Creative: A Place to Return To

I’ve had some time to think, and that’s never good. Time is perhaps the most ambitious of adversaries. Time provides perspective, sometimes a repeat of a well-worn past, while at other times, a new perspective can reshape entire futures. This is a place to return to. The eighth most powerful passport, but still new in many ways. Old buildings that hold so much promise. A pointy past, not too distant, and a reminder to all of us, everywhere. Things can change at any time. Things can happen that the experts described as impossible. “That image, the one of the man with the knife in his head,” he said. “That happened right there.”

We are nearly two weeks in, and the weather has shifted. The shoulder season is no more. I know the water will shock me, but my New Mexico winters have changed something. The cold no longer a bother. Booties, yellow fins, and a gray mask, I ease from the seawall and into the Adriatic. Slowly, I back toward deeper water, then turn and dive in. Turquoise to blue to purple as the light fades into darkness. Diving down, the water temperature increases the deeper I go. Wind chills the upper layer. From below, I look up into the light and can see the outline of the mountains looming above. Time. Never enough to fully know a place, at least not yet.

From just across the border, the residue of war can still be seen and felt. At the border, we exit the car to be photographed. Faces in front of the small camera, locked in now, into the system. Faces known, borders and edges placed around us, so the world knows where we fit. No more stamps. Guards doing their duty, but lacking tenacity. Those days are over now. Too much money to be made, too many packages to sell, and a potential date with the EU awaits.

At the end of the trail, we stop to talk about the future. What can we do? What do we want to do? I hear the story of a man and a boat. I’m intrigued. It’s a story that needs telling. It would require skill, and it would require time. Being here is not enough. We would need to go further. I inquire. There is talk of a distant island, mountains that need to be climbed, waters that need to be crossed via small boats, over a series of days. There will be challenges. Now I am truly intrigued. It is all I want to do. The real world waits, watching it’s clock, waiting for our return, but what if we find a way to perpetually postpone. Now I am all in.

Instax, KitKats, shifting winds, dinner plans, art assignments, and suitcases beginning to be arranged. Mental ins and outs. Steps to be taken. A timelapse, then another, in black and white. The skies play along, offering an unwinding visual tapestry. Left to right, shafts of light, and the neverending sound of wind and wave. There comes a time, they say. Whoever “they” are. When the voices begin to sound like the logical ones. This is when things change.

Back stateside now, but our bags never leave Germany. A four-country day. The tracker shows me their location, but none of the three airlines seems to want control. I ponder what I will lose, what I will miss, and am reminded why we rarely check. I knew we were in trouble when I doublechecked with the agent. “You are sure they will pass through?” “Yes, absolutely.” Therein lies the key. What is absolute? Death by AI? Tax increases for us worker bees? Exemptions for the 1%? Yes, absolutes. But humans are intangible, our weaknesses and foibles making us what we are. Unpredictable creatures, capable of the best and worst of things.