Train rides are so magical to me. I sit and watch the world go by, even though I'm the one who is moving. Sunrise and sunset kaleidoscopes of blazing colors hold me captive. I'm afraid if I look away, I might miss their momentary magnificence.

Mesmerized by this ever-evolving watercolor landscape, the artist in me is fascinated. There's no right or wrong brush stroke on this honest canvas. The skylines, telephone lines, and clotheslines are the unknowing subjects that provide depth and meaning to this moving story.

From a distance, skylines can look so permanent, yet when we stand on the ground below they loom large overhead, so intimidating in height. How many of us ever look up? If we did, we might sense how small we are in relation their magnitude.

I believe when we realize our relative smallness in comparison to things looming much larger, we can assimilate our purpose and existence. While one individual can design the floor plan of a 45 story high rise, it takes many to bring the building to fruition. Why then do we feel the need to heal from our abuse all alone?

A tangle of telephone lines stretching the length of my journey provides the perfect perch for scores of birds to balance. We often struggle alone to find balance in our lives. Phone lines threaded between telephone poles sway slightly yet remain stable in strong storms. We often stand solo, hiding when hurdles in life leave us in a lurch. The phone rings on both ends; plenty of people DO care, yet we are hung on up believing we should never air our dirty laundry in public. Haven't we kept our secrets long enough? At what point can we open the gate and let the healing happen?

Watching neighbors chat on either side of their fence always renews my hope in humanity. We pass through this sleepy town with silos, cornfields, and quaint farmhouses, all with nothing to hide. Front lawns are neat and nonchalant while back yards boast tractors, farm tools, and, harkening back to simpler times, clotheslines. While dangling overalls, undershirts, and linens paint a picture of the farm family, we learn so much more from the interaction between the linens on the line and the weather. Some say clothesline drying comes at the mercy of weather conditions. My life journey has taught me otherwise.

Life ebbs and flows, and we decide whether to celebrate our circumstances or let them hold us captive. If I had my druthers, I'd celebrate survival by taking a long train trip in a sleeper car. The experiences I've endured, some joyous, many heartbreaking, have imparted lessons I will forever embrace; for they have made me who I am. They have shown me that, like the dates on a gravestone, the dash between the dates of birth and death are the days that comprise our journey. After we are born and before we breathe our last- that is the tale held between the bound book covers. Life is so much more that the title of our story.

Every stop, every town, every passenger on this train ride have stories to tell. I prefer a window seat. I don't want to miss a single thing!