Returning to the city, I felt a familiar drain on my attention as I drove down the FDR to ditch the rental car. I wasn’t distracted by the lights or skyscrapers. No, these pieces of the city looked supernatural in the Friday night fog, like impressions from a dream. Rather, it was the sensation of returning to news and anxiety after two days of widescreen thinking. Maybe it’s because going away requires intention, whereas coming home implies routine. But why should I feel like coming home requires me to monitor headlines and refresh my inbox? This doesn’t do anyone much good. These were my thoughts as I rode the subway back, half-watching an old man play scratch-off lotto.
It would be nice to be one of those lonely lights I saw last night on the horizon of the Atlantic, surrounded by the static of the sea rather than screens delivering news about spiking infections and perception hacking.
