Egypt, you’ve been an unapologetic, sensory-smashing experience. Your streets are a relentless, chaotic swarm, and your ancient magic is blatantly, undeniably real. Before I came here, I relished theorizing about your enigmatic history. Now, having tasted its reality, I see that the true magic is in time itself. For us Westerners, time is a narrow lens, tinted by American culture. With under three measly centuries under our belt, we can’t see how much change is inevitably coming.
We’re clueless about the unending lifeblood that’s flowed through the Nile for countless millennia. Your shores are lined with temples and cities we may never know existed. Our minds can’t fathom centuries dedicated to meticulous construction, nor the unbroken chain of artisans passing down their legacy.
The Pyramids aren’t alien handiwork; they’re a defiant, everlasting testament to human potential. It’s the weight of time that’s floored me. I count my existence in weeks, but this country measures its heartbeat by millennia. Witnessing a culture that’s stood firm, erecting monuments that will dwarf our lifespans, is nothing short of awe-inspiring.
I’ll head home with a sharpened patience for the demanding path to greatness. There will be peaks and valleys, just as our hearts pulse in our chests. The sun’s rise and fall is our only certainty. Change is the eternal constant. Perhaps that’s why stagnation makes us feel anxious, unfulfilled, and seeking distraction from the realization that when we stop changing, we die.
The images I have captured fail to show the true scale and essence, lost in digital translation. And frankly, I’m glad. The real prize is in living the journey. The wisdom gleaned here is ingrained, unforgettable. These experiences won’t just blend into another week spent aimlessly on autopilot.
Thank you, universe, for being a great teacher.
