"We shall not cease from exploring,
And the end of our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time". T.S Eliot
Over the holiday weekend, we cruised by boat 15 miles down-river, coming to a stop at the underside of the busiest suspension bridge in the world, the 14 lane George Washington, or as it's know colloquially, the GWB.
As our boat rocked, and with the muffled sound of traffic above our head, I looked up at this ninety-one year old structure of cables, metal and wires...from a completely new perspective. A bridge commuter, long grown familiar and blasé in my relationship with the GWB, I was now gobsmacked by the underbelly of a magnificent sculpture, and a hidden lighthouse. Then inevitably, my eye was drawn from the span to Manhattan's spires rising to the south. Sitting low in the waterline, I had a fresh view. The place I have spent much of my life working and living, NYC, once again appeared the dazzling Oz I imagined the first time I laid eyes on her.
I have traveled the world a bit. The usual places. And too I have been to the not so usual. Volunteer work in conflict zones is for the adventurer, narcissist or ignoramus, sometimes all three. For the travel wear and tear I was richly rewarded with an extraordinary view into humanity. On the road I laughed until I ached, cried until empty, prayed in gratitude and feared for my life more than once. I never returned home unchanged and home never looked the same upon my return. Until. There came the day I woke up and it all looked the same as yesterday and the day before it. And so I went on the road again, only to repeat the same cycle.
Why does perspective come with an expiration date? How do we hold on to it?