Last night, I thought a lot about movement and windows.
I thought a lot about the lives people were leading – how they were doing, where they were going.
I’ve started taking the train to work – I’ve talked about this before, but as
every day passes, this seems to be more and more of a viable option for us. To be honest, I feel so much more rested and composed when I do not have to drive for 1 ½ hours on one of the busiest roads I’ve ever driven. More than that, riding while someone else is “driving,” gives me the time and opportunity to sort and process all of my thoughts from a given day, or a given week, or a given relationship.
Last night, I was reminded why I love to live in a city like Philadelphia.
When you’re riding in from the suburbs in the evening, there is darkness. Even from the tracks of public transit, you can see the homes, lawns, and privacy fences of those who were tired of the City and ready to literally “get away.” There’s less graffiti, more trees, and the tracks become slightly more removed from its surroundings.
Riding back into the city, there are monolithically constructed buildings of mortar and reflective glass. There, all the tracks seem to coalesce at 30th Street Station in University City. The remnants of older trains stand guard as you enter into a grand old station.
There is graffiti.
I thought a lot about the lives people were leading – how they were doing, where they were going.
I’ve started taking the train to work – I’ve talked about this before, but as
every day passes, this seems to be more and more of a viable option for us. To be honest, I feel so much more rested and composed when I do not have to drive for 1 ½ hours on one of the busiest roads I’ve ever driven. More than that, riding while someone else is “driving,” gives me the time and opportunity to sort and process all of my thoughts from a given day, or a given week, or a given relationship.Last night, I was reminded why I love to live in a city like Philadelphia.
When you’re riding in from the suburbs in the evening, there is darkness. Even from the tracks of public transit, you can see the homes, lawns, and privacy fences of those who were tired of the City and ready to literally “get away.” There’s less graffiti, more trees, and the tracks become slightly more removed from its surroundings.
Riding back into the city, there are monolithically constructed buildings of mortar and reflective glass. There, all the tracks seem to coalesce at 30th Street Station in University City. The remnants of older trains stand guard as you enter into a grand old station.
There is graffiti.
There are few trees.
There is chain link, but no privacy.
There are city lights. There, on the left, is the art museum. There are people bustling to get out of the city and people hustling to get their next meal (or, their next drink, or, their next fix). The buildings of mortar and reflective glass are lit like Christmas trees covered with votives and garland – beautiful in a way that an urbanite would appreciate.
In a city like Philadelphia, the tower of Babel has fallen and there really seems to be mass confusion. Despite the fact, people have decided to stay for one reason or another; they have decided to love the city. Perhaps it’s a mere tacit approval; perhaps they’re here because they couldn’t have afforded the quiet life in the suburbs – but the fact remains that all 1.4 million of them are here.
Last night I thought about movement and windows.
I thought about how the past has been left behind and how that same past has shaped my loves and desires today.
I thought about all the people who had come and gone through my own life – where they were going, what they were doing.
Sometimes, I wonder if they ever think of me.
A city in all of its grandeur is a stark reminder of the reminder of a world broken by sin. Someone once asked me what I like about the city, and that (in a nut shell) is it. It’s easy for my skin to become thick when I am removed from a situation, a people, or a reality. The city allows me to be surrounded by the beauty that is man created in the image of the Divine. The city allows me to be surrounded by the death that is man breaking the covenant made with the Divine.
There are city lights. There, on the left, is the art museum. There are people bustling to get out of the city and people hustling to get their next meal (or, their next drink, or, their next fix). The buildings of mortar and reflective glass are lit like Christmas trees covered with votives and garland – beautiful in a way that an urbanite would appreciate.
In a city like Philadelphia, the tower of Babel has fallen and there really seems to be mass confusion. Despite the fact, people have decided to stay for one reason or another; they have decided to love the city. Perhaps it’s a mere tacit approval; perhaps they’re here because they couldn’t have afforded the quiet life in the suburbs – but the fact remains that all 1.4 million of them are here.
Last night I thought about movement and windows.
I thought about how the past has been left behind and how that same past has shaped my loves and desires today.
I thought about all the people who had come and gone through my own life – where they were going, what they were doing.
Sometimes, I wonder if they ever think of me.
A city in all of its grandeur is a stark reminder of the reminder of a world broken by sin. Someone once asked me what I like about the city, and that (in a nut shell) is it. It’s easy for my skin to become thick when I am removed from a situation, a people, or a reality. The city allows me to be surrounded by the beauty that is man created in the image of the Divine. The city allows me to be surrounded by the death that is man breaking the covenant made with the Divine.
[The picture used in this blog was found on Wikipedia and taken by "surplusparts." Picture used under the guidelines of Creative Commons Attribution 2.0]
