The Lonely Commute…

Earlier in the day, a recent online acquaintance had relayed that he had just learned of the sudden death of a close friend. He was completely unprepared for the news. To make matters worse, he had received word a few days before that another friend had passed away. Our relationship is basically a 21st century version of pen pals in which we exchange messages about our day. The challenge is to include a cell phone picture which displays some aspect of our life. The point being to engage our mutual senses of creativity in a simple project. By restricting ourselves to cell phones, hopefully we can force ourselves to develop our creativity to overcome the limitations of the equipment.

What is really unique about this project is that it keeps my eyes open looking for some image to capture. Upon reading my friend’s news and the effect it was having on him, I was determined to capture something to express my sense of sympathy for his loss(es). Unfortunately, I had taken what I thought to be crappy pictures all day. During my commute home, I started to think about different concepts. As the train was rather crowded, I didn’t take any pictures.

Once the train reached Wellington Station, most of the passengers disembarked leaving me in an almost empty car. As it was dark outside, the black windows formed a dull reflection of the interior. I was sitting across from an empty bank of seats and the dim reflection showed me as the only occupant of the bank of seats on my side of the car. I snapped the picture.

I was pleased with how the image captured the idea of being alone. And that’s when it happened…

I realized I was alone. I was commuting home to an empty apartment. I was taking pictures to send to someone whom I will most likely never meet in person. I have all these virtual friends with whom I share the most intimate details of my life. Yet in the end I am still physically alone.

I remember when I had someone to go home to. That was not ideal either. I am not sure which is worse, to go home to an empty apartment or to go home to someone who makes you wish you were not at home. I guess the grass truly is greener…

I know that I mourn perfection. I mourn not having the “one” to go home to. I mourn not having a guy who is not only okay with all my deviances, but celebrates them. I mourn not having a guy who is as sexually twisted as I am but who also has his own nerdly pursuits. I mourn not having someone who can tease me for my own fallacies but accepts thos eccentricities without reservation.