SofSW: The Background (3/3)

On the other side of corridor sits an old man. His beard is black with blotches of white like a negative dalmatian. His eyes are closed, he seems to be dosing off exhausted. Hid jacket is worn, not badly, but clearly used for years. His grey trousers are slightly too short for his legs and I can see his white socks. He’s been traveling long, even in his sleep he is holding on to his backpack which is on the window seat next to him. Experience I guess. I wonder for a while the kinds of adventures he must have had on his life’s journey. Did he find what he was looking for? Was he looking for something or has he just lived his life? He’s a traveller, he must have been looking for something. He has actively done something in his life. I can see from his peaceful and slightly wrinkled face that he it hasn’t always been easy. If he had a goal in mind, clearly he hasn’t reached it yet. But he seems happy with himself regardless. The search keeps him going.

The loudspeakers announce the next station and people start putting away their books, putting on their jackets and reaching for their bags overhead. Soon the corridors are filled with leaving travelers. This is a big station but it’s not my stop yet. I notice the man on the other side of the corridor rears but doesn’t wake. I hope it’s not his stop either. For a while I think of the pack of hyenas standing eagerly on the platform. I can them blocking these disembarking people for a few seconds. It is like the tide, regular, inevitable, observable but not necessarily easy to explain. If you think about it in a cool and logical fashion, it need not happen at all. Yet it does, every time the train arrives on a crowded station.

In my mind I am happy that the bearded man continues his journey. It is somehow safer to have company on this trip. I can’t explain my feeling. I’m not in danger, I have an exciting adventure ahead of me, yet the sight of a familiar face, even of a complete stranger, is reassuring. It’s proof that I haven’t driven past the final station yet. After the final station, the Terminal Station, the empty train rides on to the service yard for maintenance. Nobody’s allowed to be onboard then. I have a mortal fear of passing the Terminal Station without noticing. An experienced traveler like the bearded man wouldn’t do such a simple mistake. I’m relieved.

A boy on the corridor has problems carrying his bag. Overpacking is inexperience. For shorter trips like the one he seems to be destined for by the looks of his carelessly tied shoes and open jeans jacket, it’s not too big a mistake, but it does make traveling unnecessarily uncomfortable. You’re less likely to take longer trips, have exciting adventures, if even the shortest trips are too exhausting. Overkill in packing kills the joy of traveling. It is deadly for experience. Unless the boy learns his limits soon he is going to start restricting his life by traveling less. He’s going to be staying more where he already is. He is going to have to find the solutions of his life, his education, his job, his wife, his friends and his opinions in neighborhood he lives in. Unless he learns his limits, he is just going to limit himself more until he has no choice. Is that where the bitter old men at bars complaining about their lives come from? Even with a cool glass of beer in front of them they are complaining. It’s like it’s bitter instead of lager. Ignorance of one’s own limitations has taken their freedom and the lack of choice is slowly strangling them. You hear it in the gravel in their voices, the pressure of the lack-of-choice rope. With every glass of beer they are shoveling the gravel on their own graves. As the queue on the corridor starts moving, I glance at the boy’s face. He’s young and there is a certain something in his eyes. The glint of enthusiasm, of not having given up yet, is clear to see. If he manages to maintain it, he’ll be fine, I think warmly when he disappears from my sight forever. New passengers fill first the corridor, then the available seats and again the corridor. The train is absolutely packed and the journey continues.

I am not the first one embarking on this kind of journey, I probably won’t be the last and I’m pretty sure I will never arrive at my final destination, although I am certain that the journey will have an end.