Yesterday I was driving to Tucson, Arizona, where you find those purple mountains majesty from "America The Beautiful" and funny border control checks. Today is a travel day, and we’re bound for Salt Lake City, surrounded by the seven men I’m traveling with who have headphones and are watching a movie or making music or trying to sleep. Each of is doing our own thing to pass the time on these long drives. Here’s a brief recap of the last thirteen days.
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And off I was about to go! I woke up last Wednesday morning realizing I was about to leave for three months and I hadn’t packed a single thing, made a list (I live for making lists!), or made a game plan. I’ve traveled a lot, but it requires special strategy when you have to pack for two seasons, tour performance clothes, everyday clothes, and something comfy. Cue me standing in an airport with everything but the kitchen sink.
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Buildings matter. This is a concept that is foreign to us now. As anyone who spends more than a few minutes driving around our city can easily attest to, the vast majority of the buildings (houses, stores, banks, even—I cringe as I write this last one—churches) look like they have come out of some factory where they are mass produced on an assembly line. Buildings used to mean something. There was some idea, value, universal concept that held the building together and directed its growth and form.
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At some point over the last thirty years, our society became afraid. I’m not sure exactly when it was or what it is we have grown to fear. Is it the unknown? Is it our cultural differences? Something has made us collectively afraid. We left neighborhoods and cities for gated subdivisions and homogenous housing. Our front porches vanished and were replaced with garages, insulated from the world.
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