If you have read one or more of my posts, you probably have come to the conclusion that I am not a person that likes crowds. It's true. While I enjoy parties, big cities, and 75% off sales on occasion, I don't gravitate toward them. Most of my life has been spent in wide open spaces less than or equal to ten minutes from something that has stayed relatively the same for thousands of years like a mountain, forest, or river.
Today, and, presumably every day for the next several weeks, I commuted to work by shoving my way through several blocks of people, squeezed onto the tube next to at least seven arm pits, and continued through narrow stairways to my final destination.
It was a long day. But I guess, as I have mentioned before, human beings are fairly adaptable creatures. Stubborn, but adaptable. I remained calm through my almost two hours of transportation adventures today, because it's the way it is. There is no way around it.
It's got its perks too, like the endless people-watching opportunities, and the gratitude I feel when I find fresh air again.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Thursday, July 1, 2010
No Way Out
I love Agatha Christie novels. I don't regard them as great literature, but her plots are intriguing and entertaining, and they offer me an escape from 2010 America to 1924 Britain. This particular conversation stood out to me today.
"Has it ever struck you," Porter said, "that civilisation's damned dangerous?"
"Dangerous?" Such a revolutionary remark shocked Mr. Satterthwaite to the core.
"Yes. There are no safety valves, you see."
Perhaps that is what I've been looking for—a safety valve. Unlike Mr. Porter, I think they exist. I've spent the summer wanting to escape through a safety valve in the form of a sunny, muddy, moderately-paced river. But right now I'm flowing through a narrow tube at high pressure right into London. Yes—London. And there's no way out. Not that I want one, I think.
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