Every now and then, I've been taking the long, scenic route home: over the bridge, past the harbour and the city. It takes a bit longer but avoids change of trains, so gives me more time to read something, or just reflect.
Life's going by fast. Or at least it seems that way when most days are alike and progress is slow. Sure, when I look back far enough I've come a fair way: new, better jobs; marriage; hitting the gym; picking up the guitar; improving my photography. But on a daily basis, I'm not giving myself enough time to do what I really want to do. Then again, sometimes I'm not even sure what I want to do.