I sit in my seat as the subway car winds its way through the underground labrynth, slowly pushing me towards my destination, many miles away. I passively sit as life propels me to somewhere else, I
wait for each stop, and prepare to get off the train once my station is reached.
Sometimes it can feel all so out of control. Will the train jump its tracks? Are we going the right way? What's happening? Yet I, in all my uniqueness, am only afforded two options: stay on for the ride or leave. None seems good enough; neither is without its own pain.
The subway can leave you feeling out of control, just a peon along for the thrill, waiting to deal with that which you're served.
And so it seems these days.
Blind luck brings me face to face with a rabbi whom I've admired for some time. I introduce myself, and he's quickly exited. Are you him? Are you that guy? Tell me your wisdom. Give me an answer.
A few days and as many meetings later, I find a fellow in my struggle, someone who knows what it feels like and is here to share in the emotions. I find a job and another guide, someone to look to, someone who wants to look at me.
This doesn't need to be lonely, I learn. There are others. It's all for a greater good.
But so quickly I forget again.
And in the existential solitude, the subway car seems to take on a mind of its own. Where is it leading me? So quickly I've forgotten.
The pain builds, I feel the impatience burn through my skin. It hurts. It hurts so badly.
The train is running local. I wait past each extra stop. I recognize where I'm going but wonder ultimately where I'm being led.
I gasp for air. A few more stops, I tell myself. I'm so close, I'm almost there. Just hang on.
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