Читать книгу How Did I Get Here?: Navigating the unexpected turns in love and life - Barbara Angelis De - Страница 15

You seldom sit at a crossroads and know it is a crossroads. —Alex Raffe

One of my first solitary adventures as a young girl was taking the train from the small suburb of Elkins Park, Pennsylvania, where I had lived since I was born, to downtown Philadelphia. I would walk to the station on Saturday morning, buy my round-trip ticket, and wait with excited anticipation for the train to arrive—I was going into the city all by myself! I didn’t do anything very original when I was in town, just things that seemed exotic to a twelve-year-old in the innocent times of the early 1960s. I’d go to Sam Goody and look through the latest records. I’d stop at Woolworth’s drugstore and admire all of the cosmetics, potions and makeup that I knew I would be using one day soon. I’d order a root beer float and French fries for lunch at a soda fountain. Then I’d walk back to the station and wait for the train to take me home. I never ventured more than three or four blocks from the main terminal, just to be sure I didn’t get lost, but as far as I was concerned I might as well have been thousands of miles away in Paris or Venice or some other magical city—for at least a few hours, I was free and completely on my own.

It doesn’t take much for me to recall the sights, sounds and sensations of those expeditions downtown, particularly those memorable train rides. I can still feel the rough wool fabric of the hard seat, scratchy against my legs as I pressed my face against the soot-covered window and watched the landscape appear to stream by. I can see the conductor standing in the aisle punching my ticket with his silver implement, the tiny white circle floating to the ground to join hundreds of others in a carpet of paper snow. Most of all, I can hear the conductor’s singsong voice as if triumphantly announcing the name of each station as we approached: “Melrose Park! … Tabor! … Fern Rock! … Wayne Junction! … North Broad Street! … Last stop Reading Terminal downtown Philadelphia!” As each station was announced, I knew I was getting closer to town, and my exhilaration would grow. Those names became like a string of soothing mantras I would recite in my head. I had never been to those places and had no idea what they were like, but the repetition of each one reassured me that I was, indeed, on the right train, going to the right place.

Those were simple times and simple journeys. Now, many years and many challenging times later, I look at my life odyssey and shake my head at how different it has been from that comforting and predictable ride from Elkins Park to downtown Philadelphia. There have been no announcements identifying what emotional terrain I was traveling through, no warnings to let me know I was about to enter this or that station, no one telling me when I was supposed to get on or when I was supposed to get off, no schedule to consult to make sure I didn’t miss the right train.

It would be so much easier, wouldn’t it, if our lives were like my childhood train rides, and if those important transitions we needed to be aware of were announced in advance. I can just imagine how it would sound: “Relationship Reevaluation coming up in three months!” … “Next stop, Career Change!” … “Now approaching Health Crisis!” … “Arriving at Turning Point—all passengers must change trains …” But this is not how it is.

How, then, do we know we have arrived at a turning point in our life? How do we correctly identify and name what feels like a crisis as actually an important crossroads?

First, it helps to understand that not all turning points look or feel the same.