Ebert Word Traveling, Richard Not So Much

I have found myself in the past week reading links related to embattled film critic Roger Ebert; An Esquire profile of his life post the removal of his jaw; Ebert’s blog post on walking. In someway the cancer that stripped him of his ability to speak or eat or drink has reinvigorated this sixty-something year-old or rather has not stopped his zest for the things he loves most. As the Esquire piece reminds readers: “He is a wonderful writer, and today he is producing the best work of his life.” And it is a wonderful piece.

For all of my 33 years I have not left North America. Although I was not born in the United States , I can’t lay claim to having traveled anywhere past Florida. It’s as if I have taken that exchange between Cutty and Dukie to heart and am in danger of making it a self-fulfilling prophesy.

The idea of being stuck has opened me up to a crippling feeling more methaphorical than the physical kind that Ebert goes through everyday. Sort of being alone on your own emotional island.

There’s much I want to do; need to do. Traveling outside these States feels like one of the things I need to do to find the purpose for my photography and my writing. Or maybe everything I need is right here with me in New York City.

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