Arizona

For over a week now, I’ve been in Arizona. It feels like the universe has changed the stage set overnight.

In Ecuador, I lived inside green. Jungle pressing in, rain drumming on the roof, clouds arriving with theatrical intensity. Here, the sky is an uninterrupted blue declaration. The jungle has thinned into desert. Lush abundance has transformed into saguaro cacti standing like dignified elders. Creosote bushes seem to have mastered the art of surviving on almost nothing. Most of the brittle shrubs have already crisped under the sun. Only a few still bloom.

Blooming creosote tree.

The traffic transition alone deserves a documentary. In Ecuador, driving felt like collaborative improvisation. Lanes were suggestions. Zebra crossings decorative. Babies rode on motorcycles with serene trust in the universe. Children stood in the backs of pickup trucks not caring about the danger. They obviously had a lot of fun.

In Phoenix, the streets hum with self-driving Waymo cars. My grandson simply taps his phone. A vehicle arrives to take him home from school. Ordering a driverless car is as casual as ordering a pizza. Meanwhile, when I sit in the Honda I am driving, a bright female voice announces, “Nearby is here for you.”

Nearby is here for me. How comforting.

Later she adds, “Nearby is continuing to serve.”

Serve what? Sparkling water? Life advice?

My grandson kindly clarifies: it’s just the camera monitoring the road. Not a guardian angel. Just technology. Slightly less mystical. Very 2026.

The communal dances and fruit-bursting markets of Ecuador — where color spills from every corner — have changed. They have been replaced by Super Bowl parties. Now, there are aisles of perfectly packaged abundance. Everything is labeled, sealed, and often supersized.

And yet — I love Arizona.

Rock formation in South Mountain

Because beneath the automation and packaging, the desert is honest. The mountain I used to climb is still there. The scent of creosote after rain still rises like memory itself. The light is different here — clearer, almost surgical — and somehow it reveals rather than hides.

Seeing the face of the mountain on top of Piestewa Peak.

For years now, I light a candle in my secret rock chapel on the top of Piestewa Peak.

Perhaps that is the real plot twist. The jungle overwhelms you with life. The desert asks what you truly need.

Both are abundant. One shouts. The other whispers.

Somewhere between Waymo and wandering markets, I am learning a valuable lesson. Between camera surveillance and cactus silence, I find that home is where the heart recognizes itself.