As I type this, I hear a train whistle off in the distance. The closest railroad track is a mile away. Should I be able to hear the whistle of the night train from where I sit?

And I wonder. Who is on the train? Where are they going? What are they leaving?  I want to travel on a train at night. I want to feel the swaying of the train and go off to some unknown place. I want to sleep in one place and wake up in another while zooming past mountains, rivers, and farmland.

I’ve always had a bit of travel lust.

Ironic. For most of my life, I’ve been the epitome of a home body.  In the last 10 years, I’ve been outside of the tri-state area (in this case, that means New York, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania) a handful of times. By the way, that’s one handful.

That most of my life part does not include my 20’s. My 20’s were about exploration: the world around me and the man within

I traveled extensively – Europe, Middle East, and North America. I was a discoverer: Magellan, de Leon, Cornodao, and me.

Nights in train stations, saw sunrises from mountains, danced with strangers, sang songs with words I didn’t know, and shook hands with strangers. Friendships were formed with people all over the world.

By my middle 20’s, I moved to Brooklyn for graduate school. My self-exploration continued, albeit in a different fashion, as I earned an MA in Creative Writing and American Literature.  It wasn’t just the books and papers that taught me.  I wandered around the sites and neighborhoods of New York City.  What was it that made the city iconic?

And my 20’s ended. The wanderlust not gone but somewhat sated. The 30’s would be about the family and home. It would be about giving to others.

But sometimes, I hear that train whistle go off. And I want to hop on. I want to ride on the night train.

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