I decided to hop on public transportation a couple days ago. I thought it'd be a grand chance for me to explore Williamsburg while also connecting in a very real way with the community in which I now live.
I get like that. Really idealistic without actually understanding my idealistic choices. This could be used to explain my current Super 8 situation. So, feeling really noble and super communal, I sit at a bus stop. A bus appeared after about twenty minutes of strained conversation with a Russian woman. I learned something once I boarded: apparently, buses have routes. They aren't cabs. Unfortunate. In the spirit of adventure, I stayed on the bus even though I was a little confused (no clue) on where it was heading.
It took me to the hub. The transportation center. And, for whatever poorly thought out reason, I got out. I got out and stood, waiting for the bus of magic to come, pick me up, and take me to my dreams. It didn't. I was alone. It started raining a lot. Up until this point, it hadn't rained in Williamsburg during my time here. It rains, for the first time, while I stand alone miles from my hotel waiting for something (I had lost hope in the bus). Because of my failing hope in the bus, I also thought "I've lost hope in my government." If they can't get me to Panera, can they really win a war or end poverty or improve health care or education or rising prison rates? Yeah, it's frightening.
I chuckled. That was grace.
And, a bus arrived. Took me somewhere decent. And, my faith was restored in the government. Or, at least the buses.
Grace has been popping up in my life almost as sporadically as the bus. And, so far, I can count on this truth: Like the bus, grace will arrive. I just have no idea when or where it'll take me.
I'm down with that.