My dad trained us in the art of backward planning. The calculation is as straightforward as it sounds: What time are you expect (per Dad on time = five minutes early) and how long will each step take along the way? Dad developed his signature technique while he was away at school with the sole purpose of staying in bed until the very last possible moment without being docked at breakfast. As an adult, I’ve found this mindset particularly useful for long range project planning. I can’t recall having a conversation with Danny about backward planning, but I suspect that he may have received similar parental instruction from Coach Wilson. We run the numbers the night before every trip … and thankfully, they align, including the window for catching a flight.
Travel time is on my mind as we are in Chicago for the Bridging the Gap: Amplifying Incarcerated Voices conference hosted by Haymarket Book. The nervous excitement of visiting a new city comes with the anticipation of discovery, which often flies in the face of those tidy timing calculations. Nine minutes of walking in a familiar neighborhood adds up differently than those nine minutes picking your way along a city street. In preparation for our journey, I scoured online maps to look at routes and strategies (bus, train, car?) to maximize the adventure. As I researched, it struck me that Danny and I first met traveling. We are talking about a time long before cell phones and the internet. In college we bumbled with our classmate onto ferries and buses through the Greek islands with little language skills (less sense), a handful of traveler’s cheques, and a Fodor’s guide between all of us.
We’ve been exploring ideas of far and near the past few months. Travel is measured differently for our writers — they know the measure of the track, how much time it takes from yard to cell, cell to chow. This carceral experience of time and distance feels completely foreign, and for some never becomes natural. In the static space of prison, one’s discoveries are pathways measured by internal scales — the backward planning to reclaiming self. It is work that can take a person further than any plane flight.
Amir’Whadi Hassan’s Far and Near:
The distance seems so far, although it is
so near.
A transition of space through time.
First step: Is the thought to move forward
Into the vast distance.
Second step: Movin’ further into the distance
a step away from which I began.
R. Miranda’s I Have Spoken:
There are things I have experienced
that seek not the light of day,
things that are shameful,
life defining,
mournful in the saddest way.
A Flash of Insight by Ryan Poffenberger:
I hope to create a movement of inspirational healing for others in the world — especially those men and women who may be consumed by their own mental barriers or immediate prison walls.
From the deep shadows of the mind to the bright light of discovered purpose, our writers are working to reconcile their life experiences and their aspirations. They make themselves vulnerable to reach our readers far beyond the walls that hold them.
Melissa Black’s Beholden:
Your hand sitting on the table
towards me
expressive.
Ian Lohrman’s Path:
stepping along serpentine pathways
guided true and fearlessly availing
leaving everything behind
as my symbolic eternal gesture.
As for our path, this conference provides an opportunity to meet and learn from publishers, journalists, writers, advocates who have been long engaged in making platforms for people who are incarcerated. Thank you to the Mervyn Seldon Charitable Arts Trust for travel funds that made this trip possible. | TDS