Clutter of A Steam Train

I have just stumbled across some old writing of mine - words from when I was 22.

Reading them, I feel her so strongly: the pressure I put on myself, the desperate desire to keep up, to prove I was enough. But beneath it all, a deep knowing lived in my bones - the quiet whisper that I needed to slow down.

I feel sad for that girl who tried so hard, who chased a train she wasn’t sure she could catch. And yet, I’m full of gratitude - for the lessons, the growth, and for where life has brought me now.

These words, The Clutter of a Steam Train, are a snapshot of that time - the overwhelming expectations, the confusion, and the relentless pace. They remind me of the struggle and the courage it took to keep moving forward.

I’m grateful to have this piece of my past, a reminder to honor the journey, and to listen when my body says it’s time to breathe.

PART 1. Age :22

So much pressure. So much expectation. I’m always striving to be something more than ordinary. Come on, give them more. Give them something to write home about. Make them proud.

So much to live up to. So much to prove. So many people to please. I almost exhaust my resources to the point of no return.

I try to slow down and take a breather before it gets too much. Rest and rejuvenate, recuperate. Take a moment. Some time out. I inhale my surroundings and absorb my environment. Long, slow, luxuriant breaths. I feel the warmth and fresh air, the sand underneath my toes, the crisp waves lapping gently at my feet, the cool breeze blowing through my hair. As far as I can see, it’s blue. Clear blue skies with white fluffy clouds. I stand under the African sun, feeling the rays soak through my skin, right to my bones. A feeling of home washes over me.

“What’s this?” A familiar voice calls from the distance. “Are you conceding? Already? Selling yourself short?”

“No, I was just… breathing?”

“Think of the people who have supported you. Think of all the people you would be letting down.”

The voice echoes through my mind as vibrations shake my present state apart. The air is tainted. My pure haven has been tampered with. I hear the train approaching, the steam from the engine blurring my vision. There’s no longer clarity or crispness in the air - just haze and clutter.

The train comes towards me, filled with faces. Friendly faces, smiling at me, though I don’t know if they really see me. Just happy faces with voices talking at me, telling me to board the train. “Jump up! Come on, get on!”

The train is crowded, limbs waving and dangling from every opening, beckoning me to take hold. But my legs are paralysed, stuck in what feels like quicksand. For a moment, I wish it really was quicksand - something that would swallow me up and hold me tight in its golden arms. Alone. At peace from expectation.

The train is more than three-quarters past me now. The voices grow louder and louder. Confusion engulfs me, starting at my toes and snaking up my frozen body. My breathing turns shallow and stifled, my mind a blur of whitewash. As the end of the train clutters past, I realise I have no choice - I have to get on.

Without thinking, my legs begin running after it. People cheer and clap, holding out their arms to me. I’m so close, but still just a fraction too far to grab hold of anything. My speed increases, but so does the train’s. My legs beat to their own rhythm, following the tracks it carves into the sand. I am bound to keep running this path.

I glance over my shoulder at the ocean, moving faster and faster away from me. My legs keep pounding, my breath turns wheezy, the air grows stale. I clutch at the ever-fading memory of crystal-clear water, cool breeze, warm sun, and fresh air -it already feels like a dream.

I realise the train will always be just that little bit ahead. But I know I owe it to so many people to keep running, to keep chasing, hoping that one day I’ll be able to grab hold and jump on. The thought of all those proud faces, the unbelieving stares, the words of praise -that’s what powers my legs to keep moving forward.

Part 2. Age :42

Twenty years later, I’m back on the beach. The wind is in my hair, sand under my feet. I’m sitting beneath a faded beach umbrella, dressed in my second-hand bathers, when I hear it- the train approaching.

I look up and see the people on board. They’re in crisp suits, their fancy watches catching the light. Perfectly white teeth, silky hair, manicured nails. They sip from sleek frank green bottles and call out to me about the luxury villas, flash cars, and fine restaurants that could be mine if I just hurry and jump aboard.

They tell me my kids could go to an elite school, could join the rep gymnastics, netball, cricket, or soccer club. They tell me to hurry, before I miss my chance.

For a moment, I waver. Are we missing out? That old familiar twinge rises - envy for the things, the stuff, the shiny world they live in that we don’t. A flicker of worry for what my children might miss in their future.

But then I look at them - my kids, knee-deep in sand, shrieking with laughter as they chase the waves. And I call out, “Thanks, but we’re good.”

We have the sun. We have the sea. We have the wind in our hair and the sand in our toes.

And I think, no, we are more than good.

We have this moment. This experience. My children have their childhood. I have my motherhood. I have connection. I have community. I have time. I am rich.

A warm contentment washes over me. The next train approaches, but this time I lean back and smile. I wave, but I no longer hear the voices.

I close my eyes, the sun on my face, the sound of the train growing fainter and fainter until eventually, it no longer passes by at all.

They become just a distant memory, tucked away at the back of my mind - a quiet reminder to cherish this life I have chosen.

Love & LIYF

Ashari