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The Station
It’s the stops along the way that make us who we are
There’s a particular joy in taking the train. The anticipation of a finely oiled machine arriving at the station on (or very nearly close to) time, departing for a destination that you’ve not been to for a while, and then the satisfaction of knowing you’re on an adventure. These are all the feelings I get when I’m afforded the opportunity.
On the flip side, you’ve got to get yourself to a central location or a stop along the way. You’ve got to practice your patience and presence, your skills in maintaining a finely honed external composure while your insides are chewing through walls. Perhaps it’s just me, but waiting can seem like an eternity within the space of five minutes.
It doesn’t help to acknowledge that trains and their stations have become metaphors for our lives. Even today, as I was excitedly hurrying about having had a great few conversations with people I’m honoured to be in similar employment, I was stamping my feet on the inside, waiting for my train and my opportunity to arrive. I radiated patience externally, but internally, I was a shattered mess.
Stations and trains are all about destinations and decisions. It is figuring out where you’re going to go and actualizing the process to get tickets and get your ass on the rail car. It’s pretty…
