Lists.

The man sitting next to me on the uptown 6 train after work was intently making a list in an old beat up spiral notebook. He learned forward with his elbows on this knees and thought carefully before adding to the list in doctor-like scrawl:

McCain
R. Ray
NASCAR
Spitzer
rice pudding
Yankees

Each addition took time and care, deep thought and commitment as though once he wrote them down they would set the wheels in motion to change his life forever. He looked normal with khaki pants and a North Face jacket with a white earphones cord that disappeared into his pocket. I looked over his shoulder (something I try not to do) intrigued. What was the thought process behind this list? What did it mean? I tried to think of a common theme: Things he didn’t like? Favorite things? Pet Peeves? Reasons to keep going on?

For six stops he sat and pondered (as did I) until just before he stood up to leave. I watched as he wrote one last thing three times in a row that completed (perhaps) the list of all the important things that had been on his mind: Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer.