And then there are those things which are lovely once there, but made heavy on the approach. I’m not sure there’s a name for the trip you dread that becomes a most favored memory when left behind. It’s the going to and coming from that can be so different. It certainly seems as if there should be a word for that. If not, one should be created. It could be said the yin-yang of it, but that doesn’t quite capture the essence of the matter. It’s a mood whiplash sort of thing. But whiplash is too abrupt a descriptor. Hummm. Something to ponder. In any case, I don’t want two words, just one to nicely cover the phenomenon.
Imagine not wanting to go on a trip through the snow and cold to come upon the castle sight at the end of your journey. To have ale and wood fires burning, warmth and magic. Or to quote The Bard: when journeys end in lovers meeting.