I still carry memories of riding the bus as an elementary-school student. The bus stop was on the edge of a grassy field, so the other kids and I would play spirited games of tag until someone saw a flash of yellow rounding the corner. "Bus!" that someone would yell, leading the rest of us to scramble to our line of waiting backpacks.
Many years later, I still take a bus to school several times per week. While I have traded the quintessential goldenrod cladding for comparatively humdrum public-transit colors, other things in this transportation transaction haven't changed.
For instance, I find myself running to catch the bus about once per month. See, I've got the walk to the stop timed to a fairly reliable eight minutes under optimal conditions -- i.e., dry sidewalks. Despite knowing this immutable timing, I nevertheless walk out the front door, on occasion, with a mere 6-7 minutes to spare. What can I say? My morning routine is tenuous and easily disrupted. Maybe I miscalculate the time needed to bag up the day's lunch; maybe I neglect to put something into or take something out of my school bag, so have to double back to my desk; maybe (like this morning) I get sucked into reading just one more page of magazine over my bowl of cereal.
Whatever the cause, the inelegant effect is: I run -- jog lightly, really -- since walking will no longer do (and the next bus isn't for another 30 minutes). These moments make me recall my younger self, older me grinning inwardly with rueful humor at how far I've come and yet haven't.