When the Journey Began Before the Journey

There was a time when travelling did not begin on the day of departure.

It began days earlier.

You walked to the transport park to book a seat. The journey was important enough to prepare for. There were no apps to check availability and no hurried clicks on a phone screen. Someone wrote your name in a notebook, collected a deposit, and assured you there would be a place when the day arrived. The trip had already entered your imagination long before the engine came alive.

As a child, I loved the window seat.

The road was never merely a way to get somewhere. It was a classroom without walls.

I remember watching what looked like pools of water shimmering ahead of us. Every few minutes, they would disappear just as we approached. I asked question after question until someone finally explained that it was called a mirage. The answer satisfied my curiosity, but the wonder never left.

Then there were the trees.

Long stretches of green stood like quiet companions, leaning over the road as though they were welcoming travellers into their shade. Every bridge had its own meaning. Some announced that we were almost home. Others whispered that we still had a long way to go. Without looking at a map, I could often tell where we were simply by the rhythm of the road.

Looking back, I realise that the journey was never only about arriving. It taught me to notice.

Today, I am the one expected to answer the questions. Sometimes I can. Sometimes I discover that growing older does not remove wonder. It simply changes the questions we ask.

Children ask why the water disappears before you reach it.

Adults ask why peace disappears just when life seems within reach.

Perhaps both questions deserve the same patience.

Somewhere along the way, many of us stopped looking out of the window. Our attention became occupied with deadlines, uncertainty, expectations, and worries that often grow far larger in our minds than they ever become in reality. We have become experts at imagining storms while overlooking the landscape passing quietly beside us.

Life still offers bridges that tell us we are making progress. It still lines our roads with reminders of beauty. It still places moments before us that deserve our full attention.

The scenery has not disappeared.

Sometimes, it is simply hidden behind the noise we carry within.

The child who marvelled at a mirage was not searching for certainty. He was simply paying attention. There is wisdom in that posture.

Perhaps the beautiful life we keep searching for has been travelling beside us all along, waiting for us to look out of the window once more.