Public Privacy

It's a typical Thursday morning. I put my sunglasses on as I leave the house, pop in my earbuds and turn on my iPod, and walk a few blocks to the subway. I go down the stairs and take my place by the tracks. I try to smile at the person standing next to me. Then I fish out my book from my bag. Right now I'm reading another C.S. Lewis book, occasionally I pull out the latest version of The Advocate. The train comes, I manage to find a spot; sometimes standing, sometimes sitting. I smile at my new subway mates and if the train lurches or takes a fast corner, I will occassionally make a comment or two to the people standing near me. I try to be friendly.

Today was different. As I stood on the subway, music playing so loudly I couldn't hear any of the sounds around me, I noticed a passenger who looked surprisingly like my fellow Equality Rider Cray. I wondered to myself what Cray was up to. Then I wondered what this guy was up to. Was he anything like Cray? Where did he work? To my left stood a young man in a baseball cap, also wearing earphones. To my right were two guys with dress shirts, one read a newspaper, other listened to music. The woman in front of me sipped Starbucks while watching something on a portable media player. They all have lives and stories and even though I'm so close to them, I know nothing about them. And we've all setup our private sanctuaries in the middle of the bustling New York City subway.