as a general rule, when i walk city streets, i avoid putting in headphones. i’d rather skip the music and drink in the cacophony of human existence. i would rather listen to the laughter and shouts of children, the sounds of traffic, pieces of conversation floating by. tonight, for a change, i tossed in some new music and went for a walk in an old familiar place.

christchurch, new zealand, seems like a stopover to me - the point of transition between the states and antarctica. it has history, however; weeks of it. as i walked the city with a heavy indy rock beat and hopeless romantic lyrics in my ears, my memories played out like a movie.

it’s a simple process, available to all of us, to separate out our self from reality with the wall that music can provide. my observer role felt that much more removed as conversations between passing couples disappeared into silently moving mouths. looking up to the taller buildings or into restaurants and former haunts felt like i was directing a camera, ordering the most appropriate artistic movement and color choice to frame an old memory.

this city, like many other spaces, is alive with the presence of friendships and story, held fast together with equal parts nostalgia, hope, and dream. so what does it all boil down to? that a good walk is just that, and that the stars of the southern hemisphere hold an ancient comfort.