Adrift

There were times in my life, somewhere on the other side of the planet, when I knew I was experiencing something profound. Some incorporeal force in the surrounding ether that was setting its roots deep into the fabric of my being and outlining the many pages still to come in the remaining story of my future.

It used to happen more often. Especially in those more impactful and inexperienced younger years during my first adventures far away from home. I had entered the liminal space where cities and landmarks were no longer merely names and pictures on a screen; or where dreams and desires were transitioning into memories.

And back then, I used to think that experiences like these could only happen in those far away, exotic cities or in the shadows of those famous landmarks. For example, I’ll always remember gazing out through a rain-spotted window of a quiet hotel room high above the busy Tokyo night. Or ascending an ancient cobblestone street with flurries of snow pirouetting all around me as the tops of the minarets of Ayasofya Camii came into view. Or snorkeling in some haunting tranquility beneath the turbulent waves caused by a storm somewhere in the Caribbean Sea. How could moments like these be surpassed by something just a few hours away?

I live in a suburb outside of western Phoenix. It’s around a six hour drive to Los Angeles. A culturally-unique and world-renowned city in it’s own sense, but hardly exotic and novel from my upbringing. “I’ll be in Paris for nine days,” I say. “Really! How amazing! I’ll follow your socials. Tell me all about it when you get back!” they say. “I’ll be in LA for a few days,” I say. “Oh, have fun,” they say.

On a random Sunday night, myself and a longtime friend who was going through a bit of a rough patch in his life, found ourselves in the front row of an intimate show in a bar in a city about 15 miles north of Malibu, California. A spontaneous trip, planned on a Thursday night and by that Sunday evening, we were enrapt in live music.

That night, Sara Niemietz sang her heart out. Aware but lost. Present but incorporeal. At ease but focused. There’s a certain feeling we experience when we see an artist so lost in their own performance that we notice they feel like they’re going to live forever. And they’re taking us with them.

At several points during the show, I glanced over at my friend and saw a smile. Not just a fleetingly happy moment that will remain hardly remembered. But a certain subconscious smile brought forth from a mind protected in a moment temporarily unmoored and blissfully adrift from his problems waiting for him back in Phoenix. A self-aware moment that I don’t think I would have picked up on had I not experienced some of that contrastive grandeur of the world. On a last minute trip, hardly deliberated on, magic was found. The enchantment of travel extends so much further than the destination itself…

The vast majority of my travels have been solo. With no one else to experience these feelings with, having that friend with me changed everything. The remaining minority of my travels have been with others. Another friend or a woman I was dating at the time. But even so, experiences like these are quite rare. So, as someone with thousands and thousands of miles behind him, with a bank vault full of wonderful experiences, another moment has been gifted to me.

In California, a state with many well-known cities, it was in a small city outside of Los Angeles that emerged one of these experiences. Not Tokyo, not Istanbul, not on Ambergris Caye. As I age and keep marching along, I’m grateful to be able to understand that it’s not where I go but who I’m with and what I look for.