this might not look like much of a view to you,

I mean, it’s nice, new to some, old to others,

but this valley, the spot where I stood when I took it

was an important spot to me.

see, it was ’98, I think, I was quickly becoming an asshole,

an asshole on the radio.

and decided to take a 2-week vacation,

over to Israel to see my highschool b.f.f., Ryan.

so I went and we went out, had beers and tried to look good smoking nargila.

traveled all around, even through the West Bank and up to the Golan Heights.

[it was up there on a kibbutz I tried to chat up a girl who rolled her eyes

[I probably shouldn't have told her about being a well-known radio dj]

but this spot we’re talking about,

happened on the 2nd day.

‘you see that tree?’ Ryan asked, pointing out a tree, as you do when you say something like that.

‘that one?’

‘no, further up – that one.’

‘okay, yeah, I see it.’

‘historians think this would have been the spot where Judas hung himself.’

wow.

and when I type/say/remember saying ‘wow’, it’s not out of Biblical remembrance,

but more of a realization that the stories I grew up with,

happened.

somewhere, to someone.

the Bible, history books, Indiana Jones, etc.

[okay, maybe not Dr. Jones, but I was 12 - and still hope he was based on someone]

but the spot – the spot.

I stood there and, be it historically correct or not,

it represented a whole world outside of late-night dedications and 9-minute Pearl Jam b-sides.

2-weeks later, I came back,

started re-visiting maps, the ones I loved so much before discovering basketball, girls and being known.

left radio – mainly because they asked me to,

after an all-out attack on our boss, the city, people I knew, etc.

I’d always wondered why I did it, this thing that ended up in a slander lawsuit,

and chalked it up to needing to be heard, to be known,

but the more I think about it,

it was life pulling me back into those stories that kept my attention.

and now, it’s a dangerous addiction.

because the cab driver in NYC was from Tunisia.

these coffee beans came from Guatemala.

it would kill me to know you went to Easter Island and I didn’t.

things like this.

things like that.

things like looking out into a valley,

and being told it was a place I’d heard about,

and was now there.