In before the tsunami

Home is where the heart is. It's the people, the things, the places you care about---all of them, not just any one of them. (Clearly these aspects can be independent of one another, but oftentimes it makes little sense to think about them in isolation.)
So don't be so worried about not having a roof over your head here where you think home is. As long as you continue to engage with the place in a meaningful way, as long as you continue to care, these will be mere logistical details. They matter, but they can be overcome.
And, now, welcome to Michigan. Tuesday morning will be a fun time.

54 hours later, some thanks are due

To Singapore Airlines for upgrading me to a flat bed across the Pacific, and to a truly awesome friend for offering a couch to crash on for a night at extremely short notice. 

Abstract Nonsense

I woke up this morning feeling distinctly unmoored. Maybe it was just the lack of sleep, but for a fleeting but distinct moment, nothing and no-one seemed to matter at all. And then I fell asleep again.
Maybe the relentless drive towards fundamental, pure nihilism has just about bottomed out, and now you can actually build something meaningful. 

I don't know, the Chinese come pretty close

Culinarily, they are among the most homesick people I have ever met.

---ici 

What is loyalty, anyway

Where does it stop? What if you grow apart? What if time has changed you so much you are no longer recognizable to each other?
It shouldn't matter, says one answer. Loyalty should never stop. And I think there's a grain of truth in that.
But then, if you say it never stops: at what point does it become blind and meaningless?
It doesn't, would be the only logically consistent answer. But that cannot be all there is to it. That would be far too simple.
If someone has changed beyond all recognition, thoughts, beliefs, values, habits, and all, is s/he really still the same person? To insist that s/he is---should that be seen as a necessary kindness rendered to him/her, or a grave disservice, or perhaps an unnecessary and silly mistake?
And, in particular (a bit of a leap, but I started out pondering these questions and somehow got to those other questions above), how hard should we hold on to those who are about to leave? Yes, they were very kind to us. Yes, we owe a great debt of gratitude to them. Yes, we would all be happier if they weren't leaving. But we are all mortal, after all. And at the end of the long, long day, when it almost seems like they have decided it's time to leave, how hard should we fight that judgement that they make?
Maybe there just are no universal answers. We can only give the benefit of the doubt, and navigate each individual conundrum as (or hopefully before) it comes into sharp, uncomfortable focus.

Maybe this should be my new answer

That is the beauty of it. There is no why

Philippe Petit 

Means, not ends

"Achievement" is the "diabolical" element in human life; and the symbol of our vulgarization of human life is our near exclusive concern with achievement ... Whereas the only human value lies in the adventure and the excitement of discovery.

--Michael Oakeshott

To your lasting credit

The two things I still remember (and will probably remember for a long time) from our valedictorian's speech are "they're chasing us out!" and "tsk, instrumentalist thinking." 

The heart asks pleasure first,

And then, excuse from pain;
And then, those little anodynes
That deaden suffering; 

And then, to go to sleep;
And then if it should be
The will of its Inquisitor,
The liberty to die.

(Emily Dickinson, Poems, Series 1, IX)