Sharing Community at the Sheridan Stoplight 

It’s another frigid Wednesday at Loyola. The sidewalks and curbs bracketing Sheridan Road are coated in a gray-brown sludge that threatens the upright position of anyone who dares to walk remotely close to the ice-coated parts of the road. 

In the distance, Madonna Della Strada rings out the time — a booming song to the mid-afternoon.

Classes have just gotten out, and students from various buildings reunite and cluster at the crosswalks — all vying to cross the street before the light turns once more. After a few tense minutes, the countdown begins, and the traffic signal flashes to yellow.

Almost instantaneously, it begins. A mass of black and gray puffer coats, dotted with the occasional brightly colored scarf or Carhartt beanie surges across the street, stumbling through the ice-slicked parts in search of class, meetings, lunch or study sessions. 

The crosswalk rush is reminiscent of a nature documentary, resembling the stampede scene in The Lion King. Students pour from different corners of the street, all to clash in the center of the crosswalk. At the Sheridan stoplight, there’s no order once the walk symbol flashes.

For most students, though, the Sheridan light is a point of contention. The near two minute difference between crossing times is loathsome. Especially in the recent below-freezing Chicago weather, students’ capacity for patience at the light seems to be at an all-time low. 

For others, each light cycle is an adventure waiting to happen. 

The extensive wait between light cycles allows time for much-needed reflection and peace in an otherwise stressful and intense school day. Stopping at the light forces students to slow down, pause for a minute and focus their energy on something which is — for once — not classes.

The wait allows for an increased awareness of surroundings, a moment to step back and reflect on the busy Chicago ecosystem. 

At the Sheridan light, observers can focus on the little things. Like the different tones of car horns blaring their ire at a stray jaywalker or straggler lagging behind the rest of the hordes once the light has made its return back to its vibrant green color.

If they don’t want to pause and reflect, they can interact with one of the many protesters who take up residence outside of Mundelein, often advocating for current issues like the presidency, a local election or rent gouging. 

The protesters on Sheridan Road seem to be kind people with a simple request: spread education, not misinformation. They’ll send those waiting for the light off with a stack of pamphlets and a smile which feels almost uncharacteristic for the grim nature of their current job.

Though there are many joyful aspects to the commonly-hated stoplight, the overarching theme of the long wait and crowds is community. On such a close-knit campus like Loyola’s, there are few places where strangers — whether students, faculty or passers-by — are pushed together into one mass.

Connection and community can come from even the smallest look. A “you’re stuck at this light too?” look isn’t to be understated. A smile can still be a drop in the bucket of human interaction fulfilling us on an intrinsic level. How many friendships have been formed over the shared frustration of a too-slow traffic light?

The Sheridan stoplight definitely has its ups and downs, but it reminds pedestrians that our goals align more than we might think, it reminds them we’re all in the same human condition with similar problems. It reminds us our aspirations can still be shared by others, even when they are narrowed down into something as simple as a wish to cross the street.