Week days, I commute. On the bus, rain in my ears, book in one hand and a pen in the other, my world is a sonic traveling office, interrupted only by sufficient distraction. Going from here to there is inconsequential to the intellectual pursuits that fill the space between. The point is getting to work while being productive.
Saturdays are a different story. Then I journey. Though I have a destination and tasks to accomplish, those can wait for the end of the journey. The journey itself is not for productivity; rather, it is for being where I am and seeing my neighborhood with clearer eyes.
One of the most important differences between journeying and commuting is intention. In commuting, what happens on the way to arriving matters little. The point is to arrive. In journeying, the destination matters little. The point is to be . Commuters notice large things that interrupt the alternate space they inhabit along the way. Journeyers notice small things discovered along the way.
This difference between journeying and commuting compels my Saturday journey. You see, I do not live in a beautiful place. Our sidewalks are dirty, our gutters clog with trash, and our surfaces display the graffiti marking some souls’ identity. The buildings are old or hodgepodge or both.
Even in this place, there is beauty for the journeyer.
