Planes, Trains and Reflections

I’ve spent a lot of my life en route. On my way to somewhere, that’s pretty much what all of life is. I’ve spent a lot of time on planes and trains. Planes especially. My family doesn’t live close by. When you want to be close to your family, even when you live far away, a lot of travel is required. That also means I’ve spent a lot of time looking out windows. There’s something about this experience, the ritual of being transported from one place to another, that feels really transformative. It’s a time to reflect. There’s nowhere to go, except where you’re going. Bound to an uncomfortable seat stationed inside a metal box, moving unfathomably fast through the world. There’s nothing to do. You could look at your phone, if you have charge or service. You could read a book or write. Listen to music. Sleep. But usually I find myself staring out the window, thinking. Preparing for the trip I’m about to have, or the trip I’m coming home from. 

It’s the same feeling every time. Wherever I’m going, to home or away, the experience of traveling always feels the same. On trains and planes, there’s so much to see. Towns, neighborhoods, and cities flying by. It makes me feel like a time traveler, being transported to a different location in just hours. So much reflection happens during this time. Thinking about where I’m coming from and where I’m going, in a literal sense and a much deeper one too. I think about the people in my life, all the things I want to do, and who I want to be. Glass is reflective. I look out the window to see the world passing by, and I also see my image reflected back at me. It’s almost psychedelic when I really think about it. It’s meditative. I get off the train or plane feeling rejuvenated and without fail, the most myself I’ve felt in a while.

When I get on a plane or a train, I’m almost always going to see my family. And I almost always make these trips alone. There’s nobody to talk to, unless I want to talk to a stranger, which I sometimes do. Strange and wonderful conversations happen when you let them. But usually I appreciate the time by myself, on my own agenda, free from responsibility. I’m very comfortable navigating airports, and the few times I’ve flown with friends or boyfriends, I’m the one to lead the way. I’m proud of this. It makes me feel like I have something to show for all this independence. 

It hasn’t really been a choice for me. Family has always been the most important thing, and that has stayed the same no matter where my family members have moved. I work a lot, mostly to be able to buy tickets to visit my family. My dad doesn’t live too far away, just a train ride. My sister, her husband, and my almost one-year old niece live all the way in Los Angeles. That’s a far way from Philadelphia. My mom moved there recently too to help out and start fresh. Starting fresh at 60 is not an easy feat, but it reminds me just how much time I have. I see them all whenever I can. Whenever breaks or holidays or time off work allows, and often I go just for the weekend if there’s something important I don’t want to miss.

So it’s just me in this city. Me and my closest friends—chosen family, if you will. My real family is not that large, and being so spread out naturally makes it difficult to see each other. My godfather and grandfather live in Kansas City, and I have aunts and uncles sprinkled in other places across the country. My grandmother also lived in Kansas City, before she passed away some months ago. I used to live there too, years ago when my family all lived under the same roof. My brother-in-law Micahel’s family lives in Michigan, and I actually spent this past Christmas with them. So there’s a lot of travel to be done, rounds to be made. 

I used to go to New York City all the time when I was younger. 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, after my family moved to Pennsylvania. At the time my sister, Abby, lived there. My parents would let me get on the bus all by myself to go visit her. A lot of trust they had in me, it seems. We spent many weekends together. Exploring the city, seeing her friends, going out to eat, but mostly just spending time together. It made me love New York, all the time I spent there. I had an internship there this past summer, and revisiting the city all by myself, without my sister there, was a new experience. I loved it just as much as I remembered. I didn’t have a place aside from my place in Philly, so I had to commute. Once again, the long bus rides, a full-circle experience. Sometimes I’d crash with friends who live there, but usually I’d be on the bus four to five hours a day, half there and half back with a full day of work and subway rides in between. Lots of time to think on the commute, reflecting on how much had changed since I was a young girl visiting the city, now with a big girl job in Manhattan and a whole different life.

Los Angeles. A city I’ve never lived in, but it feels like home. Abby and Michael moved there when I was 15. Since then, I’ve flown out two, three, four, five times a year, spending weekends or weeks at a time. When my mom moved there, it really became a home. I make the trip whenever I can. When I visit, I crash on the couch. But it’s my family, after all. Wherever they are is where home is. They’re actually leaving soon, moving to Michigan. And that will become a home to me too. But Los Angeles will always hold a special place in my heart, at risk of sounding cliche. So many teenage summers were spent there, the in between moments during very pivotal points in my life. That’s how I feel about New York too. These places allowed space for me to look at my life from a different perspective. Isolated from routine but connected to the people who know me best, giving me a fresh look on life to return home with. 

What goes up must come down, and what goes around comes back around. The laws of physics, and of travel. I leave home to come home once again. I return to my house just as I left it, with all the same things in my suitcase. I’m the same person, just slightly changed, fueled by the rush of adventure and the love of my family. Fueled by a break from routine that reminds me what matters most. There are times I resent being the one that does all the traveling, but I’m endlessly appreciative of the open doors and arms my family welcomes me with. I’m also thankful for the experience. I’m a lucky girl, getting to know so much of the world while seeing my family. Two birds, one stone, one round-trip ticket at a time. 

There’s nowhere to go, except where you’re going. There’s no choice but to move forward, in one way or another. Even setbacks are forward motion. The only opportunity to go back is through reflection and memories. Looking out the metaphorical window to see where you’ve been and where you’re going. Who you’ve been, who you’ve known, and who you’d like to be. Travel just epitomizes this experience. For me, it’s provided a really clear image of where I am in life and where I’d like to be. There’s something really romantic about traveling. It’s your life, but how it might be if you lived in a different environment with different people. It’s a chance to see things from a whole new perspective, just to come back to reality once again. Coming home makes me appreciate right where I am, how I got here, and the process of getting where I want to be.