When we sit down for coffee, she tells me her life is finally starting to move out of its four year limbo.
This American Life is about limbo.
Limbo is what is when something else needs to happen for something to be done to change the state of limbo.
And you can't use the word itself in the definition of a word. Remember that.
Limbo is sometimes the first circle of hell. More optimistically, it is the denial of hell without the reward of heaven.
It is the great undefined in between.
It is being halted.
It is waiting.
I am waiting.
I can tell you about the couple hundred of square feet within which I make most of my life. I can tell you exactly what it looks like out the window. I can tell you in detail how minutes pass and how hours pile up and the things that get done to move the time ahead.
What I can't tell you is the feel of the ground under my feet.
It is time to move again. Waking up is all about moving in space. I return to my feet because I need to remember all the basic truths of my life.
I walk. I map. I observe. I translate.
That is all I am.
Comments