while waiting for the city bus

Faces solemn, expressions resigned, the bus riders wait for the next bus in various places on the side walk. Ear buds attached, backpacks fastened in place, books open, but ears always attuned, they know when the next bus will come. It's like some inner clock that I didn't inherit, they stand and watch silently. And then, as if on cue by some unseen conductor, they rise and begin to walk toward the oncoming bus, standing in the precise stop the bus will stop. Boarding comes like breathing in air, a stance of calm confidence juxtaposed against my slight-panic-caution-pose. I am not in control. I don't set the pace. I can't problem-solve alternate routes if traffic is heavy or if I am inpatient. The riders taught me to release control of things I cannot pseudo-control anyway. How much of my energy is spent on controlling things I am not in control of?