Oncoming traffic.

Making time to be bored.

This morning the train doors clunked and slid open with a familiar mechanical rhythm. I stepped out into a wall of cold air and began the final leg of my journey. The dozens of people who take this commute each day slowly squeezed into the station through a single open door. Together, we quickly climbed the steps and spread out into the city. But as we collectively made our way up the stairs, one man was descending them. I looked up just before walking right into him.

For whatever reason, I wasn’t on my phone this morning. No maps, no Instagram, no killing time. I didn’t do anything on the train. I wasn’t appreciating the beauty of the world as it flashed past, lost in the architecture and trees. I just sat and waited. I was bored. I felt like a kid, actively looking for things that were interesting. I was hungry for something to look at or think about. What can I laugh at? What can I read? Who is on the train?

So I giggled at the school girls pulling ugly faces and taking photos. I read: the maps, the ads, the cover of the book the woman sitting next to me was reading. I was looking, and because I was looking, I saw. I saw that man before I crashed into him. I probably would have moved out of his way in any case, but I felt special. I felt like I was the only one on the staircase that clocked him, like it was our secret. I made space for him, but no one else even noticed that he was there. It feels silly to cling to this, but I can’t help but dream, what else can I see that others won’t?

What happens if I am always bored, always looking for something to see, to do? In my wild, naive imagination, it means adventure. My childlike wonder is reignited, and the same old streets and shops turn into colourful, twisting stories. I want to come home and say, “you won’t believe what I found today!” That feels so much more vivid and alive than my Instagram feed. Maybe I just need to follow the right accounts. Or maybe, the world is a little more magical if you just look up.