Recently I’ve started an internship in Salt Lake, which has been perfectly lovely, but that’s another story for another day. As part of this internship, I commute from Provo to Salt Lake. Rather than drive and get road rage every day, I take the train.
When I was on my mission there was a train I would ride to get into Lisbon. At one point it goes over their version of the Golden Gate Bridge (Ponto 25 de Abril) across the river (Rio Tejo). On one end you could see all of Lisbon unfold before you, cruise ships chilling in the river, the red tile roof standing out against the grimy, old buildings. On the other side was this magnificent, green cliff. Though I loved seeing Lisbon, that cliff was my favorite view of the whole train ride. I would look for it both ways.
I love the train.
Riding the train is peaceful and perfectly pleasant. Yes, it makes for a longer day. But it’s fine by me. I catch the 6:50 a.m. train and that gives me my most productive time of the day to work on my ominous thesis. It’s quiet (unless there’s a random dude sitting across from me playing back football highlights on his phone sans headphones) and I get to sit by a window and work.
(I’ve recently discovered how important sitting by windows is to me. I will get as close as possible to a window whenever I need to be productive. As in, I moved away from one of my coworkers on the train just now and sat somewhere right by the window. A bit rude? Perhaps. Healthy for my soul? Absolutely.)
The ride home I work and hope the Internet will cooperate with me. It’s a craps shoot every time.
But without fail riding the train feels like breathing a sigh of relief. The mountains stand ever majestic. The clouds toy with them. The lake glistens in the rising and setting of the sun. I listen to music and bask in the beauty that surrounds me.
And I am healed. Every time.