The Train That Taught Me to Wait

Over the past weeks, as I spent eight to ten hours a day traveling by train across the country, I received an unexpected lesson about time and patience. At first, I was just counting the travel times, departures, and arrivals; the outside world blurred past, serving only as a faded backdrop to my restless, often tense thoughts. Yet, amidst the steady clatter of the train, I began to notice something I hadn't before: the art of waiting — that strange but precious time when we don't look ahead or plan the next stop, but simply remain present.

I'm not only talking about waiting for the train to leave, to arrive, or for delays, but about that quiet, suspended moment when the world — or at least my little corner of it — takes a breath. Slowly, I realized waiting is not wasted time, but an opportunity to observe, to enter the present, to accept slowness and uncertainty. Sitting on the train, I watched fellow passengers immersed in quiet conversations, absorbed in books, or gazing out the cold window. Those silent moments transformed waiting from a burden into a gift — a chance to recharge and reconnect with my inner calm.

Life itself is full of waiting. We wait for decisions, changes, answers, dreams. In this fast-paced world where every minute feels precious, it's hard to accept this, as patience often seems slow or useless. But if we learn to wait well, if we learn to live in the silence of waiting, the journey itself becomes richer. The train that carries me through towns, fields, and rivers taught me that it's not only the arrival that matters, but every small, lived moment along the way. Because ultimately, waiting itself is a journey — an inner lesson showing us that in life, the most important things often lie not in the destination, but in the quiet, patient space between.