Having a car is super useful. I think back to the days when I didn’t have one, and it’s a mangled blur of desperately hoping that whatever bus or train I was counting on would be on time. The reassurance that I can take myself to where I need to go is definitely a good feeling when planning a busy day. Of course, then I find myself hoping that traffic won’t hold me up, but I still feel more in control. Even as I sit inside my metal box, gripping the currently useless wheel, and scowl in frustration at the immobile metal boxes blocking my path.

Not to knock public transport, which is at its nicest when it’s a choice, not a necessity. When I don’t need to be somewhere perfectly on time, it’s nice to be able to jump on a bus and listen to some music while reading a book. The hard work of navigating through traffic is done by the driver, leaving me free to enjoy the journey. Even the presence of strangers doesn’t really present a problem, because they (almost) always understand that we’re all here to go somewhere, not to socialize. This lets me enjoy my book, or play on my phone, or whatever I’m using to pass the time.

Unless, of course, I encounter the type of person I dread to meet in these situations: Someone I know. It’s not so bad if I board the bus and they’re already there, but if I’m there first, then I’ll be absorbed in my book when they show up. And yet, polite social behaviour expects me to exit the story I’m now super engaged in to make small talk. And ‘talk’ gets worse the smaller it becomes.

But I do it anyway, because I do like people, however often my behaviour calls this into doubt. And I’m not indifferent to people getting upset with me (far from it). Just know that, if we ever meet on a bus or a train, and I keep my finger between the pages of my book, I really want to get back to it.