My wife and I recently relocated. And as I deal with all the minutiae that moving entails, I find myself reflecting on the meaning of what it means to move.

I realized that I have always been moving. Occasionally, the move is physical. But more often the move is emotional or mental.  Life moves on.

It reminds me of a story by the essayist Loren Eiseley that I re-discovered recently. He was on a train late one night and noticed a gaunt man sleeping in a nearby seat, holding a paper bag.  Thinking that the man was homeless, he watched with interest as the conductor entered the car yelling, “Tickets!” The man stirred and opened his eyes. Slowly he reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of money.

Perhaps surprised by the turn of events, Loren Eiseley then overheard the unlikely words spoken by the man:

“Give me,” he said then, … “give me a ticket to wherever it is.”

Whether the man knew or not, his words were profound. And although Mr. Eiseley’s point may have been a bit different than mine, each will find their own meaning in this (or any) story. And so I’d like to suggest the following:

We each find ourselves on a train that we call life. We don’t know the destination. We don’t even know if there is a destination, or when we might arrive.

It’s all a mystery — a mystery that we all experience. Our individual routes may diverge, or cross, or even run parallel. But try as we might to lay our own tracks, other forces will conspire and interfere to redirect our route.

Nonetheless we will each discover a unique set of rails being laid out in front of us, travelling through both wondrous and fearsome places.

Take your ticket — it’s time to move on.  We may not know the details of the future, but you — like me — are heading out to “wherever it is.” As for me, at this moment I am enjoying the view. Maybe I’ll see you at the next station.

I have a confession to make. As I reread my most recent set of posts, I am a bit embarrassed. You see, my writing may appear to be that of an authority on such subjects as art and photography. But here is the confession: I am no authority. I am neither a widely published photographer or artist, and I am certainly not considered by my friends and relatives to be a great thinker.

My blog isn’t written from a position of authority at all; it is written to help me sort out my own feelings on art, photography, philosophy, and life. I consider myself to be a student, not a teacher. But good teachers in these subjects are hard to find, so I forge my own way through the dense thickets. I suspect that all who ponder art — and life — must make their own way. Perhaps there are no real authorities on these matters at all — we are all students born into a cosmos we all struggle to comprehend.

And so I end this short post with a caveat: Don’t listen to me. Well, I guess I’d like you to CONSIDER what I say — I definitely put a bit of thought into these posts. But the artistic life (like all life, I guess) is very personal. And should your own path take you in a different direction, my advice is to leave my words and ideas behind without reservation. I won’t take offense.

Perhaps someday I may find myself following this same bit of advice about these posts.