"For most of history, Anonymous was a woman."
Virginia Wolfe
On the train to Glasgow this week, I felt the physics of the journey working against me. A man sitting nearby had a heavy cold—the kind of deep, wet cough and persistent sneezing that occupies the air around it. Usually, you’d just find it annoying, but when you have cancer, a stranger’s germs feel like a tactical threat from someone who would best serve mankind by staying home. But here he was gifting man with his own suffering. As the train hurtled forward, I could almost feel the gravitational pull of our travel vacuuming his infection directly toward my seat. I couldn't risk it; I had to move.
My wife and I found a spot in the next carriage albeit we were separated by the middle isle. I sat beside a young woman. This being Scotland, the silence didn't last long. We have a way of acknowledging each other's existence that doesn't feel like an intrusion. Although discernment must prevail.
"What are you up to today?" I asked.
"I’m going into Glasgow to drive some trains," she said.
Her answer hit me with a sudden, sharp memory of Norway. Decades ago, I was in a massive industrial structure in Stavanger. I remember standing there one early morning , completely struck, as I watched a young woman—the project manager—directing a crew of electricians through their tasks. At that time, Scotland felt miles behind. The idea of a woman in total command of a heavy engineering site was, back then, an anomaly to me.
Now, as I looked at the woman across from me, I realized how much the scenery has changed. I see women behind the wheels of buses, trains and heavy trucks; I see them in the police, in the boardroom, and leading the country as Prime Ministers.
For centuries, women have been held back by a system designed to keep them small. Seeing them finally take the controls—quite literally, in this woman's case—is a relief. It’s a correction of history that's been a long time coming, and it made the rest of the trip feel a lot lighter.