Recycled Air
i moved to california and disappeared off the map.
i’m blipping back this weekend– a long weekend in ohio. labor day weekend, shooting a wedding. i figured i’d write a bit of a blurb.
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i’ve long loved traveling, not only for the opportunity to experience different places, but for that feeling of jarring displacement that especially comes with short weekend trips. flying solo leaves me in that liminal space, suspended in air between here and there, accompanied by only the thoughts in my head or the quellings of sleep. and upon arrival, i step out into a completely different frame, left with half-thoughts of comparing and contrasting, wondering how i had again (invariably) become so immersed in my surroundings, oblivious to the existence of these other worlds.
introverted as i am, i typically enjoy these opportunities for self reflection. they offer a beautiful reset on perspectives. but when i am uneasy about things in my life, sitting alone with my thoughts is instead terribly uncomfortable. today, i find myself leaning towards the latter. first, i know that teaching is not something that fits me– it’s something that forces me to have to fit it. second, i have a whole web of complexity around my relationships– ones i should be developing, have been neglecting, or should be bounding. and third, my passions, dreams, and sense of wonder have been stifled by all the more pressing stressors crowding around for space. there are moments when i believe i can achieve the balance that eludes me, but then those moments tend to be fleeting.
i wish i could share with you a photo to accompany these abstract musings; i even have the exact photograph pictured in my mind: as we were descending from our redeye flight into chicago, the sky was still dark but for a bright band of red that faded into the colors of the rainbow and reflected lightly over lake michigan. the lights of the city, the silhouette of the chicago skyline, and the bright band of red aligned for just a brief moment. but all the while, my camera lay sleeping in the overhead bin. c’est la vie.
