Strangers on a Train.

Living in New York City is all that a romantic like me could fathom.
If I had lived here in another stage of my life, I think my journal log would be all about all the swanky restaurants, glamorous clothing, and beautiful people I see walking around. And while seeing Vizzini from The Princess Bride purchasing pasta at Dean & Delucca makes me happy, it's been the very mundane hours I've spent on the subway that has given me "my New York experience" and the sweetest insight on humanity. Ohh, and a new joy of watching strangers:

Now I've been a patron of many countries public transport, and I feel I could write a book about all the experiences I've had. I still blush when I remember the Italian man who exposed "himself" to me on a bus in The Vatican City. Of all places, The Vatican. But only in New York do I feel so moved by the civility.

I see a ruffian thug giving his seat to an old women with shopping bags, and him breaking a smile (the first since I got on the Uptown-2 train at Columbus Circle, and started watching him) when she pats his cheek in thanks.

It's on the train that I see people fight and make-up with their lovers. Where a mother discuses with a father, when they should bathe the child- before or after dinner tonight? And so many take-out boxes open with steaming lunch, being quickly eaten before reaching their stop.

The subway train is like a living room with friends chatting and listening to music, and sometimes a bedroom. A man fell asleep on my shoulder, and woke up in embarrassment when he realized. (I just smiled.)

A group of Teenagers read magazines and swap comics back and forth. A woman texts "home in twenty, what are you making for dinner? :)" to her husband.
On a morning journey to Brooklyn a man kept looking at me. I couldn't help but notice, and not feel a little self-conscious. When he stood up, his artist pencils went flying off his lap and I saw that he had been sketching my profile.

And while I have been observant watching the happenings on the train, the most memorable experience, one that I have no expectation to have "topped", is the man reading his book. What book? I have no idea. I wish I could have seen more clearly.
I was sitting across from him, watching him read intently. At some point, he lowers the book from his face to his lap, and places his right hand up to his heart. He drops his head, closes his eyes and brings his lips together as he breathes in and sighs out.
He's at home- transported from the subway at that moment to a most beautiful place. I can only imagine what might make someone feel so moved. In books we find our place. Our home. Our truth. Ideas and thoughts and feelings that become our own.
And the passage this man has just read has given him the most sublime feeling... forgetting the world, and feeling something that transcended the subway car we were both sitting in.

Thank you for giving me this beautiful gift, NYC. You have been the most lovely backdrop and facilitator for the strongest feeling of love. Home. Humanity. My heart is just one of thousands (millions?) of souls, seeking, searching and finding peace...and yes, to feel at home.