Between Departure and Arrival

Reflections on a train from the Provence to Paris

Moving down the tracks—away from and toward something—I sit in motion. To my right, the Mediterranean glimmers; to my left, the French Alps slowly fade, no less imprinted on my soul for their distance.

My body follows a path laid out before me, one I was meant to find. I carry more than a backpack. I carry gifts not bought but offered—unexpected, intangible, and strangely lightening. They make my steps feel easier, not heavier.

I leave with new breath. A deeper connection to joy. A growing capacity to receive. I take with me love from unexpected places, from people once strangers who became companions by nature, if not by design. I carry the quiet imprint of a 400-year-old oak at the top of a Baou, and I leave behind a trace of my own energy—for anyone who follows, for anyone who might find comfort or meaning in it.

In this place—this village I arrived at by listening to the wind that whispered to my heart—I’ve come to understand something simple, but profound: every human being, past, present, or future, shares a set of universal needs. When we understand that truth—when we recognize that our needs are shared—then giving and receiving begin to feel like the same act.

These are no longer just ideas to me. They’ve become truths, deeply felt and undeniable.

I’m starting to see things I once couldn’t, and yet, I don’t feel I’ve wasted any time. I simply wasn’t ready before. But I am now. And for that, I am grateful. I welcome what comes next, however and whenever it arrives.

Despite all the rhetoric, we humans are one. We’re united by our needs and desires. Yes, we express them differently—shaped by place, culture, experience, language, memory. But at the core, we are the same. We are not only connected to each other, but to the land, the air, the water, the animals. We are not against one another unless we choose to be. That choice is ours, always.

These are my beliefs—not because someone told me so, but because I have lived them. Felt them. Seen them reflected back in the eyes of others. These truths aren’t mine to keep; they’re meant to be shared.

And in this moment—on this train, leaving a medieval village in the south of France, bound for Paris—I feel something I’ve never quite felt before: a deep, embodied peace. A sense of connection to something larger. A trust in the safety of what will be.

I’ve watched myself transform—bit by bit, breath by breath. I’ve lived enough years, stretched far enough, sunk low enough, to know what truth feels like.And this is it.It lives now at the very core of me, anchored in this universal journey.