As the stations swish by

I’ve probably been on hundreds of trains. Going from one destination, to another, to nowhere in particular. Some rides I remember quite clearly and it is with picture-perfect precision that I can form the people there, the train station and the cabins. For sure, partly imagined, but real in the sense that all memories are real. Other rides have merged with one another to a blurry from-a-to-b, or been forever lost to give space to more meaningful memories.

For sure on more occasions than I can recall, I’ve realised that I was on the wrong train. That my mode of transport would not allow me to reach the destination I intended. Somewhere between panicked and bothered I’ve been forced to deal with my loss of directions. Sometimes I handled the situation with effortless elegance and sometimes with ridiculous inefficiency.

They say life is a journey. That it is not the destination that is important, but the ride itself. Only, how do we tell when we are on the wrong ride? Without a destination, how is it possible to tell if we are going in the right direction? And if we do have a destination, how can we be certain that our ride will get us there?

As the stations keep swishing by, I ask myself if these stations were the ones I had intended for them to be. Not quite stops on a journey, but passing-throughs I cannot avoid simply by moving forward… Or if I just got lost and simply forgot to get off.

Uncertain, I once again ask myself where I’m going.

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