Foreigner

To notice the particular shade of green of the oak leaves, the length of the silence between bird chirps, the uneven sensations of gravel beneath your feet–this is what it's like to be a foreigner: taking in all things as they would be totally new.

To traverse the crowds with solidarity, the roads beneath the stars with wonder, the mind with objectivity–this, too, is what it's like to be a foreigner: embracing our unique journeys.

A foreigner takes nothing for granted; they see the world with fresh eyes, enamored with what others see as mundane. They may derive as much pleasure from a walk to work as would you from cake or drugs or sex. This is the foreigners superpower.

Yet the most satisfying part of the foreigners' experience is not the novelty they encounter, but the role itself. The pursuit of novelty, beauty, knowledge–that’s the source of their joy. And the responsibility they’ve taken for their travels, wrong turns included, is the permission they’ve granted themselves to own it.

Ironically, an acknowledgement of our isolation can make us feel more connected. We are alone, together, on our own journeys, weaving our individual threads with ancestors, contemporaries, and descendants alike. But our threads are still ours alone.

To be a foreigner is to carve a unique existence from homogeneity, and to possess an intricate knowledge of all its edges, smooth and rough.