There is something to be said about a train. As you are carried away towards your destination your mind drifts away from your surroundings. All of a sudden your mind is no longer focused on the metal carriage, or the the passengers that surround you. You gaze out of the window and for the length of your journey your mind becomes fixated on something different all together.
No matter where I am in the world, the train is always the same.
For years now there has been a story in the back of my mind. Yearning to be told. Thousands of words needing to be assembled. But how best to communicate what was experienced. A film would be perfect, but for that a screenplay would need to be written. A book perhaps, but that would require a finished product. Writing travel articles… but I haven’t made a career of it. I am by no means a writer, a visualizer perhaps, but as a dyslexic… writing was always out of the question.
Then on a day like any other; on the same old boring commute it came to me. Day in and day out all I could think of was everything I have seen, endured, explored, discovered. A whole world beyond what was in front of me. So many stories sitting there untold. So to hell if I wasn’t a writer. To hell if no one expressed any interest in what I had to say. There was no profit to be made. All I needed was an outlet. One that I could continually add to. One that had no finished product.
So here it is. A blog. Just one entry after another. In no particular order. Just reminiscing on my train journey.
This is my story. And the adventures that followed it.