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There's a vanity to any writer. Why write anything down at all unless you think it's worth the paper (or in this case your valuable scrolling time). Is writing at its core just another performance of commodification? How much of this is an expression of self versus a heightened narration of a character I call me? For years on these trips, I've staged jokes, construed narrative, and enlargened my reality, and don't get me wrong, I revel in it. But that's not truth. That's not how real people live.

The larger my island of awareness grows, the longer my coastline of consequence. And sometimes, that's paralysing.

But if this really is every bit a journey through psyche as it is one through Spain, then I need something to represent that. Today can be that pothole.Read more