Last summer I went on a long drive through Alaska’s scenic Denali range. We traced along cliffsides from taiga to tundra, admiring stratospheric peaks and cobalt glaciers, eyes peeled for grizzlies. Earbuds in, it was then that I realized I loved the soundscapes in my ears more than the landscapes around me.
Later that same vacation I was excited to find that our boat was plowing through ice. But mostly I was excited because I knew this was what Sigur Ros was made for.
I enjoy travelling and much of life and the world. But I also know that I almost always enjoy abstractions of life–or just fantasies of harmony and order and narrative that may not qualify as abstractions at all–more.
Isn’t that messed up?