I’ve Been on the Train, Watching Cars Pass

For a long time, I’ve felt like I was doing everything I was supposed to do — working hard, staying consistent at my job, showing up for others, trying to grow in faith and character. But something always felt… off. Like I was waiting for something to arrive — love, opportunity, purpose — and yet nothing came. Or if it did, it never stayed.

The thought hit me recently, not during a big life event, but in the middle of my daily commute.

Maybe I’m in the wrong vehicle.

I take the train to work — almost every day. I wait for it. I rely on it. It’s practical and predictable. But as I stood there once again, I watched people pull up in their cars — coffee in hand, music playing, on their own schedule. There was something in that image that stayed with me.

People who drive live differently. Not just because they have cars, but because of what the car represents.

Freedom. Stability. Direction. Intention.

Cars are expensive — they demand planning, commitment, and financial discipline. To have one is to say, “I’ve got this. I built this.” And deep down, I want to be that person too.

It’s not just about owning a car.

It’s about having control over the direction of my life.

Today, that truth came crashing down even harder. I was rushing to get somewhere — fast. Someone was waiting for me on the platform. They were early, prepared, already present. And me? I was stressed, trying to catch up, trying to be the person I want to be: punctual, consistent, dependable.

And yet… I couldn’t make the train move any faster.

There was nothing I could do. The train stops where it stops. It runs on its own timetable, not mine. And all I could do was wait and watch the minutes pass — knowing someone else might form an opinion about me, about my delay, about whether I’m someone who shows up.

It stung — not just because I was late, but because I felt like I was failing the identity I’m trying to build.

And then something shifted.

On my way home, the rush was gone. I was no longer racing to meet someone or a version of myself. The sun had come out — rare, soft, golden. The kind of light that reminds you life is still beautiful even when it isn’t perfect. And for the first time in a while, I just walked. Slowly. Calmly. Present.

I didn’t have to rush anymore.

The train would come when it came. I couldn’t force it.

But I could choose to enjoy the walk to the platform. I could choose to breathe.

And maybe that’s the lesson I’ve been missing all along:

I don’t have to keep rushing to my destination.

I can stay present and enjoy the journey — even if I’m not in a car yet.

But make no mistake — I still want to drive. I still want to build a life where I am behind the wheel, not just being taken somewhere, but choosing where to go. That’s why I’m here again, writing. Rebuilding.

This blog isn’t just a side project. It’s my training ground.

A space to practice consistency. To reflect. To show up when it’s hard.

To become someone who follows through. Who creates. Who leads.

Every week for the next month, I’m committing to posting here — not just for the sake of content, but to honour the person I’m becoming.

Because this is bigger than writing.

It’s about identity.

And I’m choosing to step into mine — no longer just riding, no longer waiting for someone to steer the wheel for me.

No more waiting.

I’m back — and this time, I’m driving.

Sometimes the reason you feel stuck isn’t because you’re not moving — it’s because you’re not in the vehicle you were meant to build.

You don’t always get to control the pace, the route, or who’s waiting at the next stop. But you do get to choose how you show up in the process — whether you keep waiting, or whether you start building.

And maybe — just maybe — we need to stop rushing.

Because no matter how fast we try to go, trains run on schedules.

You can’t make them arrive early.

But when it is your time, your moment, your opening — you better be ready to get on board.

So if you’ve been waiting — watching others pass — maybe it’s time to ask:

What would it look like if you stopped rushing… and started preparing to drive?