To Live...

"While I breathe, I hope." This is the motto of the Clan McLennon, hailing form the Scottish Highlands. As far as I know, no one in my family has been able to determine the correct clan from which we are descendants. My paternal grandmother's maiden name was Macklin, and we know the family was Scottish. Perhaps today, the question of our ancestry was answered. Or perhaps, I'm just unaware that I'm a little late on the findings. Either way, I'm intrigued by the motto. "While I breathe, I hope." In this, I hear aspirations and the will to accomplish.

Aspire to what? Accomplish what?

Whatever your heart desires. At the moment, I aspire to learn, to live, to dream. My year here in Edinburgh will be an accomplishment of my heart's desires.

* * *

After a long flight, have you ever felt a special bond with your fellow passengers around you on the plane? Almost like they're long lost family members that you just now remember you have? Well, that's how I felt at the end of this flight, as we all waited for the plane to taxi to our arrival gate and release us back into the world. And in every family, there's always that one outlier, the one that no one really understands, the one you reluctantly put up with. Well, we had 'the one' on our flight that just didn't realize how loud she was talking, telling her life story to not only the kind woman sitting next to her but also the dozens of people sitting several rows in front, behind, and across the cabin. I could elaborate extensively, but...without letting her take over post, let me just say that I wasn't upset at the end of the flight when she faded into a dull memory of family I once knew.

I was now more than halfway through my journey to Edinburgh. The last leg of the trip was my train from Manchester to my new home. Through occasional lapses into sleep and reverie as I stared off into the English countryside, I tried to eavesdrop on some of the conversations nearby, to start learning the accent, of course. I didn't imagine this would be so difficult. But wow, I might as well have been on a train in China. I suppose I'll just have to give myself a little time until the Scottish Brogue waltzes gracefully into my ear instead of tripping over toes every other step.

With calloused hands, worn out feet, and tired eyes, I stumbled off the train at Haymarket Station in Edinburgh, my bags awkwardly trailing behind me, their handles painfully rubbing my roughed-up hands. My shoulders were sore and my back tight, and the remainder of my energy was now being prepared to carry my bags, which seemed to grow on the plane, up the flights of stairs to the street level. Eventually making it to the top, I searched for my new landlord who had kindly offered to pick me up at the train station, escort me to my hotel, and then take me to the flat. And there she was, waiting for me at the entrance to the station, just as she said she would. I felt like a helpless child who'd just been rescued from the well he'd fallen into the day prior. It was a small refueling that would get me through the rest of the evening. Back at the hotel that night, I fell into a heavy sleep that carried me through to the next morning when I awoke ready to explore my new city.