It's wild on these dark (city lit) cool nights to step out on the landing outside my apartment and just listen to the impossible thrum, nearly 20 million people, and all the sounds from all the apartments, and know I'm anonymous in one of the largest cities on Earth, in all of history. It's comforting. As odd as that may seem. And it reminds me that the total insignificance and anonymity of the wilderness and of the city are the same, and that nothing soothes brokenness quite like annihilation. As an active alcoholic, I was dying for oblivion. Now, it's clear that one doesn't have to go to all that trouble. The blink between being and being gone is always available. Packing up the car in a moment and driving out of the city, headed east toward the desert. I might go south first to Interstate 8, and then cut east, not sure. Part of me is reluctant to get out, feeling like it would also be cool to just hang around at home, sleep, putter around, etc. But I know myself well enough to know that I will be glad when I am out there. Getting there is what I do not really feel like doing. I think a ton of life is like this. We want to be there, but we are daunted by getting there. The above and the featured image for this postm, both pics of Bochochibampo Bay at Hotel Playa de Cortes, in Guaymas, Sonora. I probably would have gone down there this week, if there were no pandemic.