The In Between

You see them on the subway. You see them in the park.

They are the ones rummaging through pockets in search of their wallet, spilling out business cards and gum wrappers in the process. They are fully equipped with cell phone, daily planner, vitamin water, newspaper clippings and the latest trend setting sneakers. They can jaywalk through traffic and bob to their favorite tunes on their respective ipod playlist. They are the leftover passerbys after the 1:00 lunch break rush of nine to five office workers who swarm the deli's, the hot dog stands and the park benches. They can type at frightening speeds, push a stroller of other people's children, recite a Shakespearian monologue and shop on eBayy. They have names and addresses and social security numbers, but they still may think of themselves as lost.

You know them.

They are the people in-between, the transient waifs, the dibble dabblers. They are the nanny's and the waiters and the wannabe actors and the writers and the temps and everyone else who is still clinging to their bachelor's degree as an anchor and their big dreams as a sail. I know them too because I was one of them.

Not to say that these people aren't happy. They certainly can be. For those whose art, craft or ambition ignite passion, adjectives like waiting or temping or browsing or sacrificing comprise small prices to pay in the long run. They would know me and vica versa without ever saying hello. We shared a silent exchange..an "I know how you feel" exchange, or a "maybe today will be the day" smile. Our faces met at the preschool where we dropped off our surrogate kids for the day, on the subway where we hand pressed the wrinkles in our new interview suits, on the museum line as we showed off our not so current student id's for a discount.

We all had one thing in common - the here and now.

Last week I started a new phase in my life commonly called graduate school. However, I have created a more fitting title for this time period - Period of overwhelming adjustment ridden anxiety and deja vu of freshmen year undergraduate zania. Yes, so help me, I made up a word. Zania. And zany it has been. Papers and syllabi and office hours and group projects. I somehow conveniently forgot that these causes of great undergraduate stress would be back to haunt me. Yet, in retrospect, the transition has not been that painful. I have again found my place in the cafeteria line, in the bookstore, in the quad. I camouflage into the pool of undergrads sporting my northface book bag and my five subject spiral notebook. Yet, I am not quite one of them. I have seen a small amount of the world beyond the campus gates. I have sampled different jobs, different people, different ways of life. And now, I am back. By my own will. I am back with a drive for a new career and a little more focus. Or so I think.

In the meantime, I will miss the in-betweeners on the streets, on the subway, on the prowl. While I am taking notes, they will be out and about. I think we will always be slightly envious of one another's path.

I may not see them as frequently, but when I do, I will see them for who they are-dreamers and thinkers and artists and seekers, those who dare to be in-between.