staycation

brooklyn, ny

they stare out from the bottom row of my bookshelf. ten dark spines of varying shades, adhesive lettering in gold, silver, or mother-of-pearl depending. most days they seem to reinforce my being. these ten photo albums tell me that no matter what i do or do not do from this day forward, that at least a respectable lifetimes' worth of travels are already notched in the belt. but if they're not outright mocking me, then at least it could seem that the albums are a reminder that this summer will be different. i will not be returning to africa, india, or south america. i will not be crossing the trans-siberian, casablanca-to-cairo, or southeast asian circuit off the peregrinatory bucket list. those thought bubbles must remain in the nether world of dreams. circumstances dictate that i focus a little bit more on the here and now.

it has not been a good year. i would not say that it's been a bad year, but i feel comfortable enough to ignore the societal conditioning that dictates that all wallpaper is floral and that we can paint all the years of our lives in happy stripes. personally and professionally, the walls have been peeling, even if the house still stands. they say that one door closes and another one opens, but sometimes there's a hallway or waiting room in between. and sometimes that waiting room only has magazines about bass fishing and piped-in aerosmith or maroon 5 to pass the interval. so while i hope that the next door has the inflatable castle or jungle gym behind it, there is always the fear that it could just be a dentists' drill or a colonix. but i am not one of those people and this is not one of those blogs; if you'd like to read about a twenty-/thirty-something brooklynite whining about their life, the internet is more fertile than the pampas. let this space remain the ground for other thoughts.

the circumstances dictate that the passport rest in the top drawer and that i must forego the flight and adopt the bike for this year. but before i get to feeling so sorry for myself for having to spend the first summer in the states since 2003, i must remember where i live: brooklyn. new york, new york. if the dozens of monuments/cultural centers/institutions i pass on a daily basis are not enough to reinforce the notion, then the throngs of guide book toting foreigners should remind me of how lucky i am. i live in a place where other people come. a place where people dream about visiting. though i have lived here for approaching five years, i have not spent one summer in this city. the time has come.

while i may not acquire any more ink stamps or stories about border crossings over the next few months, i will spend them in the [objectively speaking] greatest city on this planet. and i will spend it with the finest people i could ever hope to know. and with my camera in tow, i just may be able to find enough memories to fill an eleventh photo album. cause if we're not all down here collecting stories and memories, what are we all down here for anyway?

so i welcome you to join me for a summer in new york city. i hope you're as anxious to see what adventures can be found amongst the concrete and steel of the city america doesn't even begin to realize how lucky it is to have. if anything, let these months make me the first.