The train that taught me to wait

In the past few weeks, as I spent eight to ten hours a day traveling across the country by train, I received an unexpected lesson about time and patience. At first, I only focused on the travel times, the departures, and the arrivals; the outside world blurred in the distance, providing only a faint backdrop to my restless, often tense thoughts. Yet, amidst the constant rattle of the train, I began to notice something I hadn't before: the art of waiting – that strange but valuable time when we don't look ahead, or plan the next stop, but are simply present.

I'm not just talking about waiting for the train to depart, arrive, or deal with delays, but about that quiet, suspended moment when the world – or at least my little corner of it – takes a breath. Gradually, I realized that waiting isn't wasted time; it's an opportunity to observe, to step into the present, to embrace slowness and uncertainty. Sitting on the train, I watched as fellow passengers drifted into quiet conversations, immersed themselves in books, or gazed out the cold window. These silent moments transformed waiting from a burden into a gift – a chance to recharge and find inner peace.

Life itself is full of waiting. We wait for decisions, for change, for answers, for dreams. In this fast-paced world, where every minute feels precious, it's hard to accept this, as patience often seems slow or pointless. But if we learn to wait well, if we learn to live in the quiet of waiting, the journey itself becomes richer. The train, which takes me through cities, fields, and rivers, has taught me that it's not just about the arrival; it's about every small, lived moment along the way. Because, ultimately, waiting is also a journey – an inner lesson that shows us that the most important things in life are often not at the destination, but in the quiet, patient space between.