'Where Am I Going? Where Do You Go?'
Find out why I'm humming the DMB ditty this week. Plus, Parker Posey for GAP and Arsenio Hall.
Currently overthinking…
…whether to take the A train to the LIRR, transfer and take an Uber; or walk/bike to the LIRR, take the AirTrain and a free shuttle bus — aka, my new periodic commute!
Surrounded by suitcases. I am surrounded by suitcases. Hardshell and shiny. Soft and worn-in. Black, grey, and—whoa, tangerine!—and more black and grey. Duffels with dangling tassels. Totes with broken zippers. Luggage tags that are written in English, Spanish, French, and Arabic. Black pen, blue pen, marker.
The people who wheel and carry these bags look tired and energized: wary from museum tours, expensive theater, back-to-back meetings, walking 10,000+ steps a day, or fresh-faced and eager for what’s to come once they’re up, up, and away.
The Dave Matthews Band song “Where Are You Going?” plays in my mind:
Where are you going? Where do you go?
Are you looking for answers?
To questions under the stars?
I wonder about the destinations of these people with the suitcases. I wonder what they’ll remember about their travels. I wonder whether they packed sadness or happiness, and whether they’ll unpack relief and excitement once they get there, wherever “there” may be. Are they going someplace new or someplace familiar? Leaving or returning? Meeting friends or family, or traveling alone?
I look at these travelers and wonder where I’ll go next because right now I am going to the airport, but I’m not going anywhere, really.
People ask me all the time: “Any travels coming up?”
As someone whose job it is (was?) to buckle in, turn on Airplane mode, convert currencies, and report about what I experience along the way, the people always want to know: Where are you going?
But since moving back to the U.S. from France to focus on finding a full-time job and making a more stable, comfortable home for myself, my answer has become, “not sure yet” or “nowhere, really,” or “maybe California to visit the kiddos” or “hopefully France to see my friends.”
I went to Paris in September, New Zealand in December, and Boston in March—not “nowhere,” by any stretch. But my reputation precedes me. I should have something else coming up. I should want to have something else coming up. Maybe I will, soon, and I do. Or maybe I won’t and don’t.
Truthfully, the only exotic destination on my agenda right now is Jamaica—Jamaica, Queens, to be exact, and the location of my family’s seafood distribution company, whose warehouses but up against JFK and were therefore where I was headed amongst the travelers with the suitcases.
I recently began going in a couple of days, and my commute, which begins in Brooklyn and ends up in Queens via the subway, a train, and a free shuttle bus (with some biking and walking on either end for good measure), ironically, takes me through JFK.
It’s a funny thing to take the AirTrain without a boarding pass downloaded on my phone, a passport in my bag, and a sense of thrill bubbling up in my bones. And as much as I wished I, too, were headed off on a more exciting adventure with a bag full of promise disguised by hiking clothes, rather than a tote carrying a premade spicy shrimp bowl for lunch at the office, I’ll be honest: I don’t mind it. At least, not yet anyway.
I may not be in Tel Aviv where I have to figure out how to get from the port to the shuk by sherut, or in Tokyo where the shinkansen would take me to Osaka, but I’ve been to one of those places before and may yet visit the other. Just not today, and probably not tomorrow. In which case, how interesting and fortunate, almost, that I can still experience a sense of accomplishment and, dare I say, rush, from figuring out how to get myself from A to B when I’d been to both A and B many times before, but never quite linked the two together in this way. There’s something to be said for finding ways to explore a place that’s familiar enough, but still foreign if you let it be; if you approach it from a different direction.
In the case of my new commute from Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn, to Jamaica, Queens, there are a lot of moving parts that require me to stay alert. To pay attention. Some might balk at this. New Yorkers, especially. After all, commutes are for tuning out! Quickness and efficiency rule! But I like it. It forces me to take in my surroundings. Look up from my phone every so often. And, as it so happens, to ogle at suitcases and wonder what’s inside. To glance at a traveler’s boarding pass and make up stories about what’s on the other side of their arrival gate, especially since I’m not the one departing for a change. I get a smidgen of that pre-voyage buzz, minus the required security check and shared elbow room.
Perhaps, at some point, this commute will become routine, boring, and automated. Maybe one day soon, Jealousy will grab me and shake me and dare me to turn right towards the terminals rather than left towards the warehouses. But for now, I’m proud to be using my ingenuity as the traveler who moves with a different purpose: to continue seeking some.
Now let me ask you: Where are YOU going? And is it possible to see some novelty in your potentially humdrum journey?
Also overthinking this week…
…best practices on Substack Notes…nighttime moisturizers…
Clickable
Katy Perry’s clown-like celebrity: Love it or leave it? | The Atlantic (gift link)
A romp with nostalgia on the high seas. | Esquire
Speaking of nostalgia, it’s different from FoMo. |
I, too, have spoiled my taste buds, but I draw the line at lines. | The NY Times (gift link)
On false promises and big talk: “Be careful with your words.” |
Larry David slaps back at Bill Maher’s naive reaction to Trump. | The New York Times (gift link)
Watchable
I’m a sucker for a high-quality commercial that does more than just try to sell you a material item. This GAP ad, starring actress du jour Parker Posey, sells spring vibes, good tunes (“Mama’s Eyes” by METTE), and a freedom of expression to, as the liner notes say, “move unapologetically” and “dance to your own rhythm.” You can tell Parker is feeling herself and the beat—as she should be after her iconic role in The White Lotus.
In today’s TikTok world, where everyone’s a “content creator,” I’m glad to see brands (especially fast-fashion) still hiring talented teams to produce something BIG, BOLD, and FUN like this. I hope it pays off. I mean, I don’t know about you, but I kinda want that trench!
Oh, hey! Yeah, you. Did you tell your writer friends about Word Doc yet? Please do! Pretty please!
Souvenir: The Arsenio Hall Show
Monday is the annual Met Gala, and this year’s sartorial theme is “Superfine: Tailoring Black Style,” which got me thinking about Aresnio Hall, but not necessarily because the one-time late-night host and cleaner of the Royal Penis (#IYKYK) made such superb fashion choices. But because he had Style with a capital S, ya know? Like, just a certain swagger, whether it was his ’stache, his bolero, or his trademark, one-armed fist pump. Who among us of a certain age doesn’t remember “woof-woof-woof”? (Wait, was it “woof” or “woop”?) Anyway, I watched his show pretty religiously in high school. I remember it airing on Channel 9, and it started way past my bedtime. But I’d always turn it on and make it past his monologue, where he’d sit down by the couch and immediately pull the footstool closer to his chair. I could never understand why the stage manager didn’t just place it in that spot to begin with. Let’s give it up for Arsenioooo Haaaaaal!
I just re-watched Party Girl. Highly recommend for more Parker Posey+vintage NYC vibes.
As a traveler who also commutes to Jamaica for work and ponders about the destinations of the people with suitcases while I’m in between destinations- I love everything about this