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Your Blue Is Not My Blue: A Missing Person Memoir

Book by Aspen Matis · 43 quotes · Ambition, Home, New York City

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Your Blue Is Not My Blue: A Missing Person Memoir Quotes

“Living with Justin in his childhood home, my love and I had formed an island—a nation-state of two, sleepy and safe. We had only planned to stay with his family for a few weeks after the wedding—three months had passed. Days in our private culture were peaceful, smooth as a frozen lake, our souls stilled. This life with my in-laws was a comfortable hibernation, easy.”

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“He kissed my mitten. “Then we’ll get you to New York,” he said. He described Manhattan as an epicenter of creativity, a midnight tar-paved island where the young artists of the world go to pursue themselves. Listening, growing warmer, I peered up through the tent’s mesh roof at faraway stars, faint glitter, giddy.”

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“This protest spoke to me—the humanist principles felt connected to the minimalist essence of long-distance hiking, the desire to transcend the smoke and mirrors of our country’s established society, revealing what remains in all its splendor: the magnificent, resilient human soul.”

SocietyProtestHumanistHikingHuman SoulMinimalistResiliencyOccupy Wall StreetSmoke And MirrorsWealth Gap
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“The New York sidewalk led us along a little corner park rimmed with yellow-orange and violet pansies that seemed to be smiling, their faces upturned, and past a bagel shop that smelled of sesame and salt, delicious warm air. We passed an empty wine bar with a pink chandelier, whimsical and dim inside, and a neighborhood diner with its blue neon sign huge and lit up, little white line-cook hats—the city seemed in my vision like a multifaceted gem, spectacular. I wished I could keep everything I witnessed like a photograph, to forever hold this electric aliveness. The colors of the flowers and the clothing were crisp and rosy, hyper-bright against the subdued sun-drenched pigments of the streets and the brick buildings, all seeming faded, softer than real. Pops of coral and red—a scarf, a lady’s lips—were pops of life.”

PhotographNew York CityFlowersDeliciousSidewalkPansiesGemParkDinerChandelier
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“He opened his laptop and showed me a picture of a “cozy” Greenwich Village apartment he’d found online. My dad, a born New Yorker, had told me stories of the Village, a lively network of cobblestone streets and jazz dives, coffee houses and folk clubs with no cover fee—and I felt a surge of light-headed ambition. “Though it’s kind of strange,” Justin continued, “there is no bathroom inside. Our toilet would be down a public hallway.”

StrangeAmbitionJazzApartmentNew YorkersCozyToiletGreenwich VillageCoffee Houses
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“We had good reason to be anxious, beginning anew without a clue or map, but on our backs in that unnatural whiteness, we lay peaceful as waterfront sunbathers. Our plan was loose and as undefined as the path across a beach—any route seemed possible, all effective in crossing. And a calm energy lit my heart, perceptible in my movements, which seemed slower. Justin switched off the light; momentarily spooked, I wanted to hear his voice. I spoke into dim space: “I bet you’ll do big things here too—” “I never want to work again,” he cut me off, his unexpected decree like stardust in the darkness. For a moment, the blankness of New York’s canvas took on an energetic tone of backstage butterflies.”

PeacefulAnxiousCalmnessStarting OverPlanCluelessAnewSunbathersMapless Life
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“In the small hours of a cold February dawn, Justin and I walked to the Pacific, high cliffs eroding over the ocean, crashed and crashed by lapping salty waves. Their spray misted us in day’s young purple air, exhilarating. Walking the Golden Gate Bridge, our world receding, pale gold sunrise lit thin fog, morning coloring us like a faded fairy tale.”

DawnFairy TaleSunriseFogCliffsWavesFebruaryErosionPacific OceanWaves Of The Ocean
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“I began a new project: a photo-essay about the Occupy Wall Street movement that was overtaking Manhattan. Inspired, I snapped hundreds of photographs, wanting to document this singular moment in New York’s pulsing body, watching people flooding the sidewalks like human rivers, converging at the green park as one ocean. I took shots of the sharpest signs and strangest masks; the angry bankers in their crisp blue button-downs; the lines of bored-faced cops, slouching with thick arms crossed. And peering through my viewfinder, I learned the skill of noticing more deeply; I felt a thrill—a new civil affinity budding in my dreams and in the brick-and-mortar city, simultaneously: that we, the people, were awakening to the truth that a bundle of twigs is inconceivably strong.”

New York CityManhattanMasksOccupy Wall StreetPhotographsStrength In NumbersSocial MovementPhoto Essay
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“Walking downtown in a cool October drizzle, Justin and I were offered an umbrella by a middle-aged stranger in an olive bowler hat. “It’s extra,” he said, bowing down slightly. “I brought it because I knew someone would need it.” A palpable force seemed to be unifying the people of the city, the sudden camaraderie of solidarity. Arriving in the Financial District, we saw a tent city in Manhattan’s heart. A thousand people were gathered on the grass of Zuccotti Park, wielding cardboard signs with powerful reminders: “None are more hopelessly enslaved than those who falsely believe they are free” and “We are the 99%.” Chatting with the campers, individuals who strongly reminded us of thru-hikers from the trail, we learned that this patchwork rally was a coordinated response to our country’s growing wealth gap.”

StrangerGenerosityNew York CitySolidarityUmbrellaCamaraderieUnifyingOccupy Wall StreetWealth GapFinancial District
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“Yet as our North Bay strolls grew longer, sometimes wandering felt like pacing, adrift. I had no direction, only a romantic wish: to become a professional writer. But whatever terrain existed between my body and a body of work I might create seemed mysterious and vast, unknown. Most days, the sky was satin, markless blue. But below, fog hung like a suspended field of snow that never melted, the boundless dampness muting San Francisco’s lights. And the path to that summit of composing even one novel was invisible.”

CreativityDreamsAmbitionWriterSan FranciscoNovel WritingWanderingAdriftStrollDirectionless
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