THE STATION

Tucked away in our subconscious is an idyllic vision. We see ourselves on a long trip that spans the continent. We are travelling by train, out the window we drink in the passing scene;

of cars on a nearby highway
of children waving at a crossing
of cattle grazing on a distant hillside
of smoke billowing from a power plant
of row upon row of corn and wheat
of flatlands and valleys
of mountains and rolling hillsides
of city skylines and village halls

But uppermost in our minds is the final destination. On a certain day at a certain hour we will pull into the station, Bands will be playing and flags waving. Once we get there so many wonderful dreams will come true and the pieces of our lives will fit together like a completed jigsaw puzzle.

How restlessly we pace the aisles damning the minutes loitering - waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting for the station. When we reach the station "That will be it!" we cry, "When I'm eighteen, when I buy a new Mercedes Benz, when I put the last kid through college, when I get a promotion, when I reach the age of retirement, then, I will live happily ever after!" Sooner or later we must realize that there is no station, no one place to arrive at once and for all. The true joy of life is the trip, the station is only a dream that constantly outdistances us.

It isn't the burdens of today that drive men mad. It is the regrets of yesterday and the fear of tomorrow. Regret and fear are twin thieves that rob us of today. So stop pacing the aisles and counting the miles. Instead, climb more mountains, eat more icecream, go barefoot more often, swim more rivers, watch more sunsets, laugh more, cry less.

Life must be lived as we go along. The station will come soon enough! Robert Hastings

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