Why do people travel, I wonder sometimes, to explore the unknown, or to find the familiar?
It’s one of those nights for me. A reverse nostalgia about being places I’ve never been to and remembering things I’ve yet to experience. It’s like I’ve traveled places, lived it, came back, and woke up with memories. Damn you, Ken Burns’s documentary! I see those parks on screen and keep dreaming of already being there.
It’s also one of those nights for me where I think I have a grasp on things that make my life fulfilling, yet they are no where near me. If I weren’t so sensitive about things that ache, I’d be enjoying the world a lot more. I don’t allow myself to enjoy things.
Perhaps the emotional baggage I carry all the time. Perhaps that’s why I have the urge to travel. So I could find a place to bury that emotional baggage.
I’m picturing myself now, at a train station. Standing there waiting for a train that will take me to new places, meet new faces. I have tons of bags and suitcases that I have dragged all the way to the platform because I told myself I need them all. Then the train comes along, filled with people like myself.
When it whistles to leave – yes, it’s one of those – I get on board. And watch the platform, and my baggages, disappear behind me.
Only if it were that easy to move on. In our real world, we mourn our losses before getting on that train. The baggage just gets lighter. And lighter.
I’m waiting on that.