Here’s a curious notion…I’m of northern European stock and we’re not built to be a close warm people. Culturally, and genetically I think, we like our personal space.

Back in NYC I couldn’t stand people I didn’t know touching me and that happens all the time in the subways, on street corners, in bars, in stores, waiting in line, everywhere and I hated every second of it. “Get away from me you filthy freaks!”

Driving around the country in rural lands was bliss since I never had to seen another human being if I didn’t want to. I could hide out in forests for months if I were so inclined.

Then I took the restaurant job and started working in a super tiny kitchen where I had no option for personal space.

Recently, I noticed that I didn’t much care any more about such things, or at least, my notions about personal space are a little more fluid than they used to be. This turn of events is amusing and if you knew me in the distant past you’d be amazed at how I’ve morphed into another person over the years.

This observation was made more concrete while I was talking to Claude who I met when I first stopped in Tucson and then never much saw again. We remembered each other after passing on the street. He’s of north African origin and his notions of personal space are much closer than mine and it didn’t bother me at all that while were chatting he was a foot or so away. I spend so much time in a kitchen the size of a submarine kitchen that having people in my face is kind of natural now.

The fact that I noticed it didn’t freak me out, kind of freaked me out. It’s so odd changing constantly and noticing that you are changing and noticing that you’re noticing that changing too. I keep wondering where it will end. How fucking recursive will my mind get?