There comes a point, wherever I live, when I become conscious of my familiarity with a place - particularly when it comes to my daily travels. The path that was once new and exotic becomes that blur of automatic movement between leaving the house and arriving at work. From walking through the streets of Port Vila, cutting across a field in Alotau, cycling through the old town of Hoi An, cycling (again) past the crowds of women doing their early-morning aerobics behind the Japanese Embassy in Ha Noi, catching the 86 tram in Melbourne, cycling (yet again) along Sullivan’s Creek in Canberra… I become a creature of routine.
I don’t even remember the moment when I stopped being actively engaged in that journey, but it eventually happens regardless of the setting. It isn’t until later there is that moment of epiphany when I need to remind myself, “Hey, wait a minute, I get to do this every day, which is amazing. And there will come a day when I don’t get to do it anymore.”
It has been famously said that the journey is the destination, and it’s an important reminder to myself that I need to hold onto these “in between” moments that we spend so many collective hours a week of our lives doing.
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