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I have not left the the tri-state area in more than a year; I have not been on an airplane in two years; I feel trapped; I’m on the hamster wheel. I’m not sure whether to diagnose my life as too simple, or too complex; I’m not sure if the general problem is not knowing how to escape, or not having the means to escape. It all seems so unclear: how or why my days unfold the way they do, why I moved to New York City, or why I remain here. I feel like my cognitive capital is spent on surviving — that there’s never enough left over for expansion into the world. I never understand my friends who go on vacation; it doesn’t seem like they’ve earned it — they’re just watching Netflix on another continent.
I don’t think a spiritual life is possible; the foundation of spirituality is concrete belief — a viable image of God. But all I see are advertisements, glowing screens, glowering faces. Life is too entertaining; there’s no time to believe in anything, and no point.
Rooted in parched earth I am
A stranger myself in the dramatic lighting,
The result of war.
— John Ashbery
Photo by JESHOOTS.COM on Unsplash
