Johnny's Big Train Ride

This started as an email to friends, written in the last hour of a long train trip. Content warning: death and foamers.

I'm writing this in the final hour of a 48-hour solo train journey from Portland to Chicago.

I've wanted to compose it the entire time, as I've been impressed by thoughtful blog-style emails from my friends with details about the interesting things they're doing with their lives and the philosophical thoughts those things lead them to.

However, it has been shocking that there has been so little time on this train to write. I imagined these 48 hours when I booked the trip: an ocean of uninterrupted meditation against a backdrop of pristine natural beauty. I'd accomplish everything that has been nagging at me for 5+ years — a career direction, knowledge of what my truest self actually wants out of my relationships, setting up a business call, being heard but first deciding what it is I'm trying to say, a cohesive life philosophy so I can put these nagging voices to bed…

Instead, there have been many more-pressing things to attend to: admire the pristine natural beauty, yes, meet people in the dining and viewing cars (some of my favorites were an old friend group from Brazil — we both used rusty Spanish to debate the difference between buffalo and bison — and a self-described "foamer"), listen to podcasts and read books that have long been on my list (though I didn't even have time to finish any of them), play Pikmin 4 (also unfinished), panic about forgetting to bring cash for tips, run to a bank in Havre, MT during a refueling, almost miss the train, literally leap onboard after they pulled up the stairs and began to shut the door, etc.

Also, everyday life took up a huge percentage of the time. Things that I take for granted in ordinary life were logistically difficult, such as carefully unpacking and re-packing in tight quarters to get what I needed, or setting up and dismantling the bed with a lot of help from the wonderful attendant who brought chocolate for the passengers that he purchased with his own money. Showering in a moving train while trying to stand on a washcloth because I forgot my flip-flops was a challenge (and I took it as such — that is, I did it not because it was easy…). You have to push a button to get 30 seconds of water at a time to spray yourself with while banging around against the wall. Sure, daily life things were novel and challenging in a fun way on the train, but it also got me wondering — is this where my time goes when I'm not on a train? That is, do my daily life things just naturally expand to fill the void of whatever time I'm trying to create? Maybe my train experience showed me that my busy-feeling is entirely in my mind.

I did catch up on sleep on the train. Not so much an abundance of high-quality sleep (though it wasn't bad at all — the bed was long enough, pretty cozy, and I didn't mind the rocking), but rather the practice of sleep. I stopped using electronics before bed and read instead — a major win that alone makes the trip worth it. Maybe the reality is not that my daily-life tasks naturally expand to fill whatever time they can, but rather that I (like many others) am in such a self-care deficit that my mind naturally prioritizes this whenever I get a break. This implies that it is possible to repay that debt with enough self-care to carry forward a foundation of mental calmness and clarity from which to (re)build a real, sustainable life. That's a fantasy I've entertained for a while.

However, life and travel don't really need to be fully sustainable, because they end. Obviously this train is a metaphor for my life, and I've been duly treating it as such the entire time. I initially thought it would last forever, enjoyed myself, had big plans, felt a pang of panic right around the halfway point, revised my goals, was awe-struck by the scenery, and now am beside myself writing this in a panic at the very end.

That is a deep fear of mine: that I'll spend my whole life dilly-dallying around like Vladimir and Estragon or Kafka's man wishing to gain entry into the law, and then feel just like this at the end. Trying to finish … something.

Everybody's got an answer. I can hear them in my head now: look out the window and admire the beauty of the moment; write your email now — it's not too late; be grateful that it happened; book another ticket all the way through to New York; look into your heart and do what you truly want to do in that moment — it's effortless if you do it right. I suspect these are all lies (and all truths, to be sure), because they're expressed in language. We don't have any really good advice on how to die right, because few have ever done it and then been able to tell us about it. We barely have good advice on how to live well past the age that people are generally trying to write and sell books.

At least I have grown, on both the literal and metaphorical train rides. I no longer harbor dreams of finding meaning solely in work (paid or personal). This frees me up to be a little more creative with how I design my general life. I also appreciate my relationships a lot more, as I know that goodbyes are real.

My grandpa died earlier this year (and now he's buried in the rocks, and everybody still talks about how badly they are shocked). I think most people would say he was a great man. He saved a lot of people's lives as a good doctor, sacrificed material gain to help found and grow an organization that provides healthcare to people who otherwise might not be able to afford it, still lived a comfortable life with more friends and adoring family than I've seen anyone else his age have, got his name on a building, and saved a puppy's life with his bare hands. His life choices and some luck afforded him about as good of a death as anyone could ask for, at home surrounded by family — but I still got the sense that a deep part of him was surprised that his train ride was ending.

Still, some would say that's the way to do it. Live, then die. Easier said than done in my case. Some part of me spent my whole train ride thinking about the end — not that that really ruined the trip for me.

Hm.