From Denver to San Francisco: A mindful train ride through epic landscapes

Last week, I boarded the Amtrak Zephyr with my husband for a journey that felt like stepping into a slow-moving novel. From Denver, Colorado to San Francisco, we watched the Rockies rise and fall, the desert stretch endlessly, and the Sierra Nevada roll past our window like a living painting. It was epic, not just in distance, but in depth.

As someone who spent years riding Japan’s trains, from the sleek Shinkansen to the sleepy Enoden, I couldn’t help but draw parallels.

In Japan, train travel is often about precision and speed. But it’s also deeply meditative. I remember quiet weekday mornings on the Yokosuka Line, the gentle rhythm of the train syncing with my thoughts. The Zephyr, though slower and less punctual, offered a similar kind of spaciousness, an invitation to be present.

One thing that struck me deeply on this trip was just how big the United States is. Hours would pass between towns, and the landscapes would shift dramatically, from alpine forests to arid plains to winding rivers. It’s easy to forget the scale of this country when you’re flying over it or driving highways. But on a train, you feel every mile. You witness the quiet spaces in between, the places without cell towers or Starbucks, and it fills you with a kind of awe. There’s a grandeur to it: raw, spacious, and humbling.

What made this Amtrak trip truly special was the time it gave us to talk. Long, meandering conversations with my husband, about work, dreams, memories, and nothing at all. No Wi-Fi. No notifications. Just the hum of the train and the occasional conductor’s announcement.

At first, the disconnection was jarring. I kept reaching for my phone like a phantom limb. But soon, I settled into the rhythm of being offline. And it felt… restorative. We shared snacks, pointed out wildlife, and read books side by side. We laughed at the quirks of the dining car and marveled at the engineering of tunnels and bridges.

It reminded me of one particular train ride to Nikkō in the fall, when the leaves were ablaze in crimson and gold. The train wound its way through misty forests, and I felt completely immersed in the season. That journey, like this one, wasn’t just about getting somewhere, it was about being present.

In a world that prizes speed and constant connection, there’s something radical about slowing down. About choosing to spend time together without screens. About letting the landscape, and each other, unfold.

So this Mindful Monday, I invite you to consider: when was the last time you truly unplugged? Not just from devices, but from the rush of doing? Whether it’s a train ride, a walk, or a quiet hour at home, may you find your own version of the Zephyr, where time stretches, and connection deepens.