‘a good traveller has no fixed plan and is not intent on arriving’ – lao tzu

i never really got it.

i’m on a train from montreal to new york city. we’re travelling through the adirondacks. and i’m kicking myself because all i want to do is write, but i look out the window instead and want to look out the window but write instead. it’s an unnervingly beautiful paradox i find myself caught within. the train sounds.

graaaaaap. graaap graaap graaaaaaaaaaap.

i don’t want to get off this train. i don’t want to arrive. i am happy and comfortable and still, for now. i know the next few weeks won’t stop. i know i’ll be all tied up in the bustle and the busy days and the getting from here to there.

but how exciting that will be! nights of four-hour sleep, stiff muscles from cramped spaces, new city smells and faces, the change in the air, in the everywhere.

and i’m not headed for anywhere, just riding minute by minute today and here and now on this train with the shaking and the moving and the graap graap graaping and the sweet simple thoughts of one day in montreal and kissing a boy, just a stranger just before.

i’m not wishing this to end, i’ll happily stay aboard until it stops. and every second i fall more in love with each second floating by and it comes in one big perfect wave of everything that starts from one small blood-red drop in the oceans of our hearts.

the gym.

metal plates clunk against each other. more, heavier, push. men speak in gruff voices. gruff topics. this is a place for men. but, some women come here, into a place saturated with testosterone. sweat. a fixed energy.

most people say hello, how are you? a usual greeting, no care for the answer. others just smile. some say nothing. what’s so hard about hello?

string singlets hang off bodies built for battle. but, there are no physical battles inside this place. just: fitter, stronger, leaner.

push, pull, grunt. veins protruding, looking to burst. all in an attempt to grow, become better. beat something – that something pushing them toward an edge they didn’t know existed. an edge they won’t know until they cross it – which, for the most part, they never will.

today, the gym smells like garlic. rancid garlic mixed with sweat, escaping, squeezing itself out through tiny pores. leaving it’s stale stench in the air. it’s busy tonight. men, women, protein, creatine. tattooed, red head, african, european, bearded. health/fitness/size/muscle – the common thread.