New York at six in the morning is much less beautiful than you’d imagine. The sun rises without having risen at all, just the bare light behind gloom. I think of El Camino often these days, having been on it exactly a year ago. Those were truly sunrises. I stand at the side of 49th street waiting to see the cab with a familiar face to pick me up. The Grand Canyon. In seven hours. Plus four hours of driving. I hate travel. I travel so often. I hate travel. I complain too much about something I love and am able to do so often. I recently deleted all my social media – Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat, the works. No one actually knows when your digital self disappears. Your digital self and your physical self are two different beings, if the former can be counted as one at all.

This summer, four people I know are setting off on El Camino and I am both so happy, because it’s what I’ve wanted everyone I love to understand, and so territorial, if I even can be of a place that is not a place at all. I miss certain people these days. I miss certain versions of myself more than others. I know they won’t come back, the versions of myself or others that I miss. There are parts of the world I want to see and parts I haven’t, and the ones I have are imprinted with versions of myself I only vaguely remember now. The Grand Canyon will be one of those too. Sunrise and all. 

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