Like a Pig in Mud With a Long Life Ahead

Little did I know, while sitting pretty at the Ludlow in Lower East Side NYC last autumn, how many things I was taking for granted in this captured moment. The freedom of flying and ease of entering a foreign country, the comfort of an avocado toast served in a restaurant, the nonchalance of draping my arm expansively into the next booth, innocent insouciance writ large while a visible grin plays in my eyes that see nothing ahead but a sunny day in one of the world’s greatest cities. I always travel with an optimistic open mind. I am never blasé. Both fundamental ways my mother taught me. I see as if I have never seen and remember as if I will never forget. The ability to bank memories and moments is a currency I never thought would be this relevant, this important a means to stave off the emotional hunger and physiological atrophy brought on by the pandemic. My recommendation would be to exercise that part of the brain by scrolling back into your photographic rolodex and remembering those moments out loud or in writing, a healing journey of arm-twisting cognitive behavioral dissonance into jazz notes. I remember the waiter’s shoe clap on the mosaic tiled bistro floor, the taste and crunch of the raw minced garlic in the avocado, the anticipation of walking through downtown New York to the Whitney Museum coursing through my impatient veins. We are free to travel my friends: close your eyes, breathe in, unlock and access it all. Those memories are there waiting for you to dive in and muck about like a pig in mud with a long life ahead.