There is no such thing as sanity. I
truly believe that sanity is a comfortable figment of our collective
imaginations, a title we place upon people that tend to act in the same general
manners as one another. That, or it means sobriety. But no, I think that sanity
is a ruse, a thin sheet of ice under sun rays that we like to skate over. I
live in a world that is insane. I am probably insane myself.
Take my train ride to the airport for example. I went to pick up my best friend who is visiting from Virginia. Hallelujah I have a friend in Seattle for four whole days. And within the first ten minutes I notice this short, chubby gentleman with beady eyes and a fine layer of perspiration covering his beige skin. He appeared to be of Indian descent. I felt those eyes lock onto my face the moment I entered the cab. It began as ceaseless staring, even when I looked back. That's okay, he's a few aisles away. Stare out the window, fiddle with the phone, put in headphones even though there's no service for Pandora. But then he moves. Oh god he's moving, releasing a putrid cloud of stale body odor into the very air I am cursed to breathe right now. He shuffles his way towards me, battling imbalance on the moving train, and with dedication and perseverance takes a strong hold of the pole right next to me. He must be getting off on the next stop; I can hold my breath until then and refuse eye contact. Breathe. Focus. No, he's moving inevitably closer. The train stops, the doors open, but he makes no move to exit. He's standing over me, staring down at me. He's inches away. Why. Why me. I look up and I'm met with those beady eyes boring into my soul, a leering smile on his face, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath he takes. I look away quickly. I'd like to think if I ignore him, he'll leave, but clearly he is motivated by inattentiveness. There is an empty cab and four exit doors and he is standing four inches away from me. I look at him and the corners of his mouth rise even higher. Enough is enough. I raise my hands and motion for him to step back. He nods his head and waves at me. Okay I'm not ruling out mental illness, so I want to be kind, but a line needs to be drawn. "Excuse me, miss," he says, as if I wouldn't have his attention if he just started speaking; he might as well be sitting in my lap. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, I want to apologize, I'm sorry." Compassion, Sara, compassion. I grit my teeth and say, "It's okay, you're just very close and I don't know you. I think you should go sit back down over there." Then the train came to a stop and he exited.
Headphones back in. Next comes a group of young men no doubt intoxicated by many different substances. They. Are. So. Loud. They rattle off Chubaka yodels as they pound out their pull ups on the train poles. Every rider is thoroughly disgruntled and as Seattle's skyline passes by my window I play this fantasy in my head where I boldly march up to the group and in a steady, fierce voice, declare to them that they are the most shameful display of adolescent testosterone that I have ever seen and that they should man up and learn to handle whatever it is they have used to intoxicate themselves. The fantasy doesn't satisfy my rigid anger but I suppose it staves off some of the frustration. Get me to this airport.
Upon arriving, the maze of parking garages, train terminals, and airport gates throws me for a loop and it’s almost midnight and I just want to see my best friend and pretend to be sane for a little while. But you know what, the beauty that is unfolding before my eyes as I stand here at the exit for her gate lightens my heart and reminds me that insanity can be beautiful too. Two girls, who have clearly maintained a romantic relationship from some unknown distance, embrace and kiss passionately, and I can only imagine how long it's been since the two were together, and damn I feel as lonely as I feel moved by the scene. And then two friends run and meet in an extraordinary hug and I'm even more excited for my best friend to walk through the door. And a young guy stands with a huge bouquet of flowers and a sign I can't read, and my heart pounds harder for him as I see him pace anxiously, waiting for someone special to him to walk through that door. Because you know, we're all a little insane. We all love deeply, we all have insecurities and desires and fears, we all want to love and be loved. We want to be good enough, man enough, wild enough, accepted enough, and as hard as it is to admit sometimes, I think I like this insane world I live in and I doubt I’d have it any other way.
Take my train ride to the airport for example. I went to pick up my best friend who is visiting from Virginia. Hallelujah I have a friend in Seattle for four whole days. And within the first ten minutes I notice this short, chubby gentleman with beady eyes and a fine layer of perspiration covering his beige skin. He appeared to be of Indian descent. I felt those eyes lock onto my face the moment I entered the cab. It began as ceaseless staring, even when I looked back. That's okay, he's a few aisles away. Stare out the window, fiddle with the phone, put in headphones even though there's no service for Pandora. But then he moves. Oh god he's moving, releasing a putrid cloud of stale body odor into the very air I am cursed to breathe right now. He shuffles his way towards me, battling imbalance on the moving train, and with dedication and perseverance takes a strong hold of the pole right next to me. He must be getting off on the next stop; I can hold my breath until then and refuse eye contact. Breathe. Focus. No, he's moving inevitably closer. The train stops, the doors open, but he makes no move to exit. He's standing over me, staring down at me. He's inches away. Why. Why me. I look up and I'm met with those beady eyes boring into my soul, a leering smile on his face, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath he takes. I look away quickly. I'd like to think if I ignore him, he'll leave, but clearly he is motivated by inattentiveness. There is an empty cab and four exit doors and he is standing four inches away from me. I look at him and the corners of his mouth rise even higher. Enough is enough. I raise my hands and motion for him to step back. He nods his head and waves at me. Okay I'm not ruling out mental illness, so I want to be kind, but a line needs to be drawn. "Excuse me, miss," he says, as if I wouldn't have his attention if he just started speaking; he might as well be sitting in my lap. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, I want to apologize, I'm sorry." Compassion, Sara, compassion. I grit my teeth and say, "It's okay, you're just very close and I don't know you. I think you should go sit back down over there." Then the train came to a stop and he exited.
Headphones back in. Next comes a group of young men no doubt intoxicated by many different substances. They. Are. So. Loud. They rattle off Chubaka yodels as they pound out their pull ups on the train poles. Every rider is thoroughly disgruntled and as Seattle's skyline passes by my window I play this fantasy in my head where I boldly march up to the group and in a steady, fierce voice, declare to them that they are the most shameful display of adolescent testosterone that I have ever seen and that they should man up and learn to handle whatever it is they have used to intoxicate themselves. The fantasy doesn't satisfy my rigid anger but I suppose it staves off some of the frustration. Get me to this airport.
Upon arriving, the maze of parking garages, train terminals, and airport gates throws me for a loop and it’s almost midnight and I just want to see my best friend and pretend to be sane for a little while. But you know what, the beauty that is unfolding before my eyes as I stand here at the exit for her gate lightens my heart and reminds me that insanity can be beautiful too. Two girls, who have clearly maintained a romantic relationship from some unknown distance, embrace and kiss passionately, and I can only imagine how long it's been since the two were together, and damn I feel as lonely as I feel moved by the scene. And then two friends run and meet in an extraordinary hug and I'm even more excited for my best friend to walk through the door. And a young guy stands with a huge bouquet of flowers and a sign I can't read, and my heart pounds harder for him as I see him pace anxiously, waiting for someone special to him to walk through that door. Because you know, we're all a little insane. We all love deeply, we all have insecurities and desires and fears, we all want to love and be loved. We want to be good enough, man enough, wild enough, accepted enough, and as hard as it is to admit sometimes, I think I like this insane world I live in and I doubt I’d have it any other way.
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