I recently finished reading Dante’s “Inferno” and picked up Camus’ “The First Man” the other night. It is the only book I bought in Paris last April still left unread. I hesitated on this one because I was unsure how I’d receive it knowing it was unfinished at the time of his (untimely) death in 1960, but 40 pages in, it is, as his work always does, speaking to me.
This novel was never subject to an editor’s pen and as such, is a more raw reflection of Camus’ experience as an Arab and Parisien caught between two cultures than we would have ended up with had he lived to complete it.
Geography matters
It has me reflecting once more on how geography shapes us. Certain locales hold different energies, which are bound up in everything from the native tongue (which can even impact how we develop our sense of time, something that strongly dictates the pace at which we live), the climate, the flora and fauna, the architecture, the attitude and spirit of the people, and the cultural norms which have developed over centuries. One should not simply exist just anywhere. Part of the art of living is revelling in the pursuit of discovering yourself, travelling, finding the places where you can best flourish, packing your bags, and making a new home in line with your values and goals.
Jacques was half asleep, and he was filled with a kind of happy anxiety at the prospect of returning to Algiers and the small poor home in the old neighbourhood. So it was every time he left Paris for Africa, his heart swelling with secret exultation, with the satisfation of one who has made good his escape and is laughing at the thought of the look on the guards’ faces.
Just as each time he returned to Paris, whenever by road or by train, his heart would sink when he arrived, without quite knowing how, at those first houses of the outskirts, lacking any frontier of trees or water and which, like an ill-fated cancer, reached out its ganglions of poverty and ugliness to absorb this foreign body and take him to the centre of the city, where a splendid stage set would sometimes make him forget the forest of concrete and steel that imprisoned him day and night and invaded even his insomnia.
But he had escaped, he could breathe, on the giant back of the sea he was breathing in waves, rocked by the great sun, at last he could sleep…
A foreigner in your own land
I believe that some of us are born in or inhabiting places to which we do not belong. As we grow, discover our identity and begin to plot out the path of our life, there can arise a feeling of disconnect. In these moments, a sorrow accumulates in our soul because we have spent too long in a town or city which does not match our true spirit. We may not be able to put a finger on what elicits this emotion at first, but it is very real and something I am intimately familiar with.
Relocating is the remedy to this melancholy, and if not possible, frequent travel also eases the sorrow.
As Camus writes of the “ganglions of poverty and ugliness” on the outskirts of Paris, I am reminded of the physical features I encounter when I venture out into my surroundings here: how certain characteristics of the local architecture, cultural expressions I find unsettling, and the energy of the people, which mismatches my own, make me feel a longing for not only the forested northeast part of America where I was born and raised, but for an entirely new landscape and culture altogether.
Priorities and values
Much of it comes down to what we prioritise as people. The things which add up to our identity: spiritual beliefs, politicial views, and the minutiae of the routine we desire in our daily lives. Different cultures have different perceptions of the meaning of life and what is most important to make the human experience great.
There is a sliding scale: if you value rugged individualism for example, you may not mind a lack of access to nationalised health care, more affordable higher education, or robust public transportation. If you are more of a collectivist, you will easily relent on something like your right to bear arms or happily pay higher taxes in favour of greater access to educational opportunities, affordable doctor visits, or a strong public transport system.
Your mind changes when you begin to see the value of providing the greatest good for the greatest number of people.
Quality of life
Ensuring the greatest good for the greatest number creates a higher quality of life. If a citisenry is cared for and provided with basic necessities, they have more opportunity to live a life in line with their personal priorities. A person who can ride a bus or train safely and affordably is able to get to and from work without the added expense of owning a vehicle. Someone who can see a doctor for free or at least cheaply, can take better care of their physical health and live a more active lifestyle. Eliminating the anxiety of student loans can give someone access to higher education which in turn can lead to higher income or job security etc.
I emphasise quality of life because I am of the opinion that people in these types of societies have access to benefits which allow them to live much more freely than even some Americans think they do, despite the common perception that this type of system simply disincentivises hard work or taking responsibility for your own actions. People in these situations are also able to reinvest their salary, health, and education back into the economy. It seems so clearly to be a win-win, yet it is not practised as common sense on a broader scale. It not only provides a greater life satisfaction for the individual, but it has a compounding effect which ripples out into society as a whole.
Consider the World Happiness Report: nations like Finland, Iceland, Sweden, Denmark, the Netherlands and Switzerland consistently land in the top ten. The United States, as of 2024, was 23rd. A lot goes into this, and there are anomalies, but a commonality which cuts through the highest ranked countries is access to social benefits.
Polling methods used in the report are explained here.
This is simply one case; one I happen to identify strongly with, but there are numerous other tipping points for people depending on your values…
Since this is a deeply held belief of mine, it can be difficult to look around and not see the values I hold in action within my own community. This is part of the disconnect that leads to the melancholy associated with being out of place. It can be dangerous in that it builds resentment. I fear at times this leads me to tune out from what is happening locally and disengaging with my surroundings as I prefer to look ahead to a time when I live someplace more in line with my vision for the world. Admittedly, this is not a productive approach regardless of how at home or how foreign I feel here, and a difficult emotion to push back against.
A certain aura
Beyond tangible matters like those above, each place on Earth has a unique aura about it. Have you ever travelled somewhere new and just felt it? This has an impact on our emotions and perspective on the world around us. It can dictate our mood on a day to day basis and excite us or depress us on an elemental level. Certain cities like New York which are more focused on the grind, can quickly wear you down, while Dublin embraces a slower pace of life and values revelry. It leads you to develop a less stressful relationship with time. You begin to see that experiences and relationships fill you with more joy than a certain financial situation or busyness ever could.
It is a very real phenomena; a sense we pick up about the spirit of a geographical location that seeps into our being and in turn impacts how we feel about ourselves and our pursuits.
Where you live changes your entire life experience.
On a visit to Ireland in 2022, I wrote this essay; “Places you’ve never been, but belong to” where I said:
I’ve always been interested in the idea that there are places we have never been but which call out to us. We know instinctually that we belong somewhere other than where we originated and feel an innate pull to be elsewhere. In some cases, we can point to a specific country or city on a map and just know that’s where our future is. Perhaps not everyone has a sense of it, but it has haunted me for nearly my entire life.
I knew instantly Ireland felt more like home than any of the six American states I’d resided in growing up. The friendliness of the people set me at ease, the cool and rainy climate was in line with my constant underlying disposition, the Georgian buildings were beautiful and the café culture was vibrant. Buskers sang heartfelt songs on street corners and strangers would stop to give you directions to the pub you were seeking without even the fainest sense of inconvenience.
It can be difficult to capture the sort of loneliness you feel when you live somewhere which is not in line with your worldview. I know it as a deep melancholy…a haunting.
Despite the many things I am grateful for (well and truly grateful), I am not yet complete. The comfortable home I live in, the secure career I have, the love I experience from my family day in and day out, the joy I get from reading a good book or satisfaction I derive from writing is what matters most. If I never were to make it abroad long-term, I could not say my life was not fortunate and beautiful. Yet, my innermost workings long for kinder, more artistic surroundings and I feel that is worth chasing.