On the left, a pair of brown Onitsuka Mexico 66 sneakers that I wore during my trip to the Mediterranean half a year ago. On the right, a new pair of shoes for my upcoming two months in Italy. One, worn and weathered, covered with dirt from the Acropolis, the House of the Virgin Mary and Pompeii, and no doubt contaminated with whatever it is that makes the streets of the Tenderloin in San Francisco smell. The other, barely scuffed and stiff, ready for action and fully capable of supporting my penchant for walking.
The idea of simultaneous time proposes that all instances occur at once. We are most used to thinking of time in a parallel line: past, present and future. According to simultaneous time, they are, well, simultaneous. This means that while I’m sitting in San Francisco typing this post, I’m also wearing my brown sneakers, perhaps, tossing coins over my shoulder into the Trevi Fountain, while at the same time I’m wearing my dark shoes and wandering the streets of Naples… all while visiting Disneyland for the first time as a six-year-old kid. I’m in New Orleans. I’m in Vancouver. I’m at a picnic in the park. The idea deconstructs our common perception of something that we take for granted, something some physicists don’t even think exists.
Likewise, it’s not until we leave a place that we recognize all the beautiful things we overlook. Why do we travel? Some people like to see new places and eat new animals. Personally, I’m more interested in culture than anything else. I want to understand the everyday lives of faraway people, most likely in an effort to understand more about myself. Maybe that’s why I always have a huge appreciation for “home” whenever I’m away. But then again, if all time is simultaneous, it means I’ve never left.