7-hour bus rides

I remember thousands of bus rides from the suburbs of Mississauga where I lived my whole life to Toronto where I went to school, then work. I wasn’t satisfied with where I came from, the same city I lived my whole life, safe perfect and too known. I wasn’t satisfied with where I was going either, taking courses I didn’t care about and eventually dropping out, or building a life I had no interest in, talking to people who shared no common interests with me. I knew I was lonely but I really didn’t know how much. How much I needed something to light me up and simply make sense to me. I spent a million hours on that GO transit bus, staring out the same freeway for 30 years and daydreaming about some different life.

And now I take 7 hour bus rides from the capital of Costa Rica to the ocean town where I live part time. The ride is long and uncomfortable and there are always logistics to keep in the back of my mind and it can be tiring on the body. Naturally I start to dream. What do I dream about now? To be a honest I dream a little less. A little bit about hope and stamina for the world, for tragedies. But mostly I just enjoy the opportunity to do nothing. Today I found myself complaining in my head about how long this bus ride was. Thinking about the latest disappointment or fights with my mom or another lover lost. Then I remembered those millions of hours from a few years ago and I was shocked by gratitude.

Shocked by gratitude. Years of yearning for something and working towards something I didn’t know what it was. People I lost because I chose a future I couldn’t explain. I silently spoke to myself: thank you.