On an island off Honduras, I learned that effort isn’t the same as belongingWhat do you hang onto when your world shifts?Despite our eagerness, we had to admit defeatOn the steel beams beneath the tower someone had painted repeating rows of dates: Every year but the last two.We followed rituals we did not understandThey say “standing on the wall will make you a man,” but does the means of arrival matter?“Rocky.” he said, reaching out his hand. His palms were like oarsAll joy, it turns out, is fleetingI realized then how much of my faith depended on knowing, and how little room it left for mysteryThe whale sharks traced their endless circles through the blueWhen the market closed, our search beganBefore I had my own adventures, I inherited my father’sFor the first time that afternoon, I felt permitted to remainThe phrase felt smaller in person—ordinary in a way that didn’t fit what it meantOur guide filled the tour with salty puns. The miners were “salty veterans,” it’s history worth taking “with a grain of salt”From me to the HimalayasMy path along the Rhine. By morning, the signs pointed me onwardThere’s a difference between knowledge and understandingCremations at the Burning Ghat, respectfully photographed from afarSome say the best sushi comes from Hiroshima. I say, the best sushi comes when you least expect itFor what is there in Agra, but the Taj Mahal?“Leave me here,” she’d said. But how could I?In this marble palace—both a prison and a haven—we were safeIt was never about the guitarA last glimpse of light beneath the castle walls
