Expecting nothing less than to come back to the University a completely different person, I replay the events of my summer as I ride home on an Amtrak train and try to convince myself that I have in fact changed.
It took me one bus ride and four trains to get from Glen Spey, N.Y. to D.C.. I spent my summer looking after 10 10- to 11-year-old boys at Camp Lokanda, a kosher sleep-away camp in — I use this term very loosely — upstate New York. I said goodbye to my campers and, for the first time all summer, I wasn’t ready to leave. With tear-filled eyes I got onto the bus that was to take me to Westchester, where I would catch a train to bring me into the city — New York City that is.
I have a knack for getting lost in the city and, with five bags and a helpless-tourist expression plastered onto my face, I was in no mood to wander aimlessly in foreign territory. Unfortunately, I did get lost, but only a couple times and I found a Starbucks along the way, so I guess there is such a thing as serendipity. I chanced upon Penn Station (not really — a kind stranger had to actually walk me to the station because I was about ready to give up after having asked four people for directions with none of them pointing me in the right one) after leaving Camp Lokanda only five hours earlier. I had two hours until my train was to depart, so I got some pizza and realized that I need to start carrying more cash with me since I had to use a debit card for the $2.50 slice.
The mad rush to be first onto the train leaves everyone upset, but it really is every man for himself. One must push, shove, maneuver and slide among passersby if he expects to successfully get in his train on time. I am pretty passive for the first 15 minutes and then I kick it into high gear and make sure I have a window seat.
Now, some people may not like the railways and prefer the open seas or open road — or open sky, I guess — but I love riding on the train. My four-hour journey contained eight stops, one delay in Philadelphia, two pleasant conversations and one bathroom break. My only reservation about the railway system is that bags are out in the open and are ripe for the taking for anyone getting off before you do. I have trouble sleeping on the train for this reason alone; I need to be aware of anyone attempting to steal my precious bags. (Why would they? Dunno, just worries me.)
Riding the train offers me not only an inexpensive way to travel, but also the chance to see parts of the country I wouldn’t otherwise see. I think one could compose a cultural study by simply sitting and looking out from the inside of any passenger car. The areas one goes through are almost always poor and dilapidated. They have an eerie sense of similarity to something from The Twilight Zone, where you are not sure if you’ve gone anywhere because the place you just left looks a lot like the new place in which you find yourself. I can only discern the cities the train goes through once we are inside a station and a placard on a wall provides a name — Trenton, Newark, Wilmington.
While listening to “White Houses” and putting myself in the place of any young girl who lost ... something, I can overhear a fellow passenger talking to someone on the phone. She is a young woman with a baby in tow and she sounds disappointed. She is talking about how now that she has her son, she does not have as much money as she used to. She explains that she would have spent her last dime on a pair of shoes before her baby was born, but now he is her main priority and concern. She goes on to say that even though she can go without a meal sometimes, she cannot deny her baby food. I have imagined that people do feel this way, but have never actually heard them outwardly express it. It was so amazing to see that no matter what mistakes she has made in the past or will make in the future, she has grown enough to put someone before herself. I cannot wait to get to that place in my own life.
Campus life is special, but nothing like the real world. Being “out there” makes me realize how lucky I am to have a place like the University to return to. I may not have developed and matured as much as I would have liked to over the summer, but going into second year, I have a fresh perspective and am ready to embrace whatever comes my way. This summer rushed by and was filled to the brim with both magic and misery. I can only hope for the same this school year.
Ian’s column runs biweekly Thursdays. He can be reached at i.smith@cavalierdaily.com.
Read More
An ode to running
By Malone Morchower | YesterdayIn addition to providing me with opportunities to connect with others around Grounds, I really value the way that running immerses me in time and place.
Khul Ke Nacho — a celebration of free-spirited dancing
By Malaika Rehman | 2 days agoThe sea of attendees wearing desi attire and dancing joyfully throughout the night was a reflection of the thriving Pakistani community in and outside of PSA.
Holding onto every grain in the hourglass
By Mai Hukuoka | 3 days agoNow that I’m back at school, I have made it my mission to take note of the sneaky passage of time.
