The Boston Boogie
I’ve been getting up at the crack of dawn for the last three days and in doing so have lost touch with my reality. While I have spent most of my life trying to find a routine, I’ve spent equal parts of my life disrupting anything remotely routine. And it’s probably in routine that I feel the most comfortable and yet out of it that I have the most vivid memories.
Yesterday, we walked to the Armory to see this wild Brazilian artist’s installation and we laid in a pool of plastic bubbles. At one point today, in a cab, I recalled the good feeling those bubbles gave me – I was suspended away from my achey feet, my tight back, and generally in a different world.
This morning as I was sitting in the airport at JFK on my way to Boston, I spotted the store where I got my Hawaiian girl who hulas on my dashboard. Was I there a month ago? A year ago? Why did the sight of the familiar in the context of my unfamiliar (out of routine) make all the demarcations blur – how long have I had that Hawaiian girl?
As always girl goes on journey, comes back different. But just what that means can’t be known at this juncture. I only know that out of routine, in the familiar unfamiliar, I felt buoyant moments ago as I watched the planes coming and going from Logan airport – and I’m not even sure why.