Nearly everybody I tell in Los Angeles that the train is my chosen method of transport back to the east coast looks at me like I am insane. I explain that where I'm from, the train is a perfectly acceptable mode of transport. They, in turn, tell me about how America is different; its distances too vast, its people too unhinged. But more than anything, they look at me with a strange conflation of curiosity and respect.
I am gifted a journal, alongside a handwritten note that tells me I am inspiring. My British friends back home burst into laughter. Being from an island there's only a finite distance you can travel in any direction before reaching a coast. But when I waved goodbye to LA this time, it'd be another 100+ hours before I saw the sea again.
Traveling by train is a strange trick. There's something about the feeling of being in motion that can conjure great creativity, but by rail, you're moving slowly enough to actually take in the detail of your surroundings. And so, you stare out the window like a kid seeing everything for the first time. The time to reflect is a gift. Use it.
