Brakeman

I’m the last person to step onto the 7:51 and I’m feeling lucky I make it. Driving to the station I am on edge.  The clock on the dashboard says I’ve got two minutes.  The driver in front of us doesn’t seem to know which street he wants to turn on and therefore slows down at every intersection, his blinker flashing into perpetuity.  I’m silently cursing.  Okay, I might be audible, but I expel under my breath. I kiss him on the cheek before we’re even at a full stop. Running poorly in high heels, I thank the conductor at the door for holding the all clear sign until I’m on board.

We are clipping along at what feels like a faster pace than usual. The train is noticeably rocking on the track; I’m having a hard time reading my book. And then we stop. A voice comes over the public announcement system to tell us we’ve been involved in a pedestrian accident. Quiet resignation ripples through the air as the regulars settle in for what they know will be a lengthy delay.

Many people like to say these incidents are not accidents, that an individual has made a deliberate decision to exit an unbearable world.  However, on this day I imagine someone who, like me, is running late. Instead of taking a moment to consider whether the ramifications of tardiness are truly dire, a split-second decision is made to stay on a self-imposed schedule. This individual, I think, pays the ultimate price.

 

The train is undoubtedly filled with frustrated passengers.  Strangely, I am not one of them.  I find irony, and a signal to pay attention, when in rushing to stay on my own timetable I am stopped by someone else I presume to be doing the very same thing.

A woman a few rows behind me is seeking an iPhone charger.  I know most of us probably have one. I do. I pipe up and lend it.  Two little boys on the upper level with their father are quiet as mice for the entire 3 hour delay.  A woman across the aisle patiently works with her doctor’s office over the course of several phone calls to find space for her visit, as the next available appointment, we learn, is in August.  Others around me have much more pressing consequences than I do.

The conductors are rattled.  The engineer naturally unable to get it together when we’re finally able to move again.  As passengers we get very limited information about the incident.  Now, as I’m writing this, I feel compelled to find out the details.  Google quickly produces a short and concise synopsis. A pedestrian was struck 200 feet east of the station. Her death ruled a suicide.  She was 21. I have a 21 year old.  I am grateful.

I’ve seen angry and unruly behavior when mechanical failures take down a train.  I am impressed by the respect and humanity my fellow human beings exhibit on this day.  As I recount my amazement, especially given the divisive and angry state of our country at this moment in time, she reminds me we feed on the behavior around us.  Particularly that of our leaders. This I have witnessed personally and profoundly as the noise level in my home diminishes dramatically the day I decide to take yelling out of my communications repertoire.

She says there was a leader on this train, someone who steps outside of herself or himself, considers the situation and feelings of another human being and puts the other person first. Someone who models the behavior we all follow. I’m not sure who this is.  The impeccably behaved little boys on the upper level?  The woman with the doctor’s appointment?  Me?  It can be anyone and everyone.  There are a multitude of situations every single day where we get to choose how we will behave. We’re all leaders with the power to create positive behavior in others by modeling it ourselves.  It’s magical stuff.  Have you given it a try?