"Don't take life too serious. You'll never escape it alive anyway." ~ Elbert Hubbard (1856-1915).
Some people take the above quotation too literally; some need to adhere to it more often. I probably fit into the latter category. Too often, I find myself under piles of work and stress, struggling to claw my way out. You probably wouldn't know, though, just by looking at me.
Have you ever looked at people and wondered what they were like or what they were thinking? Not for a particular reason or because you had to, but just out of boredom?
I've decided that people-watching is one of my favorite sports (or at least pastimes.) Although it's likely that I'll never know whether I am right or not, I try and decide who takes life too seriously and who thinks their time on Earth is one big joke.
I most often make my observations at home, in New York City, not because the people there are necessarily more interesting than those in Buffalo but because I usually have more time while sitting on the train or waiting for someone on a Manhattan corner.
The best people to watch are on the subway. I'm usually on the six train (yes, J. Lo's line) going from the Bronx to random places throughout Manhattan, and since I get on at the beginning of the line, I am afforded the luxury of seeing dozens of people get on and off at several stops.
The advantage to the subway is that people from all walks of life can be found in the city's tunnels getting from here to there and back. Although it's rare to see a random person twice, I have found some regulars to watch and wonder about.
There is conductor that has to be at least 60 years old. She has orange hair, lots of earrings, and the little area between her lower lip and chin pierced. I used to see her on my way home from work, and I would always wonder what she was like - whether she had grandkids, was married . when she got her piercing. She, I decided, probably does not take life too seriously.
There was a bank teller that I would see every week at HSBC - all professionalism and seriousness in the bank but the complete opposite on the train; his tie was loosened, his shirt opened . I always wondered if he recognized me, and if so, if he even cared that I saw him outside of his boring bank-teller persona. Unlike the conductor, he probably did need to loosen up a bit.
Most interesting to watch (and postulate about), though, are the random people that you will never see again. I've watched people ranging from Pee Wee Herman clones to Barbie doll wannabes to seemingly ordinary people - all navigating the city's mass transit system - and have decided that most people, like myself, are in need of a little less seriousness.
One day, I decided to write a book about the people I saw. I wrote a chapter (in my head), and it sounded pretty good - nothing too serious, just some random observations about people that either looked like life was getting the better of them or that were living life like there was no tomorrow.
As soon as I exited the train, though, my thoughts scattered. I'm not sure that people would want to read that book anyway. Most of us are too self-absorbed to care about the unguarded actions of others.
To me, though, the thoughtless motions that people go through are the proverbial keys to their souls. When people don't know they are being watched, they are calm, natural, at ease. A person's unshielded mannerisms can speak volumes.
I've found far more people who look weary and beaten than bright-eyed and cheerful. When I see the more disheartened-looking people, I usually look inward at my own problems and think about how they translate to the outside world. I ask myself if my (usually) trivial problems are even worth taking seriously when some people look as though they have been beaten by life.
This past weekend, I was at a party at home. I was practically the only person there under 40 and the DJ played songs that were popular back when dinosaurs roamed the Earth. I didn't go because I wanted to, but because I knew it would make my parents happy. The only thing I had to do was watch people, and that's what I did.
I watched the dance floor, feeling totally out of place and as about 30 people danced, I realized that if I couldn't hear the music, it would appear as though all 30 people were dancing to a different song. Watching them, though, I realized that they were all having fun, oblivious to the fact that collectively, they looked ridiculous.
None of them, at least at that moment, were taking life too seriously. Maybe if I had seen them some other day in another place, I would have thought they needed a break or some cheering up, but at that moment, they had struck a balance between life's gravity and lightheartedness.
I thought about Hubbard and realized that if you take life too seriously, you will spend your life trying to escape it instead if enjoying it. If you manage, instead, to strike that balance, you won't have to escape at all.
