Molly Carroll

“The sunrise on the train is beautiful, still low in the sky, sharing the occasional glimmer each time we speed past a stretch of water. The gentle side to side shake of the train is soothing, making my handwriting perfectly messy and nearly lulling me to sleep, especially this early in the morning. A family of four sits separately around me on the crowded car. Young girls being intently supervised by a young couple – they remind me of my independence – that, at this time, my responsibility lies only with myself. An eager Georgetown student sits one space ahead of me, sharing a booth with a complete stranger, grappling with wifi troubles on Zoom as he speaks a broken version of Spanish, supplementing with English phrases for the words that escape him. I still cannot believe that I am done with that phase of life, the four years of an undergraduate degree full of peaks and troughs that shape you into the adult you will be as you start your life. Little does he know what’s ahead of him.

I (so rudely) sit reserving the chair next to me for my younger brother, Michael, who will be joining me soon for the rest of our ride to New York. 60 pages into a new book, I sip the last of my coffee and realize just how presently I am living in this moment. Eliminating anxiety of the future, not reliving moments of the past wondering if I should have done certain things differently. I allow myself to be freely content in this moment, sharing calm joy and bliss with myself”.

This was a journal entry from the first weekend in November, when I was fortunate enough to travel to New York and spend time with my entire family and many friends from college. So many people I love in one place, which is rare nowadays. I wanted to make it last, take advantage of every moment that weekend. It would go by in a flash and I’d find myself sitting on the train home watching the sun say its final goodbye for the night, mentally preparing to go to work at 6am the next morning and reflecting on the weekend, wishing I could relive the past two days ten times over.

I remember writing this with the intent of attempting to freeze that moment, recognize how I appreciated such a specific and seemingly mundane setting. Leading with the intention of doing the same with each minute of the weekend ahead. It’s surprising how much effort that takes – noticing every detail of the world around you in a given moment. Not planning the next move, the next meal, the next thing to do.

I’ve had countless conversations with my mom reminiscing about her 20s. A time in life that goes by quickly if you don’t pay attention, when you can focus on growing into the person you want to be, responsible for only yourself. A time so perfect to practice living presently and not take things so seriously. And a practice it is. She looks back on those years so fondly, with so many stories to tell and lessons to share. Some stories she shares with such detail it’s like I can imagine a younger version of her in that moment. (I like to think we’d be great friends if we were to be twenty-somethings at the same time.) 

She inspires me to document stories of my life and moments like the one above, to not only remember what happened at a given time, but to remember what it felt like to live in it. My journals are full of tidbits like the one I just shared – reminders to notice and appreciate the present moment as it fades into a memory, only to live on paper moving forward.