Rain was pouring outside of the shelter. The pitter-patter of the falling drops on the glass roof made a soothing sound, and occasionally some would slip through the cracks in the joint and end up crashing on the back of my neck, making me shiver ever so slightly. As we all waited patiently staring at the road ahead, I could clearly distinguish the tone of an AC/DC song, otherwise blasting on someone’s headphones, while someone else coughed over the mumble of an elderly couple talking at the back.
Cars passed by as we stood silently, and eventually someone raised a hand toward a pair of headlights that approached us. I was relieved to not have to miss another bus. Everyone was rushing to the entrance to secure themselves one of the few empty seats left inside, but I felt no urge to do so. I hopped last and tapped my card on the reader.
‘Good evening,’ I told the driver.
‘‘Evening.’
Luckily enough, there was still an empty seat by the window in the back row —also the highest—, from where I could look over the rest of the passengers. As I sat down, I dove into my bag, looking for my book.
‘Oh, that’s a good one,’ said the man sitting next to me.
‘Thanks. It’s very interesting,’ I replied. ‘You read often, too?’
‘I used to, but now I can’t find the time. Life’s been busy, you know?’
‘Yeah, I know.’
He chuckled, and we went back to our comfortable silence. I opened my book and started reading. The roaring of the engine below my feet, and the sound of the wheels moving through the puddles on the road absorbed me into a calming bubble, up to the point where I wouldn’t feel the leaning toward the window when traversing a roundabout.
I flipped through a couple of pages and then, suddenly, that calmness was disturbed. I found myself unable to move further than two paragraphs down the page, so I put the marker back and closed the book. I looked forward, and a little pair of eyes looked back at me. The kid was sitting three rows ahead, facing backward. Normally, I’d simply look away, but this time I felt like maintaining eye contact. He appeared amused, so I let out a faint smile. He chuckled. Then, the woman next to him, who I assumed was his mother, looked at her child and smiled at me. I nodded and then looked away at the passing streets.
I leaned my head against the window and, in what felt no time, the bus was already almost empty. It was just two of us: me, and a young boy sitting at the front, looking at his phone. Finally, I pressed the button and prepared to get off. When the doors opened, I looked back at the boy for a second.
‘Bye,’ I said to him.
He nodded at me, and we went on with our lives. Upon arriving home I opened the mailbox, and sure enough, there was my long-awaited driver’s license, waiting for me.
. . .
The next day, I was finally able to drive my own car instead of taking the bus. The revving of the engine as I pushed down with my right foot gave me goosebumps. I was laser-focused on the road the entire time, at the same time excited for having unlocked such freedom of movement.
A red light was guarding the empty road. I slowed down and eventually came to a stop right behing the line on the asphalt. I stared blankly ahead, with my hands still on the steering wheel. There was no music, no mumble, no thought whatsoever, other than the desire to be rewarded with a green light.
A blue bus was approaching me from the opposite direction. As it passed by, a familiar pair of little eyes was looking at me from the inside. I smiled at the sight, and he waved his little hand in my direction. Then, I was suddenly blinded by the headlights of the car behind.
Whoops, green light. I need to concentrate again.
The day I got my driver’s license, something changed forever. It is a physical principle that neither matter nor energy can be created or destroyed, but are rather transformed, and it’s this constant flow what keeps our cosmos moving. Therefore, what you gain in some part must be lost from some other end: a trade-off where balance is the key to maintaining control.
On this line, having to actively remain aware of one’s surroundings during a process such as driving has some associated drawbacks, especially if you’re used to getting lost in thought like me. This is not about the dullness or the boredom of the task, as such traits are unavoidable regardless of the environment —and probably they should also be sought after every once in a while—, but rather about the possibility of getting distracted, of daydreaming, and of taking a rest from the task of surviving.
Gaining control can definitely be pleasurable, but there is also joy in the little things, such as looking through the window from the back of a bus. Sometimes it’s okay to be a passenger, getting driven by others and moving with the flow of time. This doesn’t only apply to getting from point A to point B, but in that case, you might also save some turtles in the process.
