There is nothing I can say about New York City that hasn’t been said a million times. There is no story I can tell of this place that hasn’t been told and retold by countless others. But every iteration, every telling of these stories builds upon the words and thoughts of every other. They cannot exist independently from the aggregate whole.
As the art of Oliver Laric reminded me today, in the telling and retelling of such stories, people reveal not so much about actual events as about themselves. Every truth reinforces a repetitive illusion; every lie creates an alternate universe in which that lie is true. This endless intertwining of stories — and of selves — is how I become overwhelmed in a place such as New York City. Adrift in a sea of humanity.
But I do not shy away from being so lost. I embrace it. I fling myself headlong into the teeming masses, the human machinery of urban existence.Continue reading →
“The ache for home lives in all of us. The safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned.”
― Maya Angelou
Something about travel abroad stirs in us a restlessness, quenching that desire to place one foot continually in front of the other. The unknown places perpetually before us serve as a proxy for self-discovery, or perhaps a catalyst for it. The instability of our existence while in foreign lands, unable to speak the language and unsure of our trajectory, does not allow us to withdraw to the comfort of familiarity or routine. This constant uncertainty is both enlightening and exhausting. And so, at the end of a month of exploration, we were ready to go home.
We boarded the bus in Nazareth, bound for Amman, Jordan. When I booked our flights in October, it was for some reason much less expensive to fly into Cairo and out of Amman than any other combination of flights to and from Cairo/Amman/Tel Aviv (the three major airports in the region of our intended travels). We were tired, and I for one was more than a little cranky. Continue reading →