Stop This Train, I Want To Get Off and Go Home Again

I’m never gonna stop this train

It’s strange to go to the same amusement park where the kids stand next to the same height signs year after year. Every visit to the park brings the knowledge that they are a couple of inches taller, and they have evolved into bigger and more amazing versions of their previous selves.

You don’t think they can be more amazing, and yet they always are.

But can we stop this train for a minute? Take a trip with me. Here’s the soundtrack as I write:

I feel this song, and I feel time passing.

We had a family trip planned for the weekend that included an excursion at the National Aquarium, the Maryland Zoo, and then the school picnic at Kennywood amusement park near Pittsburgh. It was a lot of fun, and the weekend went by in a blur.

The grand finale at the park was yesterday, the site of my daughter’s first roller coaster ride. And her second. And her 53rd.

Two years ago she gripped my hand tightly on the way to riding smaller, wooden coasters. She was just tall enough. Last year I took her on her first big roller coaster ride. This year she pulled me along to the biggest coaster in the park but wanted to ride with a friend, with me in a different car. She rode several things all by herself as a real explorer should. Soon she’ll be off on her own — just like that. She won’t need me to hold her hand or to escort her around.

It seems like a microcosm of their lives. They need you for everything, then they slowly pull the rug out from under you as they grow up.

For her birthday this year, we took her to the National Aquarium in Baltimore, Maryland, to do the behind-the-scenes shark exhibit tour. The tour was underwhelming, as she knows as much about sharks as our tour guide, but her excitement at seeing sharks up close was worth it. We stood above their tank, away from the noise and the fray of the public spaces.

The sharks swam silently just a few feet below us. No one said a word as we watched. The still moment with my kids was peaceful and meditative. Without the noise of the aquarium, it was serene. They circle and swim and flow, and we watch from above in total silence.

Sharks move casually, only using as much energy as they must. It’s mesmerizing to watch them cruise. They move in slow, fluid movements through the water, the need for constant motion necessary to breathe.

It’s quite the opposite for humans in the busyness of life. Often we are the ones who must force ourselves to stop and breathe instead of continuing to move. A key difference between sharks and humans, I guess. The truth is they’re far more evolved than we are.

As I age I want to stop and breathe more than ever. As time speeds up we want to slow down. An hour yesterday will be shorter today, and so on and so forth.

It’s like a train you can’t stop.

And, as the song says, there’s no stopping that train. Once you start, it keeps going whether you want it to or not.

Stop this train I want to get off and go home again I can’t take the speed it’s moving in I know I can’t But honestly, won’t someone stop this train? — Source

At the park yesterday, I found myself daydreaming during the ascent to the top of the hill on the coaster, my daughter sitting in front of me instead of freaking out and squeezing my hand to bits beside me. I missed her.

It’s not that I don’t want her to grow up, because it wouldn’t be magic if they didn’t grow up. The magic is in the change, and how fast it all goes. The great irony of it. We want to hold on, but it wouldn’t work. We’re made to change.

It’s hard to watch your kids marching toward whatever future the world sees fit for them. I want them to be free, not to be slaves to the system or cogs in the machine.

Today I’m struggling with going back to work, knowing I’ll likely spend the rest of my life doing what others tell me to do. To support this family, I have to keep going. Go to work, do the work, come home and work, do the things. Keep doing all the things. Day in, day out, until the kids are gone and I’m old.

I’m so scared of getting older I’m only good at being young So I play the numbers game To find a way to say my life has just begun — Source

That lyric has always fascinated me. We’re all good at being young, as that’s all we’ve practiced. And each passing year we find a way to tell ourselves our lives have just begun.

Maybe that’s true, maybe it’s not. We never know, so we better try and make the best of it. I’m not bitter, it’s just where I am today.

Oh, now, once in a while, when it’s good It’ll feel like it should And they’re all still around And you’re still safe and sound And you don’t miss a thing ’Til you cry When you’re driving away in the dark, yeah — Source

Stop this train. I want to go off and go home again.

Today was a stark reminder after a weekend away that I have to keep putting one foot in front of the other and keep doing my work. At work, at home, at my recovery, at loving those close to me.

After 18 months of sobriety, I’ve hit a lull and it’s not as interesting as it was. I’m still far more happy and peaceful, but it’s not stopping the train now, is it?

It is, however, allowing me to find little moments like the one above the shark tank, or the one on the way up the coaster. As I trudge away, at least I can see these moments. I can teach them to watch the sharks swim, enjoy the roller coaster that is life, and see these moments no matter what the future holds.

I can enjoy the ride.

Incidentally, the Steel Curtain in Pittsburgh is one of my favorite coasters now. It’s pretty amazing.