A nice elderly lady thrust herself between myself and the door. For a moment, not understanding her motive, I kindly obliged and gave way. As the moment passed my senses returned: she wanted a seat on the next train.

Changing trains in Japan is an art. Those who know their destination choose the correct carriage, picking the door that aligns like the heavens with their planned exit. I had travelled this line many times, enough to know the route. We were all ready to traverse the platform promptly into the departing train.

Today my senses were heightened. This sweet elderly lady, one hand on the door railing, posture slightly bent as if ready to race. Returning from a long day, exhausted from standing squashed in a tin can, I resolved to take that seat. After all, she had been sitting for the previous leg, why should she get the next?

The door opened, she leapt through. Others spewed out, presumably also with their mind on that seat, yet it was just me and her. My mind focused upon passing my adversary, I swerved and weaved as if my life was in jeopardy. As I took the lead, turning my head, a sense of satisfaction oozed over my senses; suddenly halted by the question: where am I going?

Like a beast, I had scummed to my natural state. I eased back, allowing the now speedy lady to recapture her ground. She swiftly entered the carriage door, regaining her elderly posture and triumphantly sat, her seat rightfully gained.

That day, 'the rat race', took on meaning. An unending competitive struggle. What came first, the train or the struggle? There is a way to be free, but like the proverbial frog in boiling water, we must jump out before its too late.

The trains keep us moving, but do we know to where? Perhaps we should ask like the disciple Thomas

Lord, we don’t know where you are going. How can we know the way?¹

Jesus answered,

I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.²