Making the Bus
It never fails to delight me that I just manage to make the bus in the nick of time. Out of everything I could’ve chosen to find delightful, I chose making the bus in a close call. Maybe that delight is rooted in the calm of not running late. Maybe that delight is just disguised relief. But to me, it’s something much more; my delight of barely making the bus in time is really the sudden hit of dopamine after a period of severe deficit, that is to say, the comparative joy and reward I feel as I just make the bus which contrasts with my “less-slow-than-usual” start to the morning:
Sometimes I wake up, heart racing. The noise of that recurrent, rhythmic, obnoxious beep from my alarm clock rattles through my head as I lean over and read the time on my phone. 6:30 it reads. I overslept. A wave of adrenaline rushed through me as my feet hit the floor, knocking me right out of my lethargic state. A plan began to formulate for how I am going to make the bus that arrives in 15 minutes. I picture myself 15 minutes later sitting down on those comfortable bus seats closing my eyes and smiling as it pulls away from the building, knowing that I made it. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not obsessed with the bus or anything but I would take the bus over having to take the MRT anyday, especially at 7AM and with the fear that I may have to take the latter. I almost have it. I think to myself. In just 15 minutes I could be walking out to the stop as the bus somehow pulls up at the same moment.
I threw my clothes on the floor in the corner of my bathroom as I reached for my toothbrush. Where did the toothpaste go!? My frantic state put me into tunnel vision, preventing me from realizing that it was already in my other hand. I knew that this little crisis routine of mine wasn’t pretty, but it didn’t need to be. I just needed to make the bus.
I hurried back out to pick up my pre-packed bag the night before, while mentally patting myself on the back for that. Thank god I’m responsible, I thought to myself as I lugged my bag onto my back and darted for my shoes. Once again my mind drifted, drawn to the scenario of me walking out to the bus stop and unexpectedly seeing the bus pull up just in time. I imagined myself walking down to the back of the bus, delighted at my luck, knowing that if I was just one minute later, I would be forced to take the comparatively arduous journey on the MRT.
Expectedly, once I got down there I saw nothing. Did I really miss it? I checked the time: 6:50. I am right on time and the bus hasn’t come yet, or so I thought. Did the bus already leave? I questioned the bus’s punctuality as I surveyed the street. Suddenly, a great wave of relief washed over me as my muscles went from tense to relaxed. My eyes then peered down the street as that familiar shape came into view. The bus eventually halted to a stop in front of me as the door swung open and I stepped onto the bus. Those scenarios I fantasized myself being in turned out to be true. I couldn't help but smile at my luck before dozing off for the second time that morning in those familiar bus seats.
Maybe my delight runs deeper than that sudden relief. Maybe it’s the satisfaction and thrill of knowing that I used every second perfectly to make the bus, racing against time and coming in on a tie. This delight is a moment of luck when everything comes together in my favor at the end. It's the transition from the adrenaline rush of the close call to the triumph I feel having just arrived when the clock strikes. I can’t wait for my next race against time.