Baltimore, Feb. 2015. I'm on a train heading to New Haven. In a few months there will be riots in the streets of Baltimore. The stage is set.
Moving to Korea was a great opportunity for me, but it came at a high price. While I was able to stay close to my daughter, I missed many things. Important things. I never met any of Megan's high school teachers. I never saw any of Megan's high school choir concerts. Megan would graduate in June of 2015 so when I learned that she had a concert that coincided with a meeting I was attending in Baltimore, I wasn't going to miss this chance. It didn't matter that it was over 6 hours away. It didn't matter that I would have to take an early train, get a taxi, and then rent a car just to get there in time for the concert. It didn't matter that the snow storm in Connecticut was predicted to begin just as the concert was ending. I was going to see my daughter sing no matter what.
I have always loved taking the train. In Korea the high speed trains are remarkably efficient. They apologize when the train is two minutes late. In the U.S., one is happy when the train isn't more than 20 minutes late. It is sad that train travel in the U.S. is still remarkably slow. The train track parallels I-95. To look out the window and see cars going faster is just sad. But I still love it. Somehow I feel like I'm in a movie, that something important is going to happen. Indeed, on this trip it already had.
Since there was a strong possibility of not making it back to Baltimore the same day, I took my luggage with me. It was a quarter to six in the morning. I got a cab to go to the train station. At the second light a car behind us flashes its lights. It was still very dark and very cold. At the next light the same car again flashes its lights. The cab driver gets annoyed and takes off quickly. It is amazing that at six in the morning how many red lights one can hit. I don't think we missed a single one which meant that we never lost our tail.
Things began to escalate. At the next red, lights flash and the horn honks. At the next red we are bumped. The taxi driver has had enough. He gets out of the car and starts yelling. I'm in Baltimore with nobody around. The cabbie has pissed off the guy behind us and someone is going to get shot. It's Baltimore. I'm going to die because whoever wants to kill this cabbie will not want to leave a witness. There is a knock on my window. The Bell Hop from the hotel hands me my computer. It had fallen out of my bag when I hailed the taxi. This guy jumped in his car and chased us almost six blocks trying to return my computer. I looked at him like a deer in headlights. Where am I? It's early, it's cold, and I've just witnessed kindness from a stranger. This too is Baltimore. I come to enough to thank him and give him most of what little cash I had on me.
On the train, I listen to Myth by Beach House (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FuvWc3ToDHg) and try to write a grant submission to O'Bama's Brain Initiative. Even though the goal of our proposal was not new, the techniques and ideas were very novel, and I was extremely optimistic. I was also cautiously optimistic about re-uniting with my ex-girlfriend. Her last text said, "If you still want to get coffee when you come back from your meeting then coffee sounds good. And nothing is too late." 2015 will not be kind to those hopes, but there are other opportunities in the future - hopefully. This was my daughter's last semester of high school. There was still a lot of traveling to do.
I arrived at the concert about 30 minutes before it starts, and I was teleported into an alternate universe - the universe I left behind four years ago. I was hit between the eyes with the reality that my daughter is about to graduate high school. Her friends are driving and have become young adults. Time is a funny thing. It can go fast or slow, but time waits for no one. Everybody knows this, but I didn't truly appreciate that until my daughter's solo. Tears start. I am happy and sad all at once. It's over in a flash but will last a lifetime.
It is impossible to be perfect, to always make the right choices, and to not have regrets. I have done dumb things. I have done smart things. As I grow older, I was hoping to reduce the dumb things and increase the smart things. I realize now that is a bit too optimistic. That ratio is pretty much consistent. As I look back a year later on that trip, I am struck by the sense of hope I had in the future and in people, especially the kindness of strangers. Sometimes that hope is justified. Sometimes, it is not. However, I know now that as long as there is hope, I will act, and I will live. And every once in a while, I will get to hear my daughter sing.
