WE ARE NOT ALONE BUT ALSO NOT ALL THAT TOGETHER

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My husband bought this book for me last year. It lives on our coffee table next to the African vase from the antique store up the street and the vintage cork palm-tree coasters from LA. Right now it’s also living next to bottles of Xanax and Aleve, plus the wrapper from a Good Humor Oreo ice-cream bar. Anyway. It’s time travel, this book. And sometimes when I can’t sleep, I look through it and wonder who ate at those restaurants and followed those dress codes and bought those cheap rugs from the places they specifically mention in Morocco. And who got on planes to the world’s other side simply because Pan Am inspired them to do so, and who knew that some of these places wouldn’t exist in 50 years and that walls would fall and revolutions would revolutionize and men would die and so would women. And I wonder if the water in the Caribbean looked as teal, or even tealer. And if California still felt like destiny and what happened when people got there, wide-eyed and vulnerable, seeing the deserts and mountains and tangled streets for the first or last time. And I lament every life I’ve never lived and every job I’ll never have and every place I’ll never be from and the thousands of years that’ll happen after me and how there’s no way I’ll get to experience all of it, to start all over and live a different life, not because I’ve regretted this one, but because being only one person, one time, doesn’t feel like enough.

My husband bought this book for me last year. It lives on our coffee table next to the African vase from the antique store up the street and the vintage cork palm-tree coasters from LA. Right now it’s also living next to bottles of Xanax and Aleve, plus the wrapper from a Good Humor Oreo ice-cream bar. Anyway.

It’s time travel, this book. And sometimes when I can’t sleep, I look through it and wonder who ate at those restaurants and followed those dress codes and bought those cheap rugs from the places they specifically mention in Morocco. And who got on planes to the world’s other side simply because Pan Am inspired them to do so, and who knew that some of these places wouldn’t exist in 50 years and that walls would fall and revolutions would revolutionize and men would die and so would women. And I wonder if the water in the Caribbean looked as teal, or even tealer. And if California still felt like destiny and what happened when people got there, wide-eyed and vulnerable, seeing the deserts and mountains and tangled streets for the first or last time. And I lament every life I’ve never lived and every job I’ll never have and every place I’ll never be from and the thousands of years that’ll happen after me and how there’s no way I’ll get to experience all of it, to start all over and live a different life, not because I’ve regretted this one, but because being only one person, one time, doesn’t feel like enough.

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