Planes, Trains, and Conversations
Today is my “Planes, Trains, and Automobiles” moment. In the space of 36 hours, I’ll have taken my fair share of each, and all pointed towards this final destination: home. Outside of the annoying time lags, which result in that instant sadness of understanding you’ve completely miscalculated when you’re leaving the train station, everything seems to be going according to plan.
With yesterday’s grand events behind me and now being put into the unenviable pocket of waiting for decisions to be made (hopefully) for my benefit, I now get to turn my attention to matters more domestic. There are a few horses and donkeys that need some attention, as well as a wife I’ve not seen in a while. These things matter when all else is shoved aside, and it becomes still and quiet.
This isn’t to say that patience and forbearance have suddenly become virtues I engender. Far from it. As I tried to sleep on the plane overnight, I was churning through the fifteen thousand little actions I’d need to take should this next path avail itself. I was building organizations, determining hierarchies, and figuring out the interdomain work that needs to be done. Reader, let me tell you that it’s exhausting to sit in that chemical soup of excitement for too long.
When blessed sleep finally came, it was nice to feel that a light switch had been turned off and that all the noise and general hubbub that crowded and pressed in on my heart, soul, and mind was still. Peace, for as much as we pay it lip service, is a sorely needed presence.
From the airport to the train station, after a bit of a taxi catastrophe, I was regaled with story after story by the driver, taking particular interest in his comments about community and being Irish. Amongst all the conversations I’ve had recently, his was one of the more eloquent, spending time reminding me that we’re all immigrants coming from somewhere and going someplace. This humble approximation of who we are means that, to him, genocide has no place, that the intrinsic battles between belief systems and the safety of the children are misguided, and that kindness should be the rule of the day. Now, sprinkled into this mix was a heady mix of “fucks,” a rich Finglas accent, and a plastic partition still serving its Covid-anointed mission. If I’ve not said it before, I love Ireland and the Irish for this beautiful mental exercise when all I’d rather do is fall into the nothingness of sleep.
In any case, I’m sitting here in the train station, scribing these few words to complete another week of being everywhere and nowhere in all senses of the word. I’m grateful for these moments when I can leave, travel to a different place and time, and soak in the people and provenance of home.
I hope you, too, will be able to find your escape this weekend, whether that be to the den or demesne, and allow yourself the moments to let go, find peace, and fall into the pieces you need.
May it ever be so.
