"Pursuing employment or climatic relief, we live in voluntary exile from our extended families and our longer past, but in an involuntary exile from ourselves and our own past"
About this Quote
Mobility gets sold as freedom, but Thorn frames it as a double displacement: the kind we choose and the kind that quietly chooses us. The opening clause, "Pursuing employment or climatic relief", deliberately demotes big, heroic narratives of self-reinvention into two blunt motives: work and weather. It’s a historian’s move, stripping the romance from migration and reminding you how often the forces behind our maps are economic and bodily, not spiritual.
The sentence hinges on a cruel distinction between voluntary and involuntary exile. Leaving "extended families" and a "longer past" is presented as intentional, even rational: we trade proximity to kin and tradition for opportunity, comfort, maybe survival. That’s the familiar American plotline, the one that flatters the mover as agent.
Then Thorn tightens the vise: "but in an involuntary exile from ourselves and our own past". The subtext is that departure isn’t just geographic; it rearranges memory and identity. When you exit the place that held your history, you also lose the daily cues that kept your story coherent: the neighborhood routines, the relatives who remember you inaccurately but usefully, the landmarks that pin down your earlier selves. You can choose distance from people; you can’t choose what distance does to your self-concept.
Contextually, this reads like a diagnosis of late-20th/early-21st-century rootlessness: careers demanding relocation, climate migration edging into normalcy, and a culture that prizes reinvention while undercounting what it costs. Thorn’s line works because it refuses nostalgia and refuses boosterism. It makes exile feel less like a dramatic rupture than a slow administrative process: a forwarding address for the body, a missing address for the self.
The sentence hinges on a cruel distinction between voluntary and involuntary exile. Leaving "extended families" and a "longer past" is presented as intentional, even rational: we trade proximity to kin and tradition for opportunity, comfort, maybe survival. That’s the familiar American plotline, the one that flatters the mover as agent.
Then Thorn tightens the vise: "but in an involuntary exile from ourselves and our own past". The subtext is that departure isn’t just geographic; it rearranges memory and identity. When you exit the place that held your history, you also lose the daily cues that kept your story coherent: the neighborhood routines, the relatives who remember you inaccurately but usefully, the landmarks that pin down your earlier selves. You can choose distance from people; you can’t choose what distance does to your self-concept.
Contextually, this reads like a diagnosis of late-20th/early-21st-century rootlessness: careers demanding relocation, climate migration edging into normalcy, and a culture that prizes reinvention while undercounting what it costs. Thorn’s line works because it refuses nostalgia and refuses boosterism. It makes exile feel less like a dramatic rupture than a slow administrative process: a forwarding address for the body, a missing address for the self.
Quote Details
| Topic | Nostalgia |
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