The Other Side of the Borderland

It was a natural progression for me to head straight into contemplation after reading Susan Stanford Friedman’s essay on how the “new” concept of globalization has led to the naming and claiming of a new field in postmodern studies. All her talk about geography, borderlands, Diaspora, migration etc., led me straight to a place inside my mind that’s been anticipating a visit for over a month now. The lighting was just right, the atmosphere hospitable, and the conversation could not have been more relaxed and informative. With the help of a few old friends, I got a chance to see other places I’d been traveling to inside myself recently, and I'm really not all that happy with what I saw. Some of those neighborhoods were downright ugly, and the images have left a pretty strong impression.

I saw myself walking down dark streets, lit only by dim flickering gas lamps and the dull glow from dirty windows in dilapidated tenement buildings. The night air was cold, and seeped through my jacket on a biting wind. The characters were all hardcases sitting on stoops, leaning on walls, or just staring at me as I passed by. The sideway glance one guy gave me said, “what–the–hell–you–been–comin’–down–here–for?” –– just as I was wondering the same thing myself. And that was only one of the shabby, rundown neighborhoods I've trudged through in the past month or so.

That long moment of meditation, afforded me by Friedman's "Migrations, Diasporas, and Borders," has led to the realization that I’ve been using a lot of external happenings as a reason for feeling hot–tempered lately. But now that the elections are over, nobody got assassinated, and the California Supreme Court voted 6–1 to hear legal arguments against an oppressive proposition, I’ve got no more excuses. Of course, the more personal reasons for my heading down to the dark end of the street are best left for conversations between me and the Milky–Way; but that’s for later. Right now, after seeing clearly where I’ve been, I think I’ve taken the first step toward turning around and heading for the more sunny amiable places on the other side of the borderland. The beach, that’s where I’m heading, and after I’ve lost track of time lazing around with some old friends there, I might just take a long walk in the open woods before cruising up to the jazzy side of town where the music floats by on a warm breeze and everybody’s got a kind word and a good sense of humor.

It’s not that I’ve left these better places behind altogether; in fact, I have been drifting back and forth between them much of the time lately. But tonight, I’ve come to the conclusion that I’ve been walking too often into places that I have no business visiting because they leave nothing but a negative effect on my attitude, and if I keep heading into those dingy back alley’s, it’s just going to become harder and harder to get back out each time. Another thing I know right now is that I’m feeling a sense of gratitude toward Susan Stanford Friedman for sparking a train of thought that led me to an over–due visit with some old friends that have a nice quiet little place a long ways off from the hustle and bustle out there in our globalized society.