"Adventures are never fun while you're having them," said C. S. Lewis, once upon a time.
Unusually, I'd have to disagree with him.
Around five weeks ago, I decided to spontaneously book some train tickets to my favourite UK city to say hello. I also decided to make it a surprise.
Long train journeys are my favourite because there's often an emotional experience that comes with travelling. From London to Durham it was the slow release of city stress transforming to intrigue and excitement of what was about to occur. And those three hours turned into a buzz of joy as I travelled. It's incredibly cheesy, but there's something extremely special about arriving into a city with so many memories.
And so began forty-eight hours (roughly) of joy. What was so bizarre about the whole experience was the spontaneity. As a self-titled control freak, it was really unusual to just let the time unfold. Yet that's what made the adventure so great.
I was able to chill out, catch up, and most importantly, surprise, lots of my favourite people. The looks on their faces were worth everything; there were even tears (hopefully of joy). But I think what struck me most was that for me, Durham was a holiday. It felt temporary in a way it's never felt before and I spent the perfect amount of time there.
The tranquility of Durham was evident and the banter was great, but my train journey home was equally emotional. Mostly because I began processing the experience of doing so much in such a short space of time. The people I saw, the conversations I had, and the blessings that occurred as I was able to relax and be myself.
Adventure: "...an unusual and exciting, typically hazardous, experience or activity."
My short trek was an adventure because there was the danger that I'd return feeling empty or sad because I wasn't staying. Or that I'd regret not spending enough time with people. Or that I'd want to go back next weekend.
There's an amazing quote in Les Miserables that manages to poetically capture my relationship with Durham:
"...So long as you go and come in your native land, you imagine that those streets are a matter of indifference to you; that those windows, those roofs, and those doors are nothing to you; that those walls are strangers to you; that those trees are merely the first encountered haphazard; that those houses, which you do not enter, are useless to you; that the cobbled streets which you tread are merely stones. Later on, when you are no longer there, you perceive that the streets are dear to you; that you miss those roofs, those doors; and that those walls are necessary to you, those trees are well beloved by you; that you entered those houses which you never entered, every day, and that you have left a part of your heart, of your blood, of your soul, in those cobbled streets."
Unusually, I'd have to disagree with him.
Around five weeks ago, I decided to spontaneously book some train tickets to my favourite UK city to say hello. I also decided to make it a surprise.
Long train journeys are my favourite because there's often an emotional experience that comes with travelling. From London to Durham it was the slow release of city stress transforming to intrigue and excitement of what was about to occur. And those three hours turned into a buzz of joy as I travelled. It's incredibly cheesy, but there's something extremely special about arriving into a city with so many memories.
And so began forty-eight hours (roughly) of joy. What was so bizarre about the whole experience was the spontaneity. As a self-titled control freak, it was really unusual to just let the time unfold. Yet that's what made the adventure so great.
I was able to chill out, catch up, and most importantly, surprise, lots of my favourite people. The looks on their faces were worth everything; there were even tears (hopefully of joy). But I think what struck me most was that for me, Durham was a holiday. It felt temporary in a way it's never felt before and I spent the perfect amount of time there.
The tranquility of Durham was evident and the banter was great, but my train journey home was equally emotional. Mostly because I began processing the experience of doing so much in such a short space of time. The people I saw, the conversations I had, and the blessings that occurred as I was able to relax and be myself.
Adventure: "...an unusual and exciting, typically hazardous, experience or activity."
My short trek was an adventure because there was the danger that I'd return feeling empty or sad because I wasn't staying. Or that I'd regret not spending enough time with people. Or that I'd want to go back next weekend.
There's an amazing quote in Les Miserables that manages to poetically capture my relationship with Durham:
"...So long as you go and come in your native land, you imagine that those streets are a matter of indifference to you; that those windows, those roofs, and those doors are nothing to you; that those walls are strangers to you; that those trees are merely the first encountered haphazard; that those houses, which you do not enter, are useless to you; that the cobbled streets which you tread are merely stones. Later on, when you are no longer there, you perceive that the streets are dear to you; that you miss those roofs, those doors; and that those walls are necessary to you, those trees are well beloved by you; that you entered those houses which you never entered, every day, and that you have left a part of your heart, of your blood, of your soul, in those cobbled streets."
Yet the latter end of my train journey was mentally preparing for city life with the adventure behind me. One that was filled with joy from start to finish and has refreshed me as I return to the office this week. It's reaffirmed my place and purpose here in London without neglecting the passion and love I have for a tiny city up North where it snows a little too often and looks beautiful without even trying.
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