we ourselves flash and yearn
BURNING THE OLD YEAR
so much of any year is flammable
—naomi shihab nye
JANUARY
january was new york, montreal, toronto, chicago, santa cruz, san francisco, portland, seattle. on the way I met backpackers, film students, activists, other australians, hippies, grandmothers, girl scouts, entrepreneurs, google employees, artists, good ol’ kentucky boys and etc
it was a month living out of suitcases, swapping life stories and addresses, retracing steps and burying hard truths. by the end of the month I couldn’t remember who I was. I rode one final greyhound back to vancouver, and as we crossed the border my phone picked up reception and flashed the texts my canadian friends sent. “come home, we miss you.”
my flight to sydney was scheduled for the following week; instead I shucked off my worn boots and said “I’m staying.” and I did.
