One: 179th Street Station

“I hear the sound I love, the sound of the human voice. I hear all sounds running together, combined, fused or following, sounds of the city and sounds out of the city.” – “Song of Myself” by Walt Whitman

Many early memories of being dragged through the boroughs seem to begin at the 179th Street F train stop. I used to loathe the humid, Manhattan-bound train as a child. But upon beginning college, the white noise of the commute from Long Island began to grow on me. Surprisingly, the incessant hum became one of the few sounds that would put me at ease when stressors from home or school became overwhelming. The ride would allow me to unplug from a world that constantly demanded participation. Over time, listening to idle chatter and conversations lacking context developed into drabbles I wrote to pass the time. As a journalism major, hearing people talk and watching them interact was always one of my favorite things to observe.

Two: Pennsylvania Station

“And God said, Let there be lights in the firmament of the heaven to divide the day from the night; and let them be for signs, and for seasons, and for days, and years.” – Genesis 1

In sophomore year of college I learned firsthand at Penn Station that sunrises were less romantic the more you witnessed them. Nearly every Thursday, I would miss the 3AM train home because I ended up working too late at the college’s newspaper office. Many Friday mornings were spent writing late news articles and waiting for the sunrise to signify the next LIRR train home. With sleep evading me most nights, I made it a goal to work diligently enough see both sunrise and sunset each day. At times the sun was the only thing that kept me sane as sleep-deprivation often made weeks feel like months. I cannot look back on my time as an editor at The Ticker without feeling a slight sting, as if looking directly into the rising sun.

Three: Williamsburg Bridge

“My feet strike an apex of the apices of the stairs. On every step bunches of ages, and larger bunches between the steps. All below duly travel’d, and still I mount and mount.” – “Song of Myself” by Walt Whitman

By my third year at Baruch College, I had abandoned my two previous commute routes for the most part. Oddly timed obligations and heavy audio equipment forced me to frequently take the Williamsburg Bridge to and from Long Island. The change in commute over time seemed to parallel my rise in personal successes, as I have moved on from subways and railroads to the comfort of taking my moving couch to the city most days. Now whenever I am working near the bridge or trapped in gridlock, I cannot help but smile about what has changed and wonder if the strange pattern will continue.