Essays and rock & roll. Looking and listening. Nostalgia versus skepticism.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Long-distance driving, the great pause button. Between departure and arrival, home and wherever, this morning and tonight, I'm suspended, both active and inactive, hurtling forward and passive. 10,000 songs on the iPod, Radiolab and This American Life podcasts: all great diversions from highway hypnosis, but I find I get a lot of thinking accomplished when the car's quiet. Time unfolds before me to be filled in languorously, unhurriedly (and add contemplative side-trips). I find I'm between persona's, between "I"'s, also: the me who left and the me who arrives are different folk, the me who left and the me who arrives less two ends of a spectrum spining the highway than two points among many. The me who drives and thinks is another "I" altogether, usually the thoughtful one—ie, the one thinking—the one filling in the spaces between the two dots, chasing truths, shading in, remembering, misremembering, telling stories. The me suspended is the one with time, eyes on the road and the great vanishing point, moving horizontally and thinking vertically.