As an experiment in environmental stewardship, I've been riding the bus on occasion. Okay, a middle class person congratulating herself for riding the bus every so often while poor folk do it every day is sort of like a dad bragging about making breakfast for mom on mother's day. Still, there are many lessons, both spiritual and practical, that I've learned from the experience.
They let you on the bus, even if you have car keys. I so often fall into the trap of all-or-nothing thinking: either I give up my car, which I'm not willing to do, or I drive everywhere. Er, says who? It frees up a lot of energy to examine all those assumptions that back me into a corner. Maybe it really does make sense to drive to work, given the location, my schedule, and the amount of stuff I haul each way. Maybe it makes more sense to take the bus to meeting, at least on those days when I don't have a passenger and am not hauling quantities of food.
Riding the bus is expensive, inconvenient, and nausea-inducing (why would anyone think that rear-facing seats on a bus make any kind of sense!?)...And is therefore a great way to confront my sense of entitlement. The Quaker testimony of equality is what drew me to Friends as a child, and kept calling me periodically over the years. But equality as an ideal and equality in practice can be two different things. I hold myself apart (and above) other people more than I like to admit. Most of the time, I'm in my cozy, middle-class bubble, surrounded by folks who live like I do and think like I do. But riding the bus pierces that bubble a bit: I'm not one of the privileged. I don't get to have my way (and I really, really like having my way) as the schedule and route are impervious to my desires. I don't think I realized how much I depend on having the privileges of race and class until I began taking the bus.
On the bus, you realize you are inextricably connected to the people around you. This isn't always pleasant, as people are often smelly, loud, or rude. Nonetheless, there are opportunities for grace. I can knit on the bus, which is often an icebreaker with other passengers. They comment on the colors, touch the yarn, ask what I'm making and who it's for. And bus drivers can often be surprisingly patient with "Sunday riders" like me who forget to ask for their transfer, are lost and need directions, or who try to put their transfer into the wrong slot. On a surprising number of occasions, I have encountered someone I knew and been able to have a conversation, sometimes for the first time.
You might see God. A friend pointed out that I often have experiences of divine leading while waiting for public transit. I don't think that's an accident. There is something about the very mundane experience of waiting for a bus that is akin to the expectant waiting of meeting for worship. Way opens when I stop rushing about and when I accept that I'm not in control of anything.
