This feeling of being an adult who’s somehow missed the path is exactly what Neil Hayward expresses in his unintentional memoir, Lost Among The Birds. Anyone who hopes to find themselves this year should read his book.
Flying is fantasy, a journey through blue realms and unfathomable heights. Hyped up by another airplane coffee (my third or fourth, I can’t remember) and the pure magic of air travel, I’m already the most excited passenger to take a window seat on flight AA0139…
Just one hand on the wheel and all the windows down, I think I could drive this stretch forever. But somewhere up ahead, that right turn will take me Home. Right here and now, everything is as it should be. . .
Calling the corner of Wilshire ‘home’ means learning to sleep through 3 a.m. mail trucks, overhead flights and constant police sirens – it’s too nice out to close the windows.
There’s a narrow second of calm between a wave’s ebb and flow; a brief opportunity to catch your breath or grab at drifting bikini ties. . .
In the States, social status hangs off a person’s employment. So what happens if your chosen career is “nomad”? If only they made business cards for the long-term traveler. . .
So I focus on the water, watching algae hug the stacks of the entombed USS Arizona. Counting pink dancers – the delicate bob and bow of a thousand frangipani petals – cover the tragic scene in something beautiful . . .