Every day, my husband and I walk our kids to school. We wait at our daughter’s bus stop for the school bus to carry her away and then continue our walk to our son’s school. We try to walk no matter the weather… unless it’s raining.
We have a nice, consistent routine that we established early in the school year, thanks to my husband who is a diligent timekeeper, and our son who likes to be one of the first to school.
We leave very nearly precisely at 7:05am every day so our daughter doesn’t miss her bus. Then we continue on our way to get our son to school by 7:35am, adding in an extra loop through a nearby neighborhood to ensure we don’t arrive too early or too late, but just right before the school doors open.
Initially, this walk was utilitarian – a way to get our kids to school. But over the days, weeks, and months of doing it, I’ve come to love this walk. It’s time spent together and time spent in nature. And it’s a guarantee that I’ll hit my daily step goal.
We play tag and blow dandelions at the bus stop. We shout and point when we spot a blue bird or blue jay flying by. We play 20 questions and share trivia facts: Did you know poison dart frogs aren’t poisonous in captivity and it’s estimated there are more trees on Earth than stars in the Milky Way galaxy?
For 30 minutes every morning, we exist in our own little bubble.
At least, I thought we did.
A few weeks ago, while waiting at the bus stop, a car slowed to a complete stop alongside us. The driver, a stranger to us, rolled down his window, “Every day I drive by and I see you guys. It warms my heart to see how you interact with your kids.”
A few days later, a teacher at our son’s school stopped us, “I see you guys on my way to work and depending on where you are on your walk, I know if I’m late or not.”
Wait, other people notice us?
It was a strange thought to wrap my head around. This was our morning routine, our little bubble.
But that’s the thing I forgot about bubbles: they’re transparent. It may feel like we’re in a space all our own, but anyone passing by can see inside. Other people noticed something as mundane as our morning routine and it impacted them – we became part of their routines.
We wouldn’t have realized any of this if the driver or the teacher hadn’t breached our bubble, popping an unspoken social contract of anonymity with strangers.
After my initial shock, a new emotion bubbled up: joy, from this wonderful reminder that we’re all connected even when we don’t realize it.
Then another emotion bubbled up: embarrassment, from realizing that people probably saw when I showed my son how to do the electric slide during one of our walks and when my dress got caught on a mailbox creating my very own Marilyn Monroe moment for oncoming traffic.
Thanks to and for being part of my writing routine.
Hilarious! This teams so well with your essay last week. Thanks for creating transPARENT bubbles.
Love this! I also think you need an essay on your generated images. They are so good, ALWAYS!