The Day the Train Left Without Me
It was one of those mornings where everything seemed determined to slow me down. First, my toast decided to play Russian roulette with the toaster, resulting in a burnt offering and a frantic search for the fire extinguisher (don’t worry, I found it). Then, my phone decided to stage a dramatic reenactment of the Titanic, taking a nosedive straight into my morning coffee. By the time I arrived at the train station, panting and slightly sticky, I was convinced the universe was playing a cruel cosmic joke on me.
And then, it happened. The doors of the train, the very one I was supposed to be on, slid shut with the finality of a bank vault on a Sunday afternoon. I stood there, mouth agape, as the train pulled away, leaving me stranded on the platform with nothing but my backpack and a growing sense of disbelief.
My initial reaction was, of course, panic. I had an important meeting in the next city! I had deadlines! I had visions of angry bosses and missed opportunities dancing before my eyes. But as I took a deep breath and forced myself to assess the situation, a funny thing happened. The panic subsided, replaced by a strange sense of… liberation?
