The Liminal Life

I'ver been thinking a lot about the Red Sea crossing. Not that one.

About 70,000 years ago, a band of humans, perhaps hundreds or a few thousand, crossed the Red Sea from what is now Djibouti in east Africa into west Asia (Arabia; modern Yemen). Everyone who is not African has descended from them. All of us.

Lost, maybe, in the news of finally mapping the human genome is that it opened up the field of paleogenetics. We can now follow human migration by comparing ancient populations with modern ones. It's fascinating; I've read a couple of books on the subject and still it seems like magic.

So the consensus is clear now on this subject. This band of Homo sapiens, while not the first modern humans to leave Africa, were the ones that count.

It was the middle of the Pleistocene. A lot of water was tied up in ice, and the Red Sea was probably only half as wide, 10 miles or so, and shallow. Humanity probably waded out of Africa.

One interest that has sprung up over my Covid incarceration has been this sense of liminality, places that are in-between, thresholds between...well, it depends on how you want to use the word, I guess.

I'm mostly intrigued by geographic liminalities, borders and imaginary boundaries. I have a large world map on my wall, and I've spent hours just looking at it, bored out of my mind. And it's been fun to find these tiny places. Norway and North Korea both have borders with Russia. The oldest continuous constitutional republic on the planet is San Marino, completely situated in northern Italy; you can drive across the country in less than 10 minutes.

I've followed a road in northern Maine in the middle of freaking nowhere, just a few feet from New Brunswick. Even though I spent my early life in Arizona, I've never been to the Four Corners region but that, too. I always stop to see photos like this, people in two places at once, straddling made-up spaces.

I also spent a few hours with ChatGPT late one night, having it list tiny borders all over the world.

(The more I write about this, the stranger it sounds. Maybe it's a sign of something terrible.)

I've been reading about Neanderthals recently, so I can't help but think about that when these modern humans first left Africa, they entered a world that already had a lot of humans. Homo erectus was still around, appearing in Europe, East Asia, and as far as Indonesia. Neanderthals also got as far as Central Asia at least, as well as Northern Europe, and when we moved into the Levantine area (eastern Mediterranean, Israel, Lebanon, Palestine) this is probably where we hung out with our cousins (and had sex and babies with them).

The continents are named by convention, not geography. There's a rough correlation with continental plates but not really. There was no sign in west Yemen saying Welcome to Asia. Although that would be cool.

I still think of it as a liminal space, the border between then and now. A metaphysical space, maybe. Four Corners is just for selfies, but this section of the Red Sea marks the beginning of everything.

Less geeky but also on my mind is the liminal space I now inhabit. The awareness (i.e., acceptance) that I'm disabled has been a little disturbing, but it's better than denial. I have to be driven most places. I use a cane around the house. I lose things, drop things, forget things. I stumble and fall, or nearly fall, far more times than I admit to even myself. I pretend it's just me being goofy.

I went to Arizona a year ago, wanting to visit my 87-year-old mother and get reacquainted with some old friends, maybe make hanging out with them a regular thing, an easy trip. It was a disaster of a trip, as I've said, both just too hot and then no one really picked up on the fact that I need help. I've come to understand that but I still probably give off the wrong vibes.

My trip to New England was relaxing and a nice change, but I literally sat in a chair all day, drawing on my iPad while life went on around me. I essentially did what I do here there, with two travel days tossed in, but you know what? I haven't felt the same since I got back, and things have gotten worse.

And since going anywhere always risks getting heat exhaustion at a moment's notice, I've become risk-averse. It's better after dark, really, this is what we're talking about. It's heat. Even in a cool car, with several people it will eventually warm up to problem levels for me.

Really, liminal is too fancy by half. I look through a window, staying on my side, watching your side. Wondering what it's like out there.