I can honestly say that I have never before typed a blog post from 38000 feet above ground, but as I type this I am gazing out my window somewhere over Iowa, just a handful of hours away from New York. Despite an unplanned stop over at an airport near Los Angeles and a seven hour delay (S E V E N H O U R S) I’m feeling surprisingly fresh and inspired to write. The freshness is courtesy of dry shampoo (a miracle for anyone with a fringe) and the inspiration ….
Last time I was in New York (about nine months ago, at the end of a two-month holiday with Kevin) I purchased a copy of TANK magazine. One of the most exciting things about an international trip is the selection of magazines that you never find back home; they are treasures. I ended up buying more magazines than I was able to afford in my luggage allowance, so I left them behind like a trail of pebbles, discarded in a Parisian hotel room and left sneakily in my friend’s London bedroom. But not TANK.
The only reason I held onto TANK was because I never got a chance to read it. Amongst all those stop overs, bus rides, plan trips and hours I never found a moment to pour through the pages. On my way out the door yesterday morning, the striking cover caught my eye from beneath a pile of notes in my wardrobe. On impulse, I took it with me.
On my last visit to New York I wandered the streets, exploring the surface level of the city, all the while aware that I wanted to feel something more. I left the city with the unread TANK and a relatively untouched must-do list. This time I am prepared for the pace, the cold, the frenzy, and I’ve read through TANK twice. I’ve placed it in the pocket in the seat in front of mine – I can leave it there.