Hidden Pathways

Once I coasted past the horrific display of that poor, bloated, dead dog lying on the tracks and the miles of concrete walls painted up by – whom I could only speculate to be – gang members and other hooligans, my first experience riding the train was somewhat delightful.  I was assigned a window seat, which is usually preferred by most, especially by gazers such as myself.  As I sat up alert in my seat looking at the Pacific Ocean for the first time, I felt like a kid again, witnessing a magical moment.  I was proud to feel so naive and I wouldn’t have traded places with anyone who has already seen it before.  When the sun hit the water in just the right way, it looked like a field of glitter.  I saw beautiful mountain ranges, lakes, farmland and even sand dunes.  Although I’m not as descriptive here, just know that these landmarks were just as breathtaking.  

My sister had invited me to her place in Sunnyvale for the Fourth of July weekend, so I took the train from Union Terminal at LAX to the station in San Jose where she and my brother-in-law picked me up.  Their apartment complex was something to be envied.  There were plenty of grassy areas, trees, walkways that lead to outdoor grills, the pool and the hot tub.  There was covered parking, a workout facility and my sister had the thing I admired most – her own private balcony/patio.  It may not be much, I wouldn’t call it living in luxury, but as someone who achieves zen most frequently by being outside among nature, it was definitely something special.  Since moving to Los Angeles almost two months ago, I have been cooped up in a very small space.  For my own safety I don’t go outside unless it’s to my car, the dumpster, the mailbox, or the laundry room and even then it’s usually during the day.  It’s a rough neighborhood.  Low-income areas usually mean higher crime rate.  I try not to judge people, but I stay hidden inside because homeless people who live right by where I park my car, neighbors knocking on my door at night asking for money, and the frequent sirens and gun shot noises I hear lead me to assume the worst about the area where I live.  I miss being able to take a walk on a beautiful day to clear my head.  I’m not so sure if the reason I don’t walk around here is because I’m afraid or if it’s because my family worries so much about me living out here on my own.  Maybe I should be more scared but I think I’m over cautious for my family’s sake rather than my own.  Anyway, my sister’s place was heaven in comparison.  

We had a great weekend.  It’s nice knowing that I have family only a short day’s worth of travel away.  We had a potluck by the pool, met the neighbors, toured San Francisco on one of those double-decker buses, participated in a morning yoga class, went out for wine-tasting at a couple of winery’s, tried new foods like felafels and Persian food and walked down the hip, Murphy Street in Sunnyvale for some ridiculously good ice cream from Tutti Frutti’s.  While all this and spending time with family was the best part of the trip, the most important discovery about life was yet to come – on the train back to LA.  

I can’t exactly say that it felt like I was going “home.”  It felt more like I was going to a rest stop in which I have to pay a lot of money to use it’s facilities and to keep all of my stuff there; never quite feeling settled because I know I still have a long way to go.  If you remember all the pretty things I said about the train ride to San Jose, reverse that description and it will be similar to what the train ride back to LA was like, at least at first.  I was assigned an isle seat.  Not a big deal, but the huge bag that looked as if a human body stuffed inside occupying that seat was a bit irritating.  Reluctantly, because my seat mate was no where to be seen, I moved the bag over to his seat.  Now that I had a place to sit, I took in the explosive mess that surrounded me.  The little folding table in front of my seat was out and this mystery person’s crap was strung out all over it.  Trying to be polite and not knowing how this person would feel if I continued to touch his things, I left it alone.  Again, I try not to judge people, but I inadvertently do make assumptions and I assumed this person was male and one of those hoarder type people who was inconsiderate of other people’s personal space.  How dare he!  On top of it all, and this is the worst part, his bag that I had to sit next to reeked of B.O.  I’ve never even met the guy and already I couldn’t stand him.  

The smell got bad.  Real bad.  It gave me a bit of a headache.  No employee was anywhere to be found for a long time and when the dinning car reservation guy came around, I tried to ask him to get someone to help me change seats.  He made it clear he couldn’t help me.  Douche.  Anyway, I stole an empty seat for a few minutes of fresh air until new passengers boarded and were assigned exactly where I was sitting.  I went downstairs to where the main doors were and stood there for an hour and a half.  If I was one to reason with, I suppose I should have ventured off to find the lounge area.  Maybe I was being stubborn and trying to make a point, but this tactic obviously did no good.  I was fully prepared to stand there and pout for 8 hours.  A strange guy acknowledged me by asking what I was doing there and I quickly replied that I was just taking in the sights.  Why are we so quick to lie sometimes?  I suppose it was a good thing I didn’t tell him the real reason – my seat mate’s stuff stinks to high heavens – because shortly after when I went back to my seat, there he was.  The guy who seemed concerned of my well being was the same guy who was causing me so much misery.

Of course he had to be nice.  Just when you make up your mind about someone, they surprise you in such a way that makes you feel like a jerk for thinking less of them to begin with.  He proceeded to move his bag and the rest of his stuff out of my way and you know, after that, the smell almost completely went away.  It was a miracle!  I could breathe and would be able to sit in my seat like a good girl for the remainder of the trip instead of throwing a mini tantrum with myself.  Something to know about my seat mate; he’s a talker.  He’s the kind of person who likes to meet new people and engage them.  I can be a bit introverted and can feel a little uncomfortable sometimes talking about myself so I imagined I was somewhat of a challenge for him.  It turned out that he was backpacking across the United States for the summer until he had to go back to school where he was studying to be a chemical engineer. He was a little over half way through his trip.  Could this be the explanation for the smell?  Has he not had a chance to do laundry?  Regardless, I couldn’t help but respect his pursuit of adventure and the courage it must take to go somewhere on the fly without preplanning it.  I had become the only person he knew that lives in Los Angeles.  I don’t think I’m an accurate representation of what most people who live in LA are like, so I hope I didn’t mislead him.  As he was headed there, he had no idea where he was going to stay.  He would just shrug and say that he would figure it out.  We didn’t make sense as you’re stereotypical human beings.  I’m the somewhat socially challenged type A actress and he was the deep thinking, existentialist engineer.  A perfect hodgepodge of left and right brain thinkers. 

We have to be slow to anger.  This is something I am constantly working on.  Instead of being stubborn and stuck in our own way, why not be open to life’s little gifts?  When life gives you lemons, make lemonade or if that affirmation is too corny for you, come up with one of your own that means the same.  Sometimes it’s well worth it to give someone the benefit of the doubt.  When I met my neighbors, I didn’t feel very trusting  of them because of the roughness of the neighborhood and the fact that I’m still pretty new in town and don’t know them very well yet.  I did my best to give them the benefit of the doubt.  One of my neighbors turned out to be the type of person who will only help you because he feels that he can use that as leverage when he knocks on your door at night asking for money.  “Remember that time I helped you?”  He used that line on me more than once and although I accepted his help in the past, I have never asked him for it.  On the other hand, a different neighbor pleasantly surprises me in that he remembers my name, always says “hi” and even asked how I like it here.  I shouldn’t have been so judgmental of the guy on the train and made all of those negative assumptions before I had even met him and learned of his situation.  I was so upset at the unpleasantness of my situation that I didn’t seek out the opportunities that were presenting itself to me.  Thankfully, life just sort of shoved me right to where I needed to be and I just went along for the ride.  I suppose my way of making up for being quick to anger and judgmental of others is by writing this and taking the time to reflect on my experience so that I can learn from it.  So before you get all worked up and think that life is beating you up with no way out, just breathe for a moment and try to see if you are being nudged in a different direction.  More likely than not, there is always an alternate path and it will probably be the more difficult path, but just recognize that it exists and believe that you have what it takes to go there.