Being lost, I think, must be a modern affliction. It requires a collapse of personal geography. And herein lies a paradox. As our species becomes more successful, more populous, we fracture the world into ever tighter panoramas—into countries, provinces, towns, neighborhoods, streets, houses, rooms, “private space.” In this way, a proportionally larger share of the planet becomes alien, exotic, threatening, unknown. Today, we take up residence in our navels. We forget: The entire world is ours. We possess it. It is ours to move through. The anxiety of becoming lost in it—the jail-yard lifer’s fear of losing sight of his cell—is another unhappy side effect, like bad teeth, of sedentary life.
I consult my GPS. A reflex. I remind myself: The people who discovered the world were going nowhere.
This is where we are, there is no better place. Our tribe has walked from Eden into Eden. Whatever we do or strive for, whatever we think ails us, whatever we feel we are missing. All the loss and all the love is here. Let us discover this again and again every day . This is my wish for 2014.