The Bus Stop Dilemma

The station is packed today. Engines rumble. Tires hiss against pavement. The air? Heavy with urgency—everyone pacing, waiting to pounce on the next bus.

And sure enough, here they come.

OUTRAGE EXPRESS—ALL ABOARD. This one’s fueled by the latest controversy. No assigned seats, just pick a side and start yelling.
MORAL HIGH GROUND—LIMITED SEATING. Don’t worry, they will tell you if you’re on the right side.
AFFILIATE BOYCOTT—NONSTOP SERVICE. Jump in or risk public shaming, a moral citation, and a one-way ride. No pressure, right?

RULES REWRITE—DETROUR AHEAD. Grab a ticket, get angry.

The doors swing open. People shout from inside—waving, gesturing, yelling.

Are you coming? What do you mean, you’re not getting on? Don’t you care?

I watch. Hands in my pockets. Not because I don’t see the buses, but because I do. And I know exactly where they go.

Around. And around. And around.

They burn fuel. They demand your energy. And at the end of the route? They drop you right back where you started.

So I stay put, (somewhat amused) watching them cycle through.

And then, the messages start.

• Athena, how can you just stand there?
• If you’re not on this bus, are you even paying attention?
• Silence is complicity, you know.

Relentless. All trying to push me onto buses I was never meant to ride.

The assumption, always the same: If I’m not seated, yelling out the window, then I must be siding with the driver.

If I’m not running toward the bus, I must be against the passengers.

If I’m standing still—observing, choosing where my energy goes—then clearly, I must be indifferent.

Funny how that works.

But some roads were never mine to travel.

I don’t need to be on every damn bus. Not because I don’t care, but because I know my route.

THE UNSHAKEABLE MISSION LINE.

And let me tell you something about my passengers:

They’re not debating leaderboard changes. They’re not losing sleep over community politics.

They’re here because their health is on the line.
Because they want to move without pain.
Because they want to live.

And my bus? It’s not swerving. It’s not rerouting to chase every siren blaring in the distance.

It’s steady. Unwavering. Headed exactly where it’s meant to go.

That’s why people keep stepping on board. Not because I follow every detour, but because I don’t.

The assumptions people make.

Somewhere along the way, folks decided that staying in this terminal—still driving this route, still wearing this uniform—meant forfeiting my values.

That if I wasn’t loudly declaring my stance at every station stop, I must be blind to the wrecks along the way.

That my silence must mean agreement.

That my focus must mean complicity.

But that assumption is flawed. My route is different than theirs.

While some weigh financial considerations, competition structures, or others, I’m weighing something else entirely.

I’m thinking about the lives I impact.
The space I’ve cultivated.
The work that still needs to be done.

And that? This clarity matters more to me than any debate about who’s getting off at the next stop.

Not every bus is meant for me.

Especially when some of those buses are driven by folks with megaphones and media logos—revving their engines on outrage and fueling up on clicks and comments. You know the type. They’re not just riding the bus; they are the bus. Loud, relentless, always recruiting. And sure, they know how to stir things up—but stirring isn’t the same as steering.

So no, I won’t be boarding every bus that pulls up, no matter how loud the invitation.

Not because I don’t care. Not because I don’t have thoughts.

But because my bus is already moving.

I am not a passenger. I am the driver.

And my doors? Wide open.

There’s plenty of room for those who want to come along. Our route is peaceful, completely insulated from the chaos. There’s no yelling or screaming here—just clarity, purpose, and empowerment. Every mile forward is intentional, every stop a step closer to something real. If that’s the kind of ride you’re looking for, hop on *smiling*. No ticket required, just a willingness to move forward without all the horn-honking. Snacks optional, bring your whole self—and maybe a good playlist. We’re not in a rush, but we are going somewhere.