Sometimes We Forget

I’ve never been on a train and despite the anxiety I had over the million ways we could crash and ultimately fall to our deaths, everything seems fine. So much so that I found the strength in me to gingerly stick my head out of the window and feel the wind rush through my face. It was cold! And stingy! And it made my eyes squint and the tips of my nose and ears feel raw and dry but…wet?

But let me tell you, it was the most wonderful feeling ever. I screamed! Really loud. And I could feel the passengers’ eyes on me — judging me, thinking that this was my first time on a train (which was true), or that I must be an idiot. Maybe I was; we were highly advised not to do this earlier.

But I didn’t care! Because at that moment, I didn’t feel like I was missing out on anything extraordinary. I didn’t feel like I was walking aimlessly on pavements, just going through everyday motions like everyone else, and overlooking those silly little things that make a day great.

Because who really notices the young kid that helps an elderly cross the street? Or the businessman who stops what he’s doing altogether to pull money out of his back pocket and give it to a beggar? Who notices the covered manholes or trees that survive with the littlest of soil because humanity has evolved and created pavements that wheels and feet and structures stand on? Who notices the brief moment of fear that crosses ones face when they thought they forgot something? And the split second after when relief washes over them because its been in their pockets all along?

Who remembers that in the midst of everything we’ve complicated, we are, in fact, capable of finding happiness and meaning in the simplest things?

Inside this moving train, with my head peaking out of the window and a conductor standing behind me with his arms crossed over his chest because I’m breaking the rules, I saw the world what it was:

Breathtaking.

I noticed.

For the longest time in my life, insideI saw the world for what it was.

Breathtaking.

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