Two weeks ago our Sunday brunch took an unexpectedly serious turn when Stacey arrived 25 minutes late because she had (horrors) driven to the restaurant. After ordering her only bloody mary of the morning (she was driving, after all), she declared emphatically that she had given up riding Metro forever. The other girls seemed to understand why she would declare such a moratorium, but ever clueless, I was stumped. Had I missed the train to Drive-alone-ville, or was there something more to it?

As the conversation progressed, I ignored the fact that I had no idea what was going on and tried to figure out if my deductive reasoning skills would save me. Erika confessed that she was definitely feeling more cautious than usual, but hadn’t changed her habits accordingly. Huh? Alison cleared things up a little by saying that she refused to change any habits, start feeling suspicious, or even stop taking transit because that just gives the terrorists power. Whoa! How did we go from bloody marys to terrorists? Wasn’t this a little too heavy for Sunday brunch?

All heads turned to me, the transit authority of the group. I was stunned—I was so clueless that I actually didn’t have an opinion (hard to believe, but true). The girls were amazed that I was so unfazed by the attacks in London and Madrid that I had failed to formulate an opinion about taking public transportation in a post-9/11 world. In a city like Washington, where political bigwigs from all over the world congregate daily, was I simply being naïve thinking that I was safe, not just on the train and bus, but in my home, restaurants and shopping malls?

I decided to use the next few days to really be alert, watch for suspicious activity, and see if it altered my opinion about taking the train at all. Starting with the train ride home from brunch, I sat alert in the middle the train. Eyes constantly darting left to right, I wondered if the elderly lady with the large paper bag was carrying concealed weapons. I noticed what appeared to be a construction worker of some sort with a thermos, and I found myself speculating about the contents—could it be a biological weapon in disguise? I shook myself and hoped that this would be the last time irrational suspicions would kick in.

Later that week, I gave up my usual bus ride to work in favor of the train to further test my alertness to shady characters. This got me thinking, what exactly is “suspicious activity” that we keep getting warned about? Anyone who has ridden the train knows that on any given day, there are a whole host of “suspicious” individuals doing equally suspicious activities. But does that make them terror suspects?

That first, overly observant day, I noticed exactly 19 suspicious people, 22 suspicious packages, and 4 people who seemed to think I was suspicious with my excessive staring. In fact, I was so vigilant in my watchfulness, that I completely missed my stop and had to get off and change trains. Being this alert was exhausting. Not to mention the fact that I had pretty much scared the bee-jeebers out of myself and was starting to find even the stationmasters to be a little suspicious. Is it possible to go from one extreme to another—from being totally clueless to hyper-sensitive? Is it possible to find a balance?

The worst part of my cautiousness was that I started feeling a little paranoid even when I wasn’t on the train. Visiting the National Gallery of Art, I kept checking out a group of louder than normal people, all of whom were carrying backpacks. While picking up a wrench (yes, I did say wrench) in Clarendon, I was strangely suspicious of a man picking out electrical wire. Terrorists or tourists, extremist or extreme home makeover?

After sufficiently freaking myself out, I checked in with the girls at the end of the week. Stacey was still adamant in her hiatus from Metro. Alison continued to “show the terrorists who’s boss” by going about her business in the usual manner, and displaying wide-eyed optimism that the good in people will always prevail. Someplace in the middle was the less-extreme Erika, who had noted things that seemed a bit out of the ordinary, but refused to let her fear get the best of her.

I’m still not sure what the happy medium is, but I do know this—staring every last tourist with a fanny-pack or giving the stink-eye to anyone with a slight nervous tick just doesn’t seem to be the most effective way to fight the global war on terror. But sitting back and burying your head in a book, oblivious to the sights and sounds around you is also not effective. I guess the best method is to take a lesson from each of my friends by being aware, not letting your fears get out of hand, and always remembering that there really is good in people (somehow the Mary Poppins in me always does come shining through).