As New Yorkers, we can pretty much say we consider ourselves as commuters within our city. There are endless possibilities explaining why someone would share the same subway car as you at 9:00 a.m. on a Monday morning. Some people might be running late for a job interview—feeling your stomach grumble, signaling that you wish you’d had something for breakfast, makes you trace where the smell of coffee is coming from in the train car. Then, when you get a whiff of an expensive perfume paired with the sound of heels clicking, you turn your head around and say to yourself, “I wish I had it like her.” Even though we, New Yorkers, may all fall under the same category when the word commuter is mentioned, our different backstories draw a line, differentiating us from everyone else.
Being authentic as I see it is more than just showcasing who you are. Often, we may need to put on a different persona because of what our daily lives require us to be. We never really see people in scrubs outside of their uniform, and if we do, we assume that they would have never dressed in any other way. Our minds are trained to create a false narrative of a person’s life based on their initial physical appearance. However, authenticity can be found in the simpler choices we make in our daily lives, such as which shortcut we choose to follow while walking to the train or what we carry inside our bag.
On the N train at 9 a.m., you’ll find me sitting in the corner seat drinking an iced coffee (regular milk, two sugar, two pumps caramel, two pumps hazelnut) listening to my “Morning Mood” playlist while leaning my head on the window, going from borough to borough, prepared to take on the day. You see, we all are in the same steel car, sharing minutes of our days in the same space, but we each hold our own thoughts, choices, and responsibilities, which make us who we truly are inside.
I began to use these big steel machines called “trains” alone in my sophomore year of high school. I was used to other forms of technology in my life, such as phones, laptops, and iPads, but as of September 2021, I had just discovered a new form of technology that eventually shaped me into a new person.
My train rides every morning on the N or W by one of the coolest views in Queens—Queensboro Plaza. I get a glance of the sunrise shining on the reflection of the building windows; I see the horizon of how long the train really is when it wraps around to make a stop at the station. Sometimes, I’d stare into the apartments that stood parallel to where I was sitting. I like how looking outside a train window gives me a sensation different from that of an airplane or a car window. Trains in particular provide a special view where I’m neither too close to ground level nor too high. Paying closer attention to where I was sitting, I realized that the most authentic versions of people I could see were through the views I had when looking through the glass at their offices or homes, not the versions I’d see when strolling down the streets on ground level.
Watching how other people decided to showcase their personalities through decorations in their homes made me excited—thinking about how, one day, I’ll have a place of my own and customize it with bright green plants, dimmed lights, and beige walls to fit my true self in the same way everyone else did. Sitting in a train car, I realized that I was slowly starting to live the future that the sophomore year me had dreamed of—going to college and having a job. I comforted myself with the fact that, similar to the distance I had between those homes, my dream life wasn’t too far off after all.
The stops that the train makes resemble the points I have gone through in life to get to where I am now. Ironically enough, most of those personality-changing moments happened to occur on the train. I’ve read texts like, “I’m sorry, I just don’t see how this is going to work anymore,” or “Congratulations on graduating high school, can’t believe how much we’ve grown!” on unassuming train rides. I learned the essence of letting go of people who don’t want to be held and the importance of those who care about me.
When the trains are crowded and all I can feel is the excessive heat from both my jacket and the heat of the train, I get overstimulated; the last thing I needed was to read a breakup text through the phone when I’m about to lose service and can’t respond. Looking back, losing phone service in the tunnels was a good thing; it would force me to process my thoughts for at least two minutes before responding. Because of those few stops, I was able to possess a trait that has helped me grow as a person: the ability to process my thoughts first before speaking.
I believe that an interesting aspect of the trains are how much their functions can resemble parts of my life. For example, each train has a specific path that it takes to complete its commuting journey, similar to how I have a designated path to get to my end goal. By the end of the day, I’d doze off into my thoughts, reflecting on what I just did with my life today and thinking about what I want to do for the rest of my life. Naturally, I’d look at the people who somewhat look like how I’d want to show up on the train after four years or so. After getting a degree and securing a job, I, too, want to wear the clacking heels and expensive perfume.
Reflecting on the influence that trains have had on my authentic self, I can’t help but think about how many situations I have gone through in a train car that have helped me pick up on the certain personality traits I never really knew I had. I like my coffee really sweet, I love the smell of expensive perfume, and I like taking the longer path to the train station to enjoy the fresh morning air.
Trains feel like a second home to me. I don’t need to worry about driving it or being overwhelmed by the reality of the world sometimes. I just hop on, sink into my own world, and enjoy the ride. I might need a few more train rides to help me finally reach my destination.