Awakening in Transit

Echoes of Mirissa

I wake up in bed in my hotel in a small town on the south-west coast of Mirissa, Sri Lanka, to the sound of fireworks , at least for the fifth time and I feel like crap.

Sri Lankan food has an adverse effect on my digestion. The night before, I had a plate of chicken Kottu, and my stomach ended up as bloated as hot air balloons last night. Despite the fact that I have a “valid” excuse, I feel self-pity because I am not celebrating the new year like everyone else.

Honestly, I just feel lonely, asking myself the self-absorbed question, “Why me?”

“I should be happy.” I think to myself. I travel on a full-time basis. Instead, I am miserable. It turns out that being a digital nomad isn’t always pretty and happiness can be fleeting. Wherever you go, there you are, goes the saying.

Real life isn’t an Instagram post.

“I am alone 46 and no one gives a shit how I feel,” I think, but I quickly realize that if I go down that road, this day will only get much worse. So I snap myself out of the rut and try to get the ball rolling.

At least my stomach seems to be getting better. Outside, it is still raining; in fact, it’s an intense downpour and it has been that way for 3 days straight. Monsoon in December.

I have decided to leave now.

I chose Kandy as a new destination and new impressions lay ahead of me. I call one of those Tuk Tuks, and I am gone, on my way to the Weligama train station.

There is just one problem. The Airbnb I booked hasn´t responded yet and I travel on a budget so I have to take the risk of not being able to get in. If not, I will figure something out.

As soon as I get to the train station, I see a rather mysterious man staring at his cell phone.

The man is wearing traditional attire, consisting of a long gray tunic and matching loose-fitting trousers. He has a neatly trimmed full beard and a white skullcap on his head. On his feet, he sports simple, dark-colored Vans flip-flops. His attention is focused on his smartphone, which he holds in his hands as he stands on the steps of the entrance

mysterious man at train station Weligama

I head towards the cashier to get my ticket to Colombo at 9:30 a.m.

I have one hour, so I glance around intently and begin to watch everyone around me. To the average person, a train station is no different from any other dull stop on the commute to work; it’s the perfect setting for mindless daydreaming. Beyond that, it is ordinary but whenever you travel, this is a big deal. Particularly in a vibrant country like Sri Lanka.

Today, it was my free pass to change my focus from feeling crappy inside and being self-absorbed to looking around me and seeing what was going on. To shift from inward to outward

I begin to deliberately observe and pay close attention. When you immerse yourself in the now, magic can happen.

And so I started to take photos

I mean, technically, I am just reciprocating the attention. As a blonde white male, you end up being the attraction in a country like Sri Lanka. Most people, especially kids, don’t hide their curiosity, which is fine with me since I like kids. I love their authenticity.

Kids aren’t dishonest and fake. When they smile at you, they mean it.

But there is something about that man that is odd, even suspicious—I can´t quite put my finger on it.

Sitting on that train now, I managed to get a seat next to some kids who continued to make my day better since I first saw them at the station. That’s how powerful body language is. Words are important but what amazes me is that you can genuinely share a moment with someone even in the absence of a shared language.

Then, suddenly, that man stands in front of me, looking into my eyes. Without taking his eyes off me, he hits down next to me, still looking at me.

At that point, I felt uncomfortable. Usually, I am not shy and just talk to people when I feel like it, but something was making me feel apprehensive and withdrawn with this person.

A few more awkward minutes pass until I ask him where he was headed to break the ice.

He shared that he was returning home, having come to visit a friend after a season of profound loss. His wife had passed away, and with the recent passing of his mother, he found himself navigating life without any remaining family.

His gaze drifted past me, seemingly lost in a sea of memories. After a moment of silence, he shared, “You know, we all get tangled up in our little dramas, forgetting the big picture. My mother always said,

‘True joy isn’t about being happy yourself, but in bringing happiness to others.’”

Those words hung in the air between us, almost tangible. The steady rhythm of the train seemed to slow, making way for a moment of introspection. Here was this man, who just had lost his mom and wife, yet speaking of joy and selflessness.

I found myself confessing, almost involuntarily, “I’ve been so wrapped up in my own mess, feeling sorry for myself. Hearing you, it’s like… it’s like waking up.”

His smile, then, wasn’t just a smile. It was a story in itself—a story of resilience.

We all get lost in ourselves sometimes. It’s stepping out of that and seeing the world beyond our own shadow; that’s what really counts. Life’s in the little things—the small moments, the unspoken kindness.

As the train continued its journey, I realized this wasn’t just a physical journey. It was a journey within. Not just somewhere new, but someone new.

I am grateful, unexpectedly, for a stranger’s wisdom on a train and I realized how insignificant my own minor issues in the grand scheme of things really are.

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All of this led me to go on a different path.

I call it The Uncharted Road Newsletter For Unapologetic Single Men Who Want True Freedom and Walk Away

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(Credit for black and white railroad photo goes to Mohamed Nizrath; the rest are mine.)