When I travel, I go looking for hope. I do it because, after too long spent in one place, it becomes hard to find. It hides in plain sight. Disguised as hopelessness, as defeat.
Perspective can be a tricky thing these days. The feedback loop of the incongruent is too rapid. We don’t have time to sit and think anymore. A war becomes a major motion picture in 6 months, an Executive Order becomes an SNL skit in less than a week, and the Meme God’s are speaking all the time. Are we really to blame if we just laugh it off? The majority always moves with the propaganda of their time (see History).
That’s the reason why I found myself so intrigued by dilapidated buildings. Visual indicators of social decay. I had fallen into a routine of thought that we are all on crash course with destruction, one we set for ourselves long ago, so why bother? Annihilation is inevitable, so it seems the sensible thing to do is kick up my feet and watch it all go to shit. But every time I looked at the rot, I was reminded of my own ability to build.
I noticed each individual brick, each mortar joint, every plank and panel, and the nails that held it all together. All were put there by the coherent motion of someone like me. I could put it all back if I really wanted to. And there it was, hope in tropical ruins.