Hold Up! Wait for Meeeeee!

The thing about the trash and recycling situation in our ‘hood is that we have to transport our household refuse to a far-ish away curb where the town trucks collect it.

When we first learned the ways of the community, I loaded our lil recycling bins and authorized orange trash bags into the Radio Flyer wagon and rattled my way to the aforementioned drop zone. 

Now I make it happen with the seat down and a tarp in our lil green hatchback. ?

Last week it was raining.

I’d taught a full day in Boston, we’d put the boys in bed, I’d taught another lesson that evening, and by 9pm, the weather was still BYOArk. ?

“I’m gonna take the trash to the curb in the morning on my way to the train,” I announced before collapsing on the sofa.

The little Jiminy Cricket voice inside piped up and alerted me that this plan was much like the fabled “I’ll just get gas in the morning,” but I assured my conscience insect that this was a different deal.

Cut to Thursday morning.

I’m leaving the house with my two bags and mug of coffee and speed kisses, and it’s the same chunk of time I always allow to get to the train station, except I have to get the gahbage in the cah.

I sling it in the back and make my way to the dump site. “Flight of the Bumblebee” ?plays while I situate the bags and bins among my neighbors’ contributions, and I zoom my merry way toward the station.

Then the school bus intersection-blocks me. ?

And the kids are taking their SWEET time getting on.?

Then there’s the kid who’s waiting in the car with his mom who gets out after the kids get on the bus and saunters to the waiting doors. ?

(I make up a sad tale of why he’s waiting with his mom instead of with the other kids and say a prayer for him because maybe school sucks right now. But still! I gotta go, kid!)

Everything’s fine. I’m gonna make it. The trees are beautiful. The air is cool. I’m sill catching the earlier train, so there should still be a couple of parking spots on the near side of the tracks. More praying. ?

I get to the main road toward the station, and the half a mile stretch that’s usually clear is backed up. ?

I check the clock.

Still time.

Jesus, take the wheel and get me to the train on time.

The parking lot comes into view.

The train that originates at the Framingham station dings along and stops beside the platform. I’m sitting in traffic surveying the parking sitch while the train sits twenty feet away.

The. Parking. Spaces. Are. Full. ?

God grant me the serenity to figure out how to get this Scion to off-road across these tracks and into a spot legal or otherwise that won’t be noticed by traffic authorities.

Such a provision doesn’t emerge.

I must wait in the left turn arrow death lane to make the around-my-ass-to-get-to-my-elbow journey to the north parking lot.

I can still make it.

I drive at a speed that I’m positive will allow me ample braking time for pedestrians while also conveying me to the nearest spot to the track crossover.

I pull in. I park.

Phone ✅ wallet ✅ keys ✅

I jog-sprint up the crossover stairs two at a time, Chariots-of-Fire my way over the tracks, and shimmy down the stairs on the other side doing some clever choreo with my messenger bag and the old Tom’s tote I carry my apples and trail mix in.

I’m on the last landing when I hear the train brakes hiss and the fateful DING DING.

I will not be taking part in this particular train journey.

There she goes without me.

I did play out a running along the platform waving my hands shouting waaaaaaiiiiiiit for meeeeeeee scenario in my head, but I’d already nearly clotheslined myself with my bag strap hurtling down the metal stairs, so I’d already met my opportunities for humiliation quota.

Womp Womp.

Not gonna lie. When that train pulled out I felt like a three-year-old expecting Reese’s Pieces who’d just been served a plate of room temp boiled Brussels sprouts.

My ego scanned the morning for someone or something to BLAME!

The school bus!

No, that sauntering kid.

The traffic!

The Massholes that took my parking spot!

The minivan who didn’t go IMMEDIATELY when the left arrow turned green.

Then that real annoying gut grab when I arrived at the end of my accusation algebra.

As Elphaba so aptly belts, “It’s meeeeeeeeeeee ?.”

The equation solved for one Dan Callaway who coulda
a) taken the trash out in the rain or
b) left the house early.

Dammit Janet.

Here’s the good news for you, though, from my train debacle.

? I was only five minutes late for my first lesson. Phew. Then, the lesson after that had to cancel, so we had extra time to learn about breathing. woot!

? I saw a colleague I’d been meaning to talk to for a couple weeks getting off the train, so we were able to chat.

Do you ever feel like you missed your train? I’ve definitely had that feeling.

The great news is that yes, that train left the station. And as they like to say in the 12 Steps, rejection is protection.

Or as my girl Byron Katie taught me, you’ve been spared. That’s the only possibility.

There was another train. There’ll be another train.

Or maybe you even have a car and an EZPass—there’ll prolly be traffic, but there are transport possibilities.

And then there’s the list of other modes that may be available to you.

What’s your bye bye train?

Have you allowed ample time to let your toddler self rail against the unfairness of it all? Go ‘head—you gotta do it before you can see clearly. Let the rain fall and the storm clouds clear.

Now, what’s available to you so that you can get a little closer to Boston?

Phone a friend? ☎️

Call that teacher or coach that’s been popping up on your radar? ??‍?

?Take out a scrap piece of paper and a pen and write down things that might be fun like
?“sing in front of folks and enjoy it,”
?“tell a great story in a theatre with terrific people,” or
?“write a story for me to tell that no one else seems to be telling right now.”
?

Are there some idears popping up that weren’t there when you started reading my sordid train narrative?

Hope so. Write em down!! ✏️

You can always email me with some ideas, and I can help you trouble shoot, too. I love cooking up crazy things for you to try.

So yes, the train left.

And clearly you weren’t meant to be on it. You know how I know? You weren’t on it.

Congratulations!

Start making your way to Boston another way, and you may end up in an awesome surprise destination you didn’t even know was on the conductor’s route. (This is almost always the case. See my post from January 2020 for anecdotal evidence. Thanks, Life.)

No matter where you are on your journey, REMEMBER THIS! Yes, I’m yelling. There’s only one you, and folks need to hear the story that only you can sing.

Love much,
Dan

ps You know I gotta hit you with the family Halloween pic. We had a blast trick or treating in our ‘hood, and people were so EXCITED just to see other humans having fun together. 

pps And I liked these shots I grabbed of the Framingham station on a much less harried day.