anxiety, and so now I have the power to avoid them. And walking through Atlanta—and Grant Park in particular–is one of the best anti-anxiety measures I’ve found.
But there’s something even bigger at play here. Since moving to Atlanta, I’ve become a doer, not a waiter. I’ve begun to embrace my own power to make things happen. And it all begins with movement—movement towards a goal or movement toward a train station. Waiting around hasn’t served me well. I never once wowed myself by standing still. But movement got the first draft of my novel written. Just waiting on dreams to happen, standing still, well that’s more anxiety producing than waiting for a bus.
So, I’m choosing movement when I can.