My Personal Space

On my subway ride to work today a young black guy was sitting infront of me. He was in his 20s and looked like he was straight from Africa. He was very very dark, had on an old suit jacked with a yellow and red collard shirt and a an old red and blue tie (none of which matched and all were clearly hand-me-downs or simply found some where). His pants were cargo khakis. The kind where the pant legs can zip off and become shorts. He had a resume folder in his hand. He was probably going for a job interview.

I studied him the entire subway ride. Clearly I don’t know his story at all..and I could be completely wrong about him. But he reminded me of the stories of the African men that move to the states having nothing and struggle to adjust to American culture on no funds.

A young woman (prob my age) was sitting next to him. She had fancy brown tall boots on and a beautiful pink pea coat. Her hair was pulled back in a neat pony tail and had a Starbucks in one had and her ipod in the other. She was your typical New Yorker.
It was amazing comparing these two. They sat right next to each other on the subway, practically touching, and I can’t even imagine how different their lives are.

My heart ached for this young man as I watched him soak in the scene. Again, I have no idea if my assumptions are right. But he was clearly trying his hardest to look professional. He obviously had nothing, yet was out with his resume doing everything possible to look the part and work.

Usually my subway ride is filled with young business professionals reading the Wall Street Journal, kids in school uniforms with backpacks on wheels, and homeless men passed out and sleeping in their own urine.
I’m use to this scene and as a New Yorker, I have learned to stay in my personal space and remain unphased and untouched by the people and things that surround me day to day.

Maybe I should rethink my personal space…