#135
Sitting at the airport outside because I’m early but better early, than in traffic. Here I silently judge footwear and watch the cars dropping off and picking up and wonder what kind of income it takes to get some of them. Audis, Polestars, Teslas, BMW’s. This has to be the Tesla capital of the world. I like the personalization - matte black seems popular. A Mercedes station wagon pulls past - not many of those around. Where does money come from?
Traveling, I get lost in the world. I get lost in the many lives I could have led and overwhelmed by the many lives I could lead. Future lives?
On the train earlier we passed a station where buses were lined up and I wondered what makes someone be a bus driver? I want to ask people why they think they belong here and not elsewhere, maybe they have a key? Why are any of us anywhere? The sense that I could be doing anything seems so present and evergreen in my mind, that I get distracted that I could stop what I’m doing and start doing something different immediately. Yesterday I thought of leaving my job by just disappearing. What would happen? I’d go home and get the dog and do the things I want to do. The important things, the things that matter. Let them work it out.
Future lives in New York, Sydney, future lives in Los Angeles, London, or in the countryside running an inn. Future lives as a psychotherapist, a painter, a writer, a filmmaker, a hobo, a baker, a beach bum.