sebastienne

I do love the liminal space of travel.

Even earlier this morning, crammed on a rush-hour Victoria Line train, headphones too-loud and eyes pressed shut as I'm squeezed into a corner; still felt good and lucky, a chance to be inside my own head with no expectation that I'll be being Productive.

I assume the lucky feeling would fade very quickly if I ever had a significant regular rush-hour commute; but for now, when most of my life is within a twenty-minute cycle of my front door, the rest of my life is made special by travel. The times that I take a seven-hour round-trip for a four-hour rehearsal; the times I wake up in London and have to be at work in Oxford; my experiences in those places are made more special, my memories of them more intense, by having the processing and encoding time of solo travel.

(I mean even the long journey home was not enough to allow me to make sense of Lazarus, but then, some things are outside of the power of the Oxford Tube.)