Sometimes I feel like I am walking around in a bubble. This is an experience that mainly comes when I am focused on my legs and the pain that I feel.
I noticed this yesterday when I walked down Nicollet Avenue, slowly making my way along the 3 blocks from the bus stop to the light rail platform. Each step was a grumpy reminder that one or both my legs were not happy with what I was asking them to do. My focus on my legs and discomfort put my awareness squarely on my leg movement. I was only slightly aware of the activity around me. I walked in my own private bubble.
When I finally stood on the platform waiting for the light rail train, I noticed the family almost pressed up against me. All had brown skin and they spoke soft words of spanish. The young five year old boy and I exchanged looks occasionally. They otherwise were nestled in their own bubble. But my own bubble had somewhat dissolved.
I watched carefully as each new person came on to the platform. Almost all with skin tones darker than mine. Heads turned to see where the harsh and loud words were coming from, a loud and upset man walking behind us. I was more interested in watching the watchers.
On the train, a few students trickled in as we approached the university. I felt more and more immersed in a cultural and economic milieu I hardly ever experience in my limited corner of the world. The platform I stepped onto at the university east bank station was a mix of students, and I was aware that I had entered a whole different mix of humanity. Culturally and economically I had, in just a few steps, become aware of a new surrounding.
My legs still hurt, but my bubble had become less isolating. My bubble had begun to dissolve when I shuffled up the incline to the down town Minneapolis platform. I gradually became more attentive to people all around me. I may not yet be ready to fully embrace them, but I had become more aware of my people. Perhaps my bubble simply got a little larger.