Everybody has to leave, everybody has to leave their home and come back so they can love it again for all new reasons. Life cannot be understood flat on a page. It has to be lived; a person has to get out of his head, has to fall in love, has to memorize poems, has to jump off bridges into rivers, has to stand in an empty desert and whisper sonnets under his breath:
I’ll tell you how the sun rose
A ribbon at a time…
Leave is such a beautiful word. So strong and forceful, the way you have always wanted to be. And you will not be alone. You have never been alone. Don’t worry. Everything will still be here when you get back. It is you who will have changed.
Many cities, these days, seem to have people living on the surface of life but hardly in its soil, diluting the deeper questions of life in television monologues and reality shows, amusing ourselves to death. We can’t see the stars in the city anymore, we can’t go to the beach without stepping on a beer bottle, we can’t hike in the woods, because there aren’t any more woods. We drive around in a trance, salivating for Starbucks while that great heaven sits above us, and that beautiful sunrise is happening in the desert, and all those mountains out West are collecting snow on the limbs of their pines and all those leaves are changing colors out East.