September 8, 2017

Tucson. May, 2005

Each time I visit Tucson, my soul opens. Is it because I’m back in the realm of conversational magic with my friend Simon, who always urges me to release stress and embrace the paths that avoid spirit-sapping corporate pitfalls? Or because people there take their time, seeming to amble from one task to the next (rather than to dash frantically as those of us in the Northeast seem to do most often)? Or that the weather encourages a shoulder-dropping relaxation, a nonchalance that comes with the territory? All of these and more? There’s a freedom that pervades things there. A freedom to do what you want when you want. And to be what you want to be. (One example: I’ve met several people who, I later learned, started out their lives with gender identities different from the ones they have now.) People take time for coffee and conversation. I don’t see as many people constantly checking their phones, their emails, their texts. Independence. It’s as if one is embracing a spiritual detox. The light, the landscape, the sky.

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