I rarely sit in these seats that face other seats. I find the accidental eye contact disrupting. Is it accidental when I zone out as I stare at a stranger, trying to figure out whatever I think I can figure out about a person by staring at her face? Moving on.
Well, I had no choice today. I always leave work early enough to get an emergency exit three-seater. Because being able to escape a disaster through the window is as important as having a personal space buffer between me and my seatmate.
But today, Obama got in my way at Faneuil Hall. I had to walk up into Government Center and back down to Congress. I then tried to cross a street to continue making my way to North Station and got screamed at and possibly almost shot by a jacked up cop, not knowing that the motorcade was about to come through. My B, officer.
Anyway, I'm guessing you don't care about that. Because I got the sense that you aren't big on empathy.
When you sat down across from me, my first thought was that you were pretty. Not gorgeous, so don't let it get to your merely pretty head.
But then a little kid made a rather vocal lap up and down the aisle of the train car with his mom, who was visibly desperate to find a seat so he'd calm down. And then, you, in the words of Kevin McCallister, woof. Not so pretty anymore.
Approaching 48 seconds of this child's noise, you looked at the pair and rolled your eyes. You rolled your eyes aggressively. Which is kind of hilarious, because if you can picture an adult aggressively rolling her eyes, you know it makes her look an awful lot like a petulant child. Irony is my favorite.
I know I sound critical. But they say that the flaws we're most critical about in others are ones we see in ourselves.
I don't know who they are, but they're at least kind of right. Because I used to do the same thing you just did. All the time. Back when I was pretty.
Back when I had a tan. And highlights. And time to put on makeup. And money for makeup. If nothing else because I didn't bother to get the expensive organic sh*t before.
Before I became a mom.
But back to you. As soon as your eyes completed the roll, mine shot directly to your bare ring finger.
Of course, your marital status told me nothing definitive. It's probably equally possible that you're a mom. Maybe not equally. I don't know the statistics.
But I was looking for the only clue I might find. Because I hope you're not a mom.
Us moms do sometimes get frustrated when our kids go ape bonkers. I might not know for sure why, but I like to think it's because we love them so much that we internalize their frustration. Not because the sound just annoys us. But then, we are still human. (Awesome humans. But still human.) And okay, it might be annoying sometimes.
But, that's with our own kids. I'd like to think (or maybe just hope or wish) that moms have it in them to sympathize with other moms when they witness a kid being... well, a kid.
The general public really likes to hate on kids. They're called entitled, spoiled, out of control. All because they're not behaving like adults.
All you uptight biddies are convinced THIS GENERATION is so awful. Guess what? Y'all been thinkin' that for a century's worth of generations. Seriously. Just go read that. All of it. And then shut the eff up about kids just being kids. With a little trust and a lot of good modeling, they'll grow up to be good humans.
Being controlled every minute of the day? That sure as sh*t will not improve the situation. Humans like freedom. It's why we stole this land and waged war on our government in the name of democracy. You can't stop that sh*t.
Now, I'm actually not writing this to be critical. Like I said, I've been there. Irritated by the noise of youth. So, I'm writing to share one thing that motherhood has opened my eyes to.
I'm looking for a better word for selflessness, but I've got nothing. So, SELFLESSNESS.
I used to walk around incredulous at all the interferences in my routine, as though they were intended to annoy me.
The persons walking slowly and getting in MY way on the sidewalk. The person who chose to take the empty seat next to ME. The mom who couldn't stop her kid from giving ME a headache.
But now I know.
The less you focus on yourself, the happier you get. Try it.
XO,
Rachel
PS YOU WEREN'T EVEN IN THE QUIET CAR. COACH BEHIND THE ENGINE, B*TCH.
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