“The simple elegance of the service had been a good match for my head,” Livingston writes, “but the tangled mess of my heart longed for something else. ‘I need a statue of a saint,’ I joked, but [my husband and I] both understood that a statue was shorthand for many things.’”
When I was in college, I heard a lot about how life was a journey. People were always on a journey and they were typically looking for themselves. If they had the means or an adequate sense of adventure and were particularly ambitious, they went on literal journeys, wandering around Europe or South America, always in hopes of bumping into themselves and making their own acquaintance.