I’m sure anyone who travels a lot eventually reaches a point where they get used to it; the actual travel becomes less noticeable, the process less sacred and more commonplace. I mean, I have a few friends who have jetsetted a fair bit recently, back and forth across the continent for work, or even overseas.
So yeah, my traveling by train in one direction or the other across Southern Ontario isn’t such a big deal, and I dare say I’ve reached that point, too. But there were a couple of times this past weekend (my weekends are now Sunday through Tuesday) that I really felt a sense of the distance I’ve traveled… really felt quite far from home, far from where I lay myself to rest.
The first such time I felt far from home happened on Monday evening as I was going for a walk through Aurora with Nicole, having accompanied her there for her to teach in a music school. The second time was tonight, as I got home to London and felt far away from Nicole.