Ever since I read Paul Theroux's The Great Railway Bazaar as a young child, I have always found the idea of long train travel appealing. I was drawn in by the relatively slow opening up of new vistas, as well as the option to stroll the train and sleep in a sleeping compartment. The only time I traveled by train for a whole night, I was seated. The overnight ride to Disney World in Florida and, years later, the overnight train from San Carlos de Bariloche, Argentina, to Buenos Aires were examples of such journeys. I was recently considering taking the Cross-Canada train from Halifax, Nova Scotia, to Vancouver, British Columbia, a long-held dream on my bucket list.
Three additional places have been on my bucket list for as long as I can remember. Alaska, Tierra del Fuego, and the Peruvian site of Machu Pichu. In 1976, shortly after being married, I went to Machu Pichu, but I was unable to go to the other two.
The strange thing is that I actually traveled to these locations but then got turned around or stopped before arriving. I'm reviewing the facts and searching to see if I'm still motivated to carry on from where I left off. I'm not sure; so much time has passed since then, and both the world and I have changed.
What makes anything end up on a bucket list is a mystery. I think the unusual wilderness and geographic rarity were the draws for me. destinations that, when I read about them in travel books, I found fascinating, and frequently the actual voyage itself.
My thoughts lately have been set on starting new adventures and engaging in new experiences. Since I retired two months ago. I keep reminding myself that this is my moment. I have the time and, with good planning, the resources to realize long-held goals.
The essential terms in this equation are "old dreams." Can a dream grow stale, pointless, or just unappealing? Are long journeys just a hassle? I try to awaken the urge, the "call of the wild," if you will, but it appears that my comfortable bed and the close vicinity of the restroom have more appeal. It aggravates me. It depresses me. I attempt to persuade myself.
When I recently discussed my disappointments and feelings about aging with my daughter, she repeatedly pushed back, stating that it was not true and that I was doing just great. However, the verbose style was anything but persuasive.