An empty Latte cup. A young Chinese man with a hip haircut. Bored airport waitresses. Modest Mouse on the head phones swirl with the fog of insufficient sleep to assemble this moment. 9:22 am, somewhere on the globe. Soon it will be 8:27am, an hour ago and I will arrive.
I am a thirty-four old man wearing plaid print pants and low top vans. A royal blue t-short with an Elliott Smith silk screen in white. I am typing methodically on a Mac Book listening Dead Prez and Sun Kil Moon. I have an SLR camera, a video camera, a laptop , and an ipod. One might ask what am I documenting. I am not sure, but I am ready when it makes itself visible. I just identified myself by my possessions and my clothes; I am okay with this because it is this shell that walks these airport halls. What’s inside is still brewing. Perhaps a good subject for documentation.
I am reading The End of Education by Neil Postman. I am not sure what any of this data means, but I know if I were asked to create a sketch of who I wanted to be as a younger man, it would look eerily similar to the person sitting here right now. This creation is comforting. I have a beard and my hair is in a ponytail, I am a cliché, but one that somehow feels matchless.
My two best friends are in a border town in El Salvador and I sit in Shanghai. Last night I was in Kuala Lumpur and in a few hours I will be in San Francisco. I live in Doha and hope to move anywhere after that. My friends write of rain and delirium. I wrote of lattes and Macbooks. Three years ago we were all in Vietnam, experience what my wife calls the “bad times” and what I call the “awakening.” Nothing has changed. Everything has changed.
It is finally quiet in my head. Below me, I see nothing more to investigate, but when I look up, I see only limitless possibilities. I am open to the idea that perhaps I am still disoriented, but I am comfortable with that. I will journey towards the possibilities, whether up or down, I will carry on. None of this means anything to anyone, not even me, but somehow it still begs to be heard. In the end, I know I will always end up here in the silence of my own mind.