I rode the train to North Dakota and back this last week, my favorite way to make that trip. The ride is just over 24 hours, so I eagerly pack my bag in anticipation of a whole day to while away. Reading, knitting, and writing projects. The iPad loaded with podcasts and music. All the good snacks.
And everything that I packed was used, some a little, some a lot. But every time, I’m a little surprised how many hours of the day I find myself not doing anything, or thinking anything, just staring out the window at the clouds in the sky and the rolling ground, content to watch the world unfold as I’m gently rocked down the track.
Of course I can’t help but try to capture those moments, hopeless though it is. More hopeless when I’m holding a mediocre iPad camera up to a dirty window in the attempt. But the gap between the hope and the results doesn’t seem to dull my instinct to try, so I’ve got a whole pile of shots like these. A little wonky, but the view from a train nonetheless.
There are lots of reasons train travel suits me so well, but I think the biggest is just that the time it takes to get from one place to another on the train matches the time it takes me to mentally travel from one place to another. Flights so often feel like I’m hurtling across time and space and I land disoriented and trying in vain to catch up with my body. On the train, I have time to leave behind whatever I was holding from my departure, time to experience the transition, time to prepare myself for an arrival. That kind of space is necessary, which is a lesson that I should remember in more aspects of life.