If the CTA could talk…it would tell many stories..none of which you will hear on the news. I have been taking the CTA for 46 years and can say I have been to every part of the city. From the Wild Hunnits to the purple line/ Evanston to the west side midway to the northwest O’hare.
There is an unspoken silence with those who commute before the sun comes up. They may be coming home from work, heading to work, coming home from a party or using the transportation as a place to sleep. Women praying with rosaries , men with large coolers, children with book bags and travelers with luggage.
There is a pause and a camaraderie of meeting someone in the moment in a shared space. There is a respect of women and children and elderly. Even the most lonely person is not alone at times in an overcrowded space forced to consider the person next to them. An overheard conversation might lead to an interrupted confession , unsolicited advice or a shared last dollar bill when someone is short on fare.
Some days commuting is the only time I have to pause. Within the pause of commute I might cry. Ideally I am wearing sunglasses and looking out the window and listening to music. A little morning cry- not the boogar drenched sloppy cry. The tears may be tears of gratitude or sadness over injustice or that I may not have time to stop and get coffee.
6 years ago I did an ugly cry on the brown line train. The kind of cry I usually reserve for shower time -so while I curl up in a ball the water can soothe me. I was crying because I did not think I could do my job teaching yoga for trauma. It was so sad and so hard. I was having nightmares. The work was so heavy , that I didn’t think teaching yoga would even help the participants I was working with.
As I got off the train, a young lady handed me a note. It said: I don’t know what’s wrong, but you have every right to be upset because emotions are real and valid. I hope things work out and you are able to overcome your struggle, and I want you to know, that you are beautiful and this stranger is thinking about you.
Needless to say, I took that as a sign I should NOT quit my job because strangers who care can make a difference. Over the 6 years I learned how very important yoga and movement can be as a tool for the nervous system.
Over pandemic I got my own taste of isolation and fear and worry and appreciated how blessed I was to have a job where I can move and be present in my body. I realized we all have a form of trauma and while I was feeling stagnation and lack of motivation-it was now more than ever I needed to be present for communities I love.
Over the last few months I have been able to return to the work I love in person, teaching group classes for corporate wellness and individuals workouts.
Yesterday my client gave me 20 lbs of chocolate. I thought I could Divvy home-but my body told me: Take the bus. As I sat on the bench I met two people.
A woman wearing a shirt: Irish do it better. She said she needed to sit and shared she lived in a Women’s Home. A man my age from Humboldt Park wearing more bling on his t-shirt than my sunglasses. He asked if I was Latina to which I responded: Soy Boricua. He said: you look Blanca, pero not. We laughed about our bling and then chatted if we knew the same people. I asked my fellow commuters if they wanted a bag of chocolate and they both were surprised: the whole bag?
Yes. the whole bag- I have like- many more.
I love Chicago. The Chicago you won’t hear about on the news.
This week I had a pretty challenging week and did more walking and Divvy than CTA. My client gave me 20lbs of chocolate which became very heavy to carry, so I sat on a bench and saw the bus was coming in 4 mins. I met two
