The back of the seat in front of me features three different kinds of grey. Dull at a first glance, but time has given it a warm and almost charming allure. The sunlight bounces on old scratches on the seat, giving them new life, just for an instant.
To my right, a French lady is bombarding her son, sitting next to her, with their travel plans. She is very loud. I am tempted to tell her to lower her voice, then I change my mind, I don’t say anything. It’s just an excess of enthusiasm.
To my left, the landscape flows and transforms. The lady’s voice fades away as I plunge into the countryside beyond the window. If I keep my eyes fix and focused on one point, the whole world melts and takes on another form. Colours are a continuous mutation of shades. Trees are no longer green, sky is no longer blue. Trees and sky no longer are.
The trains stops briefly to collect a new set of passengers.
Behind me, all the steps that got me exactly HERE.
Although I didn’t plan it, I think writing my first post on a train makes a lot of sense. I have often felt more comfortable in the movement. It’s hard to stay still, to settle, to build something permanent.
Movement to me is inspiration, exchange, curiosity.
Movement to me is also escape, addiction, fear.
My aim for the next months, the next future, is to explore and experiment a new kind of movement, to take on new uncomfortable positions. A position in which I can physically stay still and emotionally accelerate. A position in which I can physically travel the world and emotionally radicate myself to what I value.
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