In 2014, after nearly five years living in New York, I became fascinated with Long Island. For months, I would imagine the shape and contours of the landscape, and wondered if the experience of walking would reveal a different dimension than the image created through our culture. On Sunday, June 14th, 2014, I boarded the LIRR at the Woodside station on my way to Port Washington for my first walk.
Over the course of 22 walks in two years, I gradually made my way down the coast, slowly building up a narrative around the suburban commute. I would often imagine escaping the noise of Queens for a quiet existence in suburban Nassau county. My journeys to Long Island were escapes from the pressures of corporate life and the hustle and bustle of the city.
As I pushed further to the east, an inevitability started to approach. I would eventually reach the end of the island and the end of the narrative I built in my head about a potential life in one of America’s oldest, and strangest suburbs. On November 17th, 2016 I arrived in Montauk for one final weekend of walks. The country, and the world had changed in just a few short weeks. On that weekend, I knew the paradise I’d been constructing would inevitably take me to the the edge of the island, where I would confront a new unknown.