The Gift of the Red Flashing Lights

We spend our lives trying to beat the yellow light. We optimize our commutes, shave seconds off our grocery runs, and treat every delay like a deliberate act of disrespect towards us.

But then, it happens: the bells start clanging, the guard rails drop, and the world comes to a grinding halt.

I have to stop and say “Thank God for trains.”

In a world that demands we always be “moving forward,” the train is one of the few things left that we cannot argue with. We can’t honk it away. We can’t bypass it. We are simply forced to wait.

And then there it is, hiding in plain sight, the very thing that we were racing to get to.  We just have to stop and giggle.

When we are forced to pause for those few minutes, the “ordinary” suddenly becomes visible again. If you look out the window instead of down at your phone, you might notice:

How the clouds are moving or the specific shade of gold the sun is hitting the asphalt.

The strange, beautiful Victorian house you drive past every day but never actually saw or the park you never pay attention to has bathrooms sitting right there in front of you. 😆

Or just maybe the quiet realization of how much tension you were holding in your shoulders.

The train isn’t a barrier; it’s an opportunity. It is a few minutes of “found time” where nothing is expected of you. You are off the hook. You are legally required to do nothing.

So the next time you see those red lights flashing, try to resist the urge to sigh and check your watch or phone. Instead, take a breath. Look around. The world is still there, hiding in plain sight, just waiting for you to stop long enough to notice it.