We're traveling by train. Out the windows, we drink in the passing scene of cars on nearby highways, of children waving at a crossing, of cattle grazing¹ on a distant hillside, of smoke pouring from a power plant, of row upon row of（鳞次栉比） corn ad wheat, of flatlands and valleys, of mountains and rolling hillsides, of city skylines and village halls.

 

But uppermost in our minds is the final destination. On a certain day at a certain hour, we will pull into the station. Bands will be playing and flags waving. Once we get there, so many wonderful dreams will come true and the pieces of our lives will fit together like a completed jigsaw² puzzle（七巧板）. How restlessly³ we pace the aisles⁴, damning⁵ the minutes for loitering -- waiting, waiting, waiting for the station.

 

"When we reach the station, that will be it!" we cry. "When I buy a new 450SL Mercedes Benz!" "When I put our last kid through college." "When I have paid off the mortgage⁶!" "When I get a promotion⁷."

 

Sooner or later, we must realize there is no station, no one place to arrive at once and for all. The true joy of life is the trip. The station is only a dream. It constantly outdistances us.

 

So stop pacing the aisles and counting the miles. Instead, climb more mountains, eat more ice cream, go barefoot more often, swim more rivers, watch more sunsets, laugh more, cry less. Life must be lived as we go along. The station will come soon enough.

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