It’s getting dark out. Light glows from the sconces behind the luggage racks, above weary travelers who are jostled by every movement of the train. Some have fallen asleep, leaning against dark windows. Some are awake, occupying themselves on their phone.
I am awake. The glowing screen of my laptop and thoughts of the past day occupy me.
I haven’t always enjoyed train rides. I associate them with leaving loved ones behind, and in fact, this is what every one of my train trips has involved, except my very first. My first experience riding the rails was on the Adirondack Scenic, and I was just a tot. The red leather seats left a lasting impression on me. Since then, I’ve been on too many train trips to count.
In college, the wisest professors advised me to travel. To broaden my perspective. And travel I have, since then, in small doses. But instead of enjoying the experiences, I thought of almost nothing but the home I left behind. And to a great extent, traveling broadened my experience of sadness, and little else.
Marriage was (and is) the journey that changed my perception of travel. I now can feel safe in the unknown, home in the unfamiliar. It is a sensation I have never felt before, because, I think, I have never before been so drawn out of myself as I have been by love for my husband. With him as my anchor, I’ve had numerous new experiences and turned out not only fine, but enriched and happy. And all those new experiences combined have made me confident enough to feel at home, away from home.
Well. Sometimes, at least. 🙂