One week ago today I returned home from one of the great trips of my lifetime. I went without children or my wife. I missed them greatly while I was away, but I was consistently aware of the great gift of time that I was given. I know how difficult it was for Jodi to let me go, but she knew that I needed to experience this trip alone. I will never be able to share any of the experiences I had there with my family directly, but only through documentation and recounting.
Since I’ve been home many people have asked, “Why India?” The answer is “Because.” Because it’s there. Because it’s foreign. Because in my mind it was a place that held mostly stereotypes. I wanted to erase all of that. I wanted to feel like an alien for a while.
After all, that’s why people travel; to feel foreign. Having now been there, I can say this, there isn’t a place on Earth that I’ve been to that can make someone more keenly aware of oneself than India. The structure of things is vaguely familiar, but everything feels, tastes, and sounds infinitely different. Even the voices of old friends you see along the way, like James Hackman in Varanasi, feel profoundly different. You travel to change the context. I don’t do it enough. I’m having trouble shaking the feeling, but I’m also terrified of shaking it.
The other reason I went to India is that Mike asked me to go. After all, it was his trip. So maybe when Mike gets back on Monday I’ll ask him, “Why India?” I’m pretty sure I would have gone with him to Patagonia, Vietnam, or The Congo, and maybe someday we will. We make pretty good traveling companions. I had a tendency to plan the things that Mike never thought to, and he had a way of getting me stop caring about the plans I had made. I remembered to pack the things he didn’t, especially the things that we ultimately didn’t need anyhow. I nagged him to stay in the moment, and he documented the hell out of everything, which was annoying at the time, but for which now, at least a week later, I am incredibly grateful.
I am forever changed by that place. I would go back tomorrow if I could, especially if I could bring my wife and children with me, but I know it would be a very different story. Being there alone, and at this stage in my life, meant everything. I am still overwhelmed with gratitude to my wife and in-laws for supporting me on this trip. I hope to someday be able to return the favor, or even share with them first hand the amazing, and now somewhat less mysterious, subcontinent of India.
A few other people have asked about the title of this blog. The answer to that is a little more complicated. I'll say this, life is complicated. Mike's had a complicated couple of years, and it doesn't look like things are going to get less complicated anytime soon. I think he is learning to embrace that uncertainty. There's a photo by Yves Klein that Mike saw a while back that struck him. It's titled "Leap Into The Void." I've posted it below. Mike reworked the phrase a little recently and had it tattooed on his inner arm. It's written in the same font as the the Declaration of Independence. It's a strong statement, and it was consistently in the back of both of our minds during the the whole trip. It resonated loudly as I left him in Kolkata.
Mike returns on Monday. I can't wait to hear about his week. It will be interesting to tell him about mine. Life is slowly calling us both back. I think we are ready.
Leap into the Void, 1960
Yves Klein (French, 1928–1962); Harry Shunk (German, 1924–2006); Janos Kender (Hungarian, 1937–1983)
Gelatin silver print
10 3/16 x 7 7/8 in. (25.9 x 20 cm)
Source: Yves Klein, Harry Shunk, Janos Kender: Leap into the Void (1992.5112) | Heilbrunn Timeline of Art History | The Metropolitan Museum of Art
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