Lost in safety
I grew up in the city of Tel Aviv. Despite the seemingly small size and relatively low population in numbers, Israeli cities are experienced as tumultuous metropolitans and feel larger and more crowded than expected.
The traffic is jamming, monstrous skyscrapers erecting claustrophobically covering all-available real estate of blue sky, and blaring herds of tourists flooding every corner of the downtown. All this quickly becomes overwhelming for someone like me.
As consequence, I had developed a habit of getting lost in safety. I craved peace of mind to cleanse my soul and tank my energy resources. I enjoyed letting the darkness embrace my body and immerse me in serenity and silence.
Oftentimes, usually at night, we would grab the bikes and escape, as further as possible, with no destination in mind. The further, the safer I felt.
The remotest place I had happened to reach, a setting described as dead, so quiet in fact, that the internal barrier between myself and my thoughts, caused by the din of the city, would have shuttered upon my arrival. It felt most like me that I could feel in my body. 
This place was the southern desert, where I found the greatest pleasure in getting lost.
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