On my way to the San Francisco airport this morning, I was the first passenger to be seated in the familiar blue Super Shuttle, which arrived an characteristically 15 minutes early. (Last time I had ordered a shuttle, I had been en route to JFK and nearly missed my flight. I assumed this morning was starting earlier than usual because the company has still not figured out how to remedy tardiness.)
The driver started north and, after 20 minutes on the freeway, I wondered if I was going to be the only passenger this trip. The radio was on, airing a morning pop station and filling in the silence and space between our seats. Maybe I will get lucky, I thought to myself, maybe I won't have to share this ride today! I relaxed into the clothed bench, watching the outside sky lighten across the bay.
The time alone was short-lived as we pulled into a cul-de-sac a few short minutes later, and I watched a little old lady approach the van. Why did I assume I would be alone this morning? This was a shuttle. Shared ride, says the ad.
I felt the anticipation of conversation rising as the double doors swung open and this nice old lady waved a cheery good morning. I faintly smiled back and nodded my head.
She seated herself right next to me after looking around, wondering aloud how many others were going to join us.
The driver, overhearing, answered that there were two more stops.
Here was conflict: no longer alone in the van, the curly-haired woman seated now in my personal bubble of space, the pressure to connect presented itself. Little old ladies traveling early in the morning are notorious chatterers.
In New York, I'm surrounded and bombarded by people in my personal space at almost every waking moment. The city is like gauntlet, testing one's superior indifference skills: yes, hello, I realize you are in my space but I am going to try to ignore that fact and occupy myself with an activity that portrays how disinterested I am in the reality of your standing here and having to breathe the same air through our closely approximated nostrils.
Technological devices are life-savers in situations like these. Click on my iPhone, plug in my earbuds, turn up the iPod, shuffle through my Kindle library: I am busy, please don't engage. Perhaps consider turning your head so I have enough oxygen to intake while I go about my very important personal business and/or leisure activity.
In New York, people don't usually chat. One may find the bus running horribly late and we may commiserate with the impatient comrade on our right, while we search frantically through our smart phones for alternate transportation ad an exit strategy. One may have one's subway ride interrupted by an outrageous mariachi band soliciting funds, and we may exchange looks in order to see who's digging into their pockets. We may have fleeting moments of reality checks between being preoccupied with ourselves, but these moments merely remind us that we are on track or en route and happen to also be surrounded by a thousand other people. We don't stop to chat. Chat requires time, and room to breathe. We are busy people who barely have enough oxygen as it is.
I've found, however, that in locations where the air is available, visible overhead even, where one has enough room to breathe, where the space itself expects to be filled - these are the places weighted with the inevitability of human chatter. Everyone sitting here understands the construct: we will be sitting here in a spacious van for about an hour with all our technological distractions packed up behind us with the remaining 48 lbs of things we call baggage.
So, what to do?
If you are not in a New York state of mind, chat is the obvious answer here. If not to fill the expectant and weighty silence of social normative permeating the air, chat reminds us that we are curious beings who are constantly learning and absorbing the world around us. Chat allows us to engage in a mutual understanding of our present reality. Chat passes the time and sometimes brings comfort. Chat soothes our fears of being alone.
This goes to say, New Yorkers are not afraid to be alone. In fact, some crave the chance to have no one around. Neither are they afraid of living in their own reality, as evidenced by such icons of the New York populous like the Naked Cowboy, and/or the purple-wigged peace cyclist who has outfitted their bike with pinwheels and a vintage boom box.
But for the rest of the world, where living side-by-side isn't such an ordinary outrage, chat crystallizes our belief in the magic of the everyday. Maybe the person sitting next to me is the spouse of a Nobel laureate, perhaps a retired test pilot for NASA, or maybe a beloved author of vegan cookbooks. We never find out if we don't say hello first.
Paying respect to the space and construct that is the Super Shuttle rideshare, I politely asked to where my fellow passenger was traveling. After a few moments we discovered that she has family residing a few steps away from my workplace in NYC. Further small talk revealed her to be a mediator, about to publish a book on conflict resolution, and a curious story about resolving issues among local post office staff.
We chatted about theatre, as she is a patron of the arts, both classical and contemporary, and I expounded on vocal technique as exampled in today's musicals. I learned something new about Offenbach, and we murmured in agreement over the concept of listening as instrumental to the peace process.
Chat turned into conversation which deepened into dialogue. By the time we reached the airport, Elizabeth and I shook hands and wished each other safe travels.
I hadn't wanted to start a conversation, because I don't often expect small talk to lead anywhere in the short span of an hour's van ride to an airport where we all disembark in different directions. What's the point?
But we're all on the same path, to excuse the metaphor. Maybe the chatter was to remind us of the human journey. I was going back to NYC, Mecca of Loneliness, and she to the Midwest, Home of the Colloquial. Wandering in two different directions, but wanting a reassurance that we had someone alongside on the metaphysical sojourn.
