journey of inertia alan minkovich

Journey of Inertia

WORDS by ALAN MINKOVICH ART by GRAEME FISHMAN

The photographs of Garry Winogrand were described as being fascinatingly dynamic while remaining still frames.

In many regards, Garry was ahead of his time, because that’s exactly what this fruitless journey of mine has felt like — an ever evolving change of state as static as old Garry’s photos.

I entered quarantine in troubling circumstances, with this journey beginning and a hunger for a change of scenery burning inside of me. The universe laughed: that distant online rumour became reality, Rudy Gobert touched a few microphones, and I was stuck home for the foreseeable future.

I couldn’t bear the thought of reopening that chest, containing the memories before the unrest. A segment of my life had come to end and it was time to move onto the next chapter… But even when you finish a chapter in a book, those words don’t disappear, the text doesn’t cease to exist, the events that transpired don’t vanish, and with my body restricted to the modest confines of my parent’s house, my mind was doing A LOT of rereading.

Advice on how to continue this journey of mine always comes back to the same point: keep yourself distracted. Ok. A couple of sit-ups and push-ups a day. A deadlift here and a chest-press there. Time to go for some walks and be in nature, or maybe even watch a movie or two. The tides turn ever so slightly, until a song pops into my shuffled Spotify playlist, reopening the buried chest of memories, the sea violently jerks me back, and I’m back to square one.

I lay awake for a few nights. My mind is fixated, and the walls of my room are coming down on me. My mind is a broken record, skipping back to the same clip over and over, endlessly opening and closing the chest. I’m walking in circles, and making no progress. The broken record reaches a deafening tone, the walls pushing down on me with the weight of the world, my mind is in inertia, without any sign of movement, until I’m left with nothing else to do but try and break free.

I bury the chest. A different perspective is taken, I focus less on the grand scheme of my progress, and more so on the little things to be done. I message a friend, I do something to further my career. I open a book and study for a midterm. Yet, I can still hear the echo of the broken record as my mind slowly creeps back to the thought of opening the chest and seeing what’s inside. But the only way to go is forward — some chests are worth keeping buried.

I end up feeling like I’m in Garry’s photographs. In some respect, a sea of change has passed, the leaps and bounds I’ve taken would impress any other explorer, and I’m dynamic as the subjects Garry portrays. But still, there’s that last barrier, holding me in place, and if I could just break through —

I’m almost there. Excruciatingly close. It’s inertia: all I need is that last little push, and my journey will be complete. x