Shaking it off

Riding the train this morning at rush hour, I spot a woman as she enters the car. Nothing really out of the ordinary about her. She's well dressed in a dark gray suit and light pink raincoat; she has really great hair, a small nose ring and a slightly weathered leather bag. Not to be stereotypical or anything, but she strikes me as an art major turned not-for-profit-intern turned corporate powerhouse. Just a hunch.

Anyway, what's striking about her is not what she's wearing, but the fact that she is visibly upset. Not weeping openly, but teary and emotional. She focuses her eyes on nothing, sort of down and to the right, in the way that lets you know her brain is going a mile a minute. She is not happy.

But, and here's the real thing, she's working through it. She is clearly working her way through this issue. I can tell by the way she is breathing that a conversation of some kind is running through her mind. She cocks her head just slightly to the side in reaction to something she's reliving. Then she blinks a few times and moves it to the other side. Her breathing slows. Her eyes are drying. She's making this happen. Whatever her problem is, be it her boyfriend, husband, goldfish or simply the fact that Daughtry was totally robbed on Idol last week, she is kneading it out, examining the angles, and making herself feel better. It's impressive, really.

She cracks a half smile, visibly shakes it all off, reaches into her bag and pulls out her book, which just happens to be Devil in the White City, Chicago's favorite little piece of nonfiction. She's done it. She can face her day now with a clearer head. It's inspirational, really, watching this person bring herself to a better place. That takes effort. That takes stamina.

I can't help but smile myself as I shift my focus to the window. Could I do that if I had to? Could I manage to wrangle my emotions and get myself on track in such a public place? I notice a large brown bird flying rather close to the train, matching our speed exactly. Just as I begin to ponder the relevance of this bird, of this woman, of everything, it takes a huge mid-flight crap. A huge, spherical ball of goop just drops out of its little bird ass. I have never seen anything like this. I guess I never really imagined birds could do it that way, en route somewhere. How economical! How marvelous!

It's going to be a good day.