In Search Of Rural Spaces
I wanted rural and I got rural. I’m in the jungle of the Big Island (also known as “rural Hawaii”). That phrase; isn’t all of Hawaii, by geographic objectivity, rural? Hawaii is like the lost child of the map.
It almost seems sad, the way it stands so remote from the rest of the world, so isolated from all the activity of the mainlands. Just this silent little crater of volcanic rock.
When you’re in rural New York; you’re really not in a rural area. You’re just a few hours by car from various metropolitan cities. But when you take a five hour flight across the ocean to a little rock in the Pacific, then you drive four more hours on oneway roads, you are actually somewhere rural. Though, when you think about it, the Earth itself is rather rural in the universe. So maybe everywhere is rural.
This loneliness is good.
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Answer phones better than anyone else has answered phones before. Relay messages so brilliant, they bring people to tears. Turn the coffee run into the choreography of Swan Lake. Become best friends with every intern and every underling and every taxi driver you encounter.
I remember taking the pen and notebook from that woman outside the courtroom, flipping to a clean page in the book, and writing, JESSICA IS SAD in big, bold, uncoordinated letters. “My sister is going to be a good writer someday! Look at how nice her lines are!”
To begin, I got totally screwed over in the dental genes department. I was born with a pretty severe overbite and a mouth that was too small.
If this doesn’t become the biggest video on the Internet, then I have no faith left in humanity.