Routine

I stare lazily two blocks ahead, where bridge traffic moves steadily in parallel lines, cars and trucks intently following the one-way streets, compulsively propelled forward by the next stoplight, always striving for green. But the red light just as often gives unconscious comfort...they have no choice, they must stop and wait, unlike the green which can impose the terror of possibilities.

Do all these people, drivers and pedestrians, really think about where they are going? Streaming out of the train station toward the exits, they instincitively began to queue up to align themselves with the revolving doors at the far end. Once freed of the station, they are immediately re-encumbered by the overriding thought--to move quickly, to get to the office on time, to start yet another work day.

I am not immune. I am also propelled forward by the unconscious thought of my destination, where my desk, my coffee mug and the morning news all await me, as they do every day. The comfort of the routine.