Dear Mr. Struggle Bus Driver,
I bet you didn't wake up at the age of 10 and say, "Someday people are going to ride the struggle bus everyday, and I'm going to be the driver."
I bet when you were 10 years old the struggle bus didn't even exist. But here we are. Every day thousands of people supposedly stand in sad dejected lines waiting for you to pick them up.
Today, I'm one of them.
Don't you get angry your bus doesn't play fun mariachi music like an ice cream truck? That people don't run screaming after you wanting you to stop because you bring them sheer joy? .... Oh wait, they do run up behind you because they're tired, they overslept, and are about to be late for work.
Bet you wish they would add some mirrors to this machine so folks would stop accusing you of backing up and running over them. We need to call the company on that one.
This bus reminds me of a small town. Everybody knows your name. And you're like the local bar tender. Someone steps up on that bottom step and you can see it in their face. Loneliness. Rejection from their peers or their latest crush. Didn't get the promotion. Lost their job. Lost their dog.
Then there are the ones that sit behind your seat. They're on the bus frequently. Depressed. A failed marriage. A wayward child. Dissatisfaction with their work. Searching for a purpose. Searching for meaning.
You never ask too many questions. You never offer sage words of advice. You simply listen as we cry on your shoulder and sniffle to our fellow riders about our problems and how we feel inadequate to fix them.
I feel sorry for us Mr. Driver and I feel sorry for you because whether we want to admit it or not, most of us are choosing to sit on this bus rather than try to fix the problem or change our circumstances.
I hope we will choose to change our hearts, our jobs, our schedules and whatever else that keeps us dragging to your stop.
In the kindest way possible, I hope you lose your job old compadre and become a margarita truck driver instead.
Lendy
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