Now, Voyager

Each time I visit the polar bears at the Central Park Zoo, they're doing the same thing; pacing back-and-forth. It makes me terribly sad. When I inquired in the past about the bear's pacing, a caretaker told me, that the bears simply were anticipating feeding time. I think it's something else. I know it's something far more sinister. I never pay the entrance fee, I just stand around, outside the gate, hoping to score a sighting of the lovely creamy bears. It sometimes feels like I am a parent waiting for their kid to come out after school. I just stand around, outside the gate, wondering how my child has spent their day, hoping it was well-spent and happy. Zoos creep me out, always have, since I was a little girl. The thought of a great, powerful animal taken against its will, and put in confinement is a catastrophic error. I believe that there is always a gaping void where the animal was taken from its natural habitat, and thrown into a manufactured one. The animal can never live out its tendencies, the animal always waits for the opportunity to return to its natural land. And it never comes. The pacing signifies biding time and boredom, as well as a significant motion towards a hopeful outcome. Although the bear is marooned, locked into its fate, it nonetheless traverses its course by being a lover of the long-shot.

I am a lover of the long-shot. Sometimes this reasoning gets me into trouble because it's perceived as arrogance, or haughtiness. I assure you it's something entirely different. It's actually a humbling belief in the vastness of the universe and what it might and can provide. Working towards an "impossible" outcome - whether it's pulling off an intellectual, entrepreneurial, or physical feat, is always belittling initially. The course or voyage is all-encompassing, tremendous, compared to me, or you, a mere blip, in the machinations of the galaxy. It is not only the curiosity of the "con," it is a con-viction realized.

I wake up every morning to the great unknown. There is no pre-ordained schedule, or appointments, there is only one thing I can latch onto: the vagaries of the voyage. Something is bound to click, if not today, tomorrow, or the next day. I pace back and forth, like the bears, hoping against all reason, for a positive outcome, for a voyage home, back to my native land - New York.