A Meditation

As my bus zips down the bus-only lane, I gaze out my window in mild amusement at the sole occupants of the vehicles backed up for blocks in rush hour traffic. I suppress a desire to wave at them, but only barely.

There is a perception among the driving public that the bus is full of poor people, dirty blue collar Joes, and screaming kids. Perhaps that isn't entirely untrue, but I do see a fair share of professionals on the bus too, in their suits with the briefcases, checking email on their Blackberries.

Either way, taking the bus is like a great big secret that I'm afraid to share too much with the drivers out there, for were they to realize how liberating it truly is, I'm sure my bus rides would be much less comfortable.

Yet perhaps I delude myself: some of them undoubtedly think I'm taking the bus because I have to, and would quickly opt out of it were I of more sufficient means. It is true that the financial benefits to riding the bus are quite appealing for our simple lifestyle, but my desire to ride the bus outweighs my need to, by a heavy margin. I get time to think, time to read, time to pray, and time to watch the world.

I signed up for this experience, and I'm loving it. For rush-hour drivers, every day is a crapshoot: they have far less predictability in their arrival times than I do as a bus patron. I'll take the predictability over the chaos and high gas prices any day.

There's my stop.