In Transit

I love travelling.
No, that's not quite right. I love being between a known place and a visited place. The travelling itself is often very tiring, or noisy or uncomfortable (or all and more), but that gap between stepping out of the daily habit and the worn paths, and the stepping into the new schedule is a space especially made for daydreaming, imagining and enjoying.
To be in transit even sounds temporary. Much more so than the slightly stuffy "in transition". I'm not always a chrysalis! I particularly enjoy being on planes, with a view of clouds. Surely that has got to be the furtherest from everyday that normal people can attain. I daydreamed about the plane being the cocoon, and that when I would disembark, I'd go to the loos, change my clothes, turn my wig around, discard my broken suitcase and walk out someone unknown. Someone new and fresh for this adventure.

Of course, when I do land, my mind is already fixated on walking quickly getting the luggage, getting the train, making the connections, did I remember the tickets for the show? Oh it's raining, thank goodness for the warning to bring a brolly and zoom zoom zoom off we go again and my half-formed stoies and ideas don't get written down and so errode away as my blood sugar drives me to find some food and get to the next connection. To stride along and not get walked over by these strange creatures that are the locals here. So big, so very elsewhere.

Arrival is the end.