Today is a metaphor

Today is a metaphor…
I’m in transit. I’ve risen early while most still sleep. I’m tired. It was a late finish and an early start with little rest in between.
I’ve carefully packed my things, confident I haven’t forgotten anything. I’ve packed light, just the essentials, as I don’t want to be slowed down by baggage.
I scribble some farewells and leave them in the dark. They seem under done, but they are strong in my heart. Farewells can never really cover the intensity of longing, of love that comes with separations, with endings and awaited beginnings.
I creep outside with dawn still to approach and it’s cold. Not bitterly, but brisk. The freshness of morning breaks through my fatigue; the cool air and faint glimmer of light cast some hope on the day, despite the uncertainty of it.
The taxi arrives right on time and the older Vietnamese Australian driver calls me sir and says the meter is not working and would $35 be ok. I know that’s fair but I wonder if I’m actually in Denpasar or Shanghai or Trivandrum where I have worried about taxis without meters overcharging.
If I thought I had troubles, and I had been, the driver tells me he came here on a boat after the war in which most of his family died. ‘Everynight we go down in a cave because of bombing,’ he says with a clipped accent. ‘Most of my family died in a cave when bombing dropped on top.’ He suddenly grabs his throat with his hand and groans, ‘Ah I don’t want to remember this, it was long time ago.’
There is much to remember and to forget. We can’t choose our feelings but perhaps we can choose whether to live in them or allow them to recede, and move forward.
The decision to pack light pays off, allowing me to glide straight through to the departure gates.
Soon I’m seated on the plane but feel like I have been on automatic pilot, although I believe the plane has a real One. The seat beside me is empty and I realise many trips in life are taken alone, even when surrounded by many. The extra space can seem preferable but then I imagine my wife beside me, and I’m lonely.
Fatigue over takes as the journey continues, it seems I’m so tired that nothing can stir my enthusiasm.
But somewhere over the green blanket which is south east Australia, the ideas and thoughts begin flowing and suddenly I must write these thoughts down. Which I’m doing. Do we take note of those things that strangely move us? They say more about us than we often stop to recognise.
I’ve been to Melbourne airport many times but this arrival is unfamiliar, and so is my destination in Scoresby. Something new, and yet almost to my surprise, everything goes smoothly and I arrive safely. It seems I’m not as directionally challenged as I tend to believe about myself.

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