When I checked into my hotel room in Washington DC Sunday evening (along with my roommate for this trip, Kelly Wickham, a woman with whom it should be illegal to have that much fun), I did what I always do: I walked to the window to check out the view. I didn't see much -- it was already after dark -- but I thought I could make out some train tracks in the dim light.*
Our day began on Monday bright and early (we were there to attend the ONE Power Summit, and never was a conference more aptly named), and so we set our alarm to go off before the sun came up. As I was blearily stumbling around the room getting ready for the day, I heard a rumbling outside. I looked: it was the subway.
I've mentioned before I love subways. Part of the reason is because Houston doesn't have one and I miss the London Tube; although mostly I love them for the brief moments of connection they provide. Think about it: for the time between stops, you're in incredibly close proximity with all of these great stories: each person on a crowded subway car comes with his or her own individual stories: stories of love, or education, or immigration or crime or justice or sadness or elation. They're faces that display grief or intensity or happiness or anguish or boredom or disgust. And in those few minutes between stops, when we ride the subway, we're a tiny, minuscule part of each of those stories.
I love subways.
I grabbed my camera (which I packed at the last minute), and took a couple of shots, hoping to catch a glimpse of some of the faces as they sped by my hotel room window.
As I photographed, I was reminded of this beautiful video I'd seen several months ago...
... and then, after a few minutes, I put away my camera and got ready for my day.
By the way, thank you so much for your insanely kind and generous words in the comments of my last post -- I read every comment, and I was so moved. You are all really such lovely people.