Planes, Trains, and Automobiles

I went up to New York to apartment hunt this weekend, just a single day trip: took the train from Union Station in the morning, came back in the evening. There's something incredibly peaceful about the train. It's quieter than an airplane. You're likely to have a full bench to yourself. The view is nicer, and there are outlets to plug in your laptop or charge your cellphone. It is exactly as comfortable as movies and books suggest that riding a train should.

But there's more to it than just physical pleasantry. It's a calming experience. It's like a massage; it lifts away stress. You sit down, open up your book or your magazine, and for a few hours, you're set. You know exactly where you're going, exactly how long it will take to get there, and for the duration of the trip, your job is simply to occupy yourself. There is a sense of purpose to it—going from place to place for whatever reason—and yet there is also the sense of burdens relieved, of being away from the expectations and uncertainties of regular existence, as you know that for the next few hours, nothing is required of you except to be. It's like a miniature vacation, a time out, if you will, a designated period of time where the only structure is that which is dictated by your location. Yet it is better than a vacation, because in the end you get somewhere; you accomplish something; you serve a purpose.