This step in the journey could be compared to the transfer from one train to the next. When you find yourself headed in the wrong direction, disembarking, only to wait for a transfer headed in the right direction. And during this period, there is time to contemplate the odd pattern of gum stains on the concrete, only to remind oneself that there is in fact no pattern that exists but only to the whims of the observer.
In the midst of these ongoing transitions between one set of circumstances to another, it's amazing to think of the number of roles we play in life. What are the labels we call ourselves, and how those change. And how many of these labels can we really change or want to change at the same time? Every step is a shift, a move from one set of labels that make up an identity to another. It's not a smooth platform, but a pile of rocks we must scramble onto as we wait for our transfer.
But with time, the sheer impossibility faced in changing direction and waiting, seems overwhelming at first. There is no map, no timetable, but just dead reckoning and stories for guidance. Whether there is in fact a ride to take you closer to home, or whether to attempt the treacherous walk, there must be someone to help you along the way, whether someone who follows you on the journey, or those along the way who lend a helping hand as you pass by. A waiting place for the weary traveler is just that, a pause and a chance to reorient before the journey resumes.