In India we spent the night on a train, an overnight train, rattling through the darkness, everyone possibly tight in a bunk behind the curtains but me, without a berth, lying on some blankets on the floor.* And feeling a rush of euphoria on the thin linoleum tile because this, assuredly, this is something I have never done before. The flying rush of the new—you have to push yourself to get there, push hard, or be pushed.
Sometimes I feel a need to assess the present—assess the choices I have made that have taken me/us in a wild arc past anything I’d suspected. I didn’t know what the things I wanted really meant. I still don’t. The things I haven’t done jostle against the things I have, creating friction, sometimes rubbing each other the wrong way.
* I'm going to out myself here as a floor sleeper, the kind of person who will actually choose to sleep on the floor because I find it more comfortable than a bed. Why? I'm not sure. Maybe a deep-seated, even physiological, conviction that less is more?
|Soon after I took this photo, I had a little collision with a larger vessel, but...I learned something!|