When we come to the Forth Bridge a few minutes later the view opens up, stretching across the impressive length of the railway bridge mirrored by the road bridge directly adjacent. Extending on both sides, the wide Forth River flows past colorful houses perched on the stony rivers edge where freighters and sail boats head for open sea. With this expansive view my pulse quickens in recognition of a secret crush for this land, a crush I’ve always had for this land, even before I knew it as I do now. Sometimes it’s hard to admit to this affection (and that it might be more than fleeting). Living in a foreign country does strange things to your emotions and sense of belonging. It can become easy to hate a place simply because it’s different than what you’re used to or it isn’t where you ultimately want to be. But, after all these years, I’ve come to accept the struggle and see ways that it has made me grow. Coming to terms with these transitions has brought about this odd recognition—although I don’t consider this place home, something of its essence has seeped into me. And there are moments, like crossing the railway bridge, where I can’t help but acknowledge the connection.
There is something akin to home on these train rides, although I can’t quite decide what it is that makes these journeys feel comfortably familiar. Maybe it’s the families with their attentive parents and young children who exclaim over views of the sea, an excitement I share quietly with a smile. Or maybe it’s the young couples, heads resting on each others shoulders, their quiet conversations and hands entwined reminding me of my husband who will be waiting for me at home.
Today, a young Spanish couple sits in front of me. They move from one side of the train to the next with a vibrant energy that is infectious. The young man keeps taking pictures of the young woman, the sea as a backdrop. It’s obvious they’ve never made this journey before. They look quickly forward, then back, but never focus on what is coming or what is left behind for too long because they are too caught up in what is directly outside their window. I feel their enthusiasm, as if I too am seeing it all for the first time. It’s the water that impresses them most and I agree. The power of the sudden opening view to sea is like a constant revealing secret, surprising and unexpected.
As the tracks leave the seaside and turn inland back to rolling countryside of stone stacked fences and sheep, I can’t help but see this journey as a kind of contradiction to resolutions. It’s New Years Eve after all—a time when we are suppose to be making promises while looking back and planning forward. But what about the here and now? The excited young couple reminds me that it isn’t always about where we have been or where we are going. Sometimes it’s the journeys that are in process. It’s the immediate emotions and experiences and moments of realization that tell us we are alive that are important. Sometimes it is where we are that is the most extraordinary journey of all.
Posted in: on Tuesday, 3 January 2012 at at 12:52