Red light reflections
Big intersection, a 6-lane street crosses a 4-lane one with these new kinds of over-engineered, underused bike crossings. I cross here as a pedestrian very often, mostly as a pedestrian. I know the rotation of homeless people, the Olive Garden trash truck schedule, debris…
Like our faces on the toilet, we rarely see ourselves in our cars. But at the red light, we can be seen. Picking our noses. Reflexively pulling our phones. Singing along to mariachi music completely off-key. Or simply frowning from a life of exactly that, lots of that.
Even as a pedestrian with a stroller, I cave into my phone too often or do a bunch of weird things, like a deep glute stretch and the face that goes with it. We look at people in their cars, wave at delivery truck drivers, and nod when people stare…
Nothing of particular significance.
Until today. A few other typical folks were crossing with us. A Harley Davidson swag-wearing retired couple, a target shift worker, a teenager wearing a Taylor Swift bomber jacket and the typical lady walking her dog in a full Lululemon athleisure suit. We all looked around. Confused squinting eyes and tense half smiles all said the same thing: “Is this it? Is that all there is to life?” - I shared the feeling and felt it from my forehead to my jaw.
However I slice it, this is the major part of my experience of being outdoors in this country, not a national park. It’s reductive but an accurate averaged-out image of the America I know.
This is a big part of what keeps me away from the idea of getting an American passport. At the same time, this equally highlights how I’m now sharing a lot with the locals. My French passport sometimes makes me believe the grass is greener on the other side.
← Index Published on 2024-10-29