There it is, a great big world which is right outside of our door. This is alive and well, even if we don’t choose to see it.
I think, of course, and wonder of places such as certain cities, like say, places that I’ve only seen in pictures, like San Francisco or maybe Wyoming or even Alaska.
Or then again, my pilgrimage to anywhere could begin from anywhere; in which case, I have this urge to board a train and ride the railroads that span across our country. This way, I can see it all.
Mainly me and the idea of my trusty laptop to keep notes.
Mainly the dream.
Mainly my need to write about the reflections I see in the window of a fast moving train.
Mainly my need to see inspiration, alive and in the flesh.
Or mainly my need to explore – not forever, or not to leave you or anyone else behind or out of the picture – but instead, just to travel, just to see, just to smell the air and touch the fabric of a great American adventure – just to enjoy an expedition or an exploration of sorts that began in my mind as a boy, to which I have always dreamed of but I have never dared nor tried nor planned or executed this dream beyond the standardize fantasy.
I’d like to imagine this coast to coast adventure by rail and by hopefully an adventure where I’d have my view through a window with comfortable accommodations, where I can rest or stretch or take my notes as the train rolls on.
I want to do this. Someday. Maybe someday soon too.
Maybe I can do this in connection with my personal pilgrimage to find my emotional Mecca or start my notes for the next best thing – a novel or novella or maybe at minimum, a stream of consciousness prose where I can detail everything I have seen from the sights of my hometown to Millennium Park in Chicago to Moffat Tunnel in Colorado, then to the Sierra Nevada Mountains and finalizing my trip in Fisherman’s Wharf, San Francisco.
More than the need to see Europe or extend my soul to a train ride through Italy; more than visiting where the generations before me came from in Austria on my Father’s side or Dublin on my Mother’s and more than the other collection of my family’s historic tree – I want to do this, which is not to say that I want to exclude anyone or anything like this. This is not an insult or to slight anyone nor is this about anyone or anything other than this; I have had this idea since I was a young boy – of boarding a train on one side of my country and ending my trip on the other.
I want to write what I see; as if my words were painted onto a canvas. I want to detail the people I’d meet who work the trains and learn about their lives and hear about how they live.
I want to see the scenery change as well as the culture and the visions of the sunsets. I want to begin with my sunrises, which have always come up above the Eastern seaboard. This is where I’d begin.
I start where the sun rises and end where the sun sets.
In fact, I can say that I have seen the sun go down above the Western seaboard. I can say that yes, San Diego and I made a pact with each other – that at some point, I would be back like a welcomed prince from an outside kingdom. But there is more to this than my pact with Imperial Beach.
The trip is called Coast to Coast by rail.
I want to see this.
Maybe . . .
Who knows; however, as I write this to you, I am about to embark on another long day where work comes first and the dream becomes something I hold – these are some things to think about – or something to get me through the day – or enough to break the mundane boredom – and be satisfied within my heart.