Nov. 5, 2008
Utah's Ruby Canyon has no roads. It can only be seen by river raft or train. So I feel pretty lucky to be watching its red walls slide past my window.
Though countless Amtrak passengers have seen the same sight, I imagine I am the only one. And I suppose, in a sense, I am. I am the only person to see Ruby Canyon with my eyes, my story, my thoughts about how I got here and where I'm going. Likewise, my fellow train travelers are the only ones to see this canyon through their eyes, their stories.
I wonder what they see?
I see contrast. The baked red dirt burns against memories of snow-white forests in the Sierra Nevada mountain range, crossed just hours ago. How suddenly the journey changes. How suddenly the path turns.
I see a past relationship that grew in love and strength in the great outdoors -- and died in the barren, impersonal land of cell phones and email. I see the hope I will love again.
I see 27 years of knowing the love of my God, my family and my friends. I see a life already full of adventure and a lifetime to fill with even more adventures.
What will they be? And, more importantly, who will I be inside of them? I hope, come what may, I will never forget the sense of wonder that comes when watching the world go by from the window of a train. I hope I continue to live my life slow and deliberate and always with a sense of wide-eyed wonder.