The Timeless Allure of Train Travel

I'm writing this from the 6:11 p.m. Metro-North train out of Grand Central on its way to New Haven. Minutes ago, I found myself among the hordes of runners racing through the elegant Beaux-Arts terminal in the hopes of making it into one of the silver and red "Connecticut Department of Transportation" emblazoned cars and finding a seat before the conductor yelled last call and the doors closed.

This rush is a ritual that has been repeated for years. As I paced down the stairs and into the underbelly of Manhattan, I was reminded of "Revolutionary Road," the movie based on the tragically moving Richard Yates novel about life in 1950s suburbia. In one scene, the train cars arrive in the station and the men, dressed nearly identically in suits and hats, emerge like sheep that have knocked down the gates confining them. They are off, for better or worse, to emerge into the metropolis and do their calling.

There is something alluring and satisfying about the daily train commute that can't be found in driving a car or taking a bus from home to work and back again. It allows us to actually see the journey between point A and point B. We can glance out to the waters of Long Island Sound on one side or take a peek into the lives of others on the other, those tolerant few whose homes abut the train tracks. We can see the result of recent history—the urban wasteland sections of Newark and Bridgeport, or the parts of Philadelphia and Baltimore that disappearing industries have left behind.

The sun is setting, and its golden hues are rapidly splashing and then disappearing across the faces of my fellow riders. It's a serene, quiet scene, interrupted at times only by a shaky track or the rustling of an already worn out edition of the day's Times. Over in the bar car, guys with loosened ties are kicking back with a few beers or cocktails, probably fighting a level of occupation-induced stress that I have yet to experience. But imagine that—drinking as part of one's commute home. Is it a problem or a solution? I'm not sure which, but I like the idea either way.   

We can also make friends or craft stories about our fellow passengers. The guy in the seat next to me is asleep with an unread copy of "The Bourne Identity" sitting on his lap. The position of his head makes me happy that I'm awake and not taking a nap that will warrant a visit to the chiropractor. The tall, well-dressed man in front of me, barely over 30, is reading a book about the early stages of parenthood. His presumed wife or girlfriend interrupts his reading with a phone call. "No, I'm not there yet … Fine, I will take a cab," he says. Without exchanging words, I can relate to him because we are both on the cusp of something new, exciting, and terrifying: fatherhood for him, post-grad life for me.

The train has passed Stamford and Fairfield now, and it is pretty empty. In about 30 minutes, it will arrive in New Haven and I'll get off to drive back to Hartford. With graduation approaching and life, for the first time ever, not prescribed for me, I have no idea where I'll end up or what I'll be doing. But I hope that if I find myself in a commute that brings me into and away from a city, there'll be a conductor there to greet me and take my ticket every day.