I didn’t think I’d be back to Lanzarote, ever. It was one of the few ostensibly permanent goodbyes I was willing to let myself make last year, or at all, really. Maybe that’s why it didn’t happen the way I thought it would. In the not-time of the internet and this blog, Lanzarote was my last stop; I might as well have never left. (I’m in the middle of reading Middlesex, if you couldn’t tell.) More than another movement, this trip to islands that should not be Spain’s, to islands whose horizons are made of dust, feels like a coda.

A coda, tying together themes and neatening feelings. Processing and clarifying while presenting the audience with something to understand – this is what my grandfather told me made for a “good” coda. As such, I’m back in Lanzarote to more “properly,” rigorously, healthily, document the impact of the Museo Atlantico on this island’s dive tourism economy. I want to better describe what divers think of as “artificial” or “natural” on a blue planet that is increasingly neither of those two things. I want to put a finger on how dive tourism uses the marine environment as the industry program vacillates between education and expansion. An ontology of diving, of sorts. Artificial reefs are still key – I’m just better funded this time (emotionally, maybe, and certainly financially).

So coda or not, the time that passed – almost a year to the day – matters. From the first moments of the Watson Conference last August, I’ve been working on healing. Trying to get better at independence rather than isolation, preferring reliance on a network of friends and family I might actually be able to see. Learning that I do not see my body quite the way other people might, or maybe I do, or maybe it really doesn’t matter. Physically healing, regardless, which in my country, gasping for air, is expensive. Trying to commit to a community I can help heal, trying to be responsible for fixing the States. Learning! Starting my Master’s degree at University of Rhode Island in Marine Affairs in the Spring after spending the Fall selling cookies and feeling underqualified at an architecture studio. Formalizing the things I care about, you could say, which I have mixed feelings about. Being in love, the like. It’s funny how a year spent alone in so many ways left me feeling less like myself.


This is all to say, I’m writing again and if you care to follow me you should subscribe for updates. I won’t be notifying social media of every post, necessarily. I’ll write about New Materialism, do some literature reviews of tourism studies readings, write a manifesto, poetry, etc. But fuck it, fugit. It escapes, irretrievable time. I’ll be gone again from Lanzarote fast, so who knows what might happen in the meantime.



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