It was horribly and and unseasonably cold for a summer morning and I sat shivering at a table on the patio of a coffee shop. I was tired and still had to work that day. As I got up from the table I patted my pocket, a reactionary tick I have to check if I have everything. Where there was supposed to be a bus pass there was only a piece of crumbled paper and the feeling of utter despair. I desperately rifled through my backpack only to come up empty again. I had lost my bus pass.
So much for T.G.I.F.
After a violent mood swing that featured more cursing than an R-rated movie and exaggerated "why me" moments fit for the stage, I accepted that losing my bus pass was not that big of a deal. It was in fact a blessing in disguise.
Losing my bus pass meant less sitting on crusty, blue seats watching the world go by and more walking around in the sunshine, taking in the world around me.
I explored my new neighbourhood, I noticed interesting new nooks in a city I thought I already had completely figured out. I stopped to look at books at the little, independent bookstore around the corner from me. I saw a lady sing about an American privateer, whatever that is.
I had been stuck, stuck on buses, going about the daily grind and not noticing all the beauty that summer in Ottawa had to offer. Losing my bus pass was a ticket out of this rut.
So I am grateful for losing my bus pass. I am grateful that life made me stop and realize its beauty when I refused to do so on my own. And even though I know I will need to get a new bus pass for next month, I will always remember that part of summer my own two feet were the best transportation around.
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