On the train down to Portland I was suddenly overcome with happiness. I couldn’t contain myself and had to put down my book. Watching the trees and the small depressed towns roll by, I loved it. I loved just being there, on the train, watching it roll by. My heart thumped with gaiety at the ugly squat houses, made beautiful for that ever-passing moment, just as the landscape was ever passing by. Surely, I thought, this was a sign. Surely, this happiness had to mean something. Or was it just that I was feeling happiness for this train-ride-long moment?
I glanced up to notice that the movie was still playing on the TVs bolted to the train ceiling. A feeling of sudden awakening mingled with smug self-satisfaction swept through me: I was experiencing and enjoying the world without needing to distract myself with the novelties of technology. Oh how far I had yet to go before I was able to be happy with all of it, with the natural glories of fast motion and dense woodland as well as with pleasing modern entertainments. One is not somehow better than the other, after all.
