Subway Chronicles, Vol. VII

Who Am I When No One Is Watching?

Happy Saturday, friends!

Two nights ago, at sixty-three years of age, I jumped a subway turnstile for the first time in my life.

Earlier that evening, I had one of those rare aikido classes where everything seemed to work. The techniques flowed. My body felt responsive. For sixty minutes I forgot how old I was supposed to be. I walked out of the dojo feeling light, energized. A gray-bearded teenager.

At the subway station, I pulled my OMNY (One Metro New York) card from my wallet. That’s when a real teenager hopped over the turnstile directly in front of me. He landed lightly on the other side, looked back at me, and pushed open the emergency gate.

“Nah,” I said. “I’m good.”

He shrugged and walked away. That should have been the end of it.

I had the card in my hand. I was about to pay the fare. I can still afford to spend three bucks on a subway ride. I do it at least twice a day, four days a week. And in less than two years, I’ll qualify for the senior discount and pay half.

But after the kid disappeared into the station, I stood there for a moment. Then I put the card back in my wallet. And broke the law. But that’s not what surprised me. What surprised me was how easily I did it. I expected hesitation. The sudden awareness that here I am, an old fart, about to do something associated with teenagers and petty criminals.

Instead, I lifted myself up, swung my legs over the metal bar, and landed on the other side with an ease that gave me pause. At that moment I wasn’t thinking about subway fares or civic responsibility. I was thinking, “Huh! I can do that.”

Well, in all fairness, the turnstile was not very high. But it felt like I had just scaled Mount Everest.

What did the act reveal about me? I’ve been thinking about it all evening, and into the next day.

I was sure I knew who I was. And I genuinely believed it.

I’m honest. I’m generous. I’m disciplined. I’m law-abiding.

I’ve lived long enough for the surprises to stop rearing their ugly heads.

The older we get, the more solid those stories become. By sixty-three, you imagine you’ve figured yourself out.

It’s not about whether we’re good people or bad people. I think it’s about… who are we when no one is watching?

There is an old moral puzzle involving a traffic light. It’s the wee hours. The streets are empty. No cars. No police.

Do you wait for the light to change?

Some always do. Some never do. And some wait only if they think someone might be watching.

For years I assumed I belonged to the first category. Now, I’m not so sure.

The embarrassing part isn’t that I jumped the turnstile. It’s that I enjoyed it. And even more embarrassing is that I’m boasting about it to all my Substack friends. Maybe I have more problems than I thought. But that’s another post.

But what am I boasting about, exactly? That I committed an act of fare evasion at an age when many people are researching Medicare options and cemetery plots?

I don’t think so. At a certain age you think of yourself as a finished person.

You know your routines. You know your opinions. You know what kind of person you are. Or think you do.

Maybe we remain mysteries to ourselves until the end of our days. We just don’t like to admit it.

How honest am I if I’ve never been offered a meaningful opportunity to lie?

How brave am I if I’ve never been in danger?

How loyal am I if I’ve never been tempted? (The Ancient Greeks advised avoiding temptation because we may not be strong enough to resist it. Fair enough. But is that running away from ourselves?)

A philosopher — Aristotle? — might argue that character is revealed when temptation appears. Another might argue that character is created through choices. I’m not sure either is entirely correct.

What if character is discovered through life’s little experiments?

A lost wallet. A lone traffic light at three in the morning. A low turnstile.

Tiny tests that reveal things we didn’t know about ourselves.

Don’t get me wrong. I still think people should pay the subway fare. I will pay it tomorrow. And I will never “go over” again for as long as I live. Hopefully.

But the turnstile isn’t what interests me. What interests me is that after all these decades of working on self-improvement — my health, my thinking, my worldview (at the expense of the leaky ceiling, the bent bumper, and other more pressing matters, according to my wife,) I was still capable of surprising myself.

I landed on the other side. Straightened up and kept walking. Sixty-three years old. Still not finished.

Thanks for reading, folks, and being a subscriber.

Since I made you sit through my therapy session, I put together a YouTube music playlist, especially for you. Enjoy.

https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLCh3FMsSJbVl7qqwsE19lLdk6BPW5G1Yx&si=fvviadxuQAd7ltEm