I’ve written a lot about my journey. I guess guests to my blog will have read some of the stories I have to tell. Some aspects of my journey testify to the power of cowardice in my life. Others stories speak about desert experiences. Other still refer to that new Jerusalem that we now see as through a glass.
A Mistaken Journey
My job at the time was in Wellington’s CBD. My home at the time wasn’t. Rather, it was in Porirua, which I guess would be considered a suburb of the greater Wellington area. This being the case, I would take the train to and from work.
The train station served as a portal between the worlds of work and home. This particular train station had multiple platforms servicing multiple lines.
It was early in my “taking the train to and from work” experience when I found myself on a train going in a direction that wasn’t the one I had intended on. The stations didn’t look familiar. Was it my relative inexperience? Or was as it because I had not committed to memory the station names and their order?
About 10 minutes in came the realisation that this was the wrong train – or the wrong train line at least. What was I to do? I did the only thing I knew to do. Alighting at the next station, I crossed the platform and waited for the next train back to the station.
From there, I made doubly sure that I was on the right train – the train to Porirua. A mistaken journey that meant I got home late. Late to walk through the unfamiliar and dark streets of a troubled town. I made it home. And the journey made its way into the annals of my memory. And these annals serve as a rich repository of potential blogging topics.