What Proximity Reveals - 12/25/25 - Jessica

Word of the Day: Proximity

Definition: Nearness in space, relationship, or consequence.

The Experience: After our camel ride out of the desert, Eid arranged a driver for us, Sadi, to take us south from Wadi Rum to Aqaba, and then north again to Queen Alia Airport in Amman. It felt strange to leave the quiet of the desert and return so quickly to roads, borders, and schedules.

Aqaba sits on the Red Sea, pressed up against Saudi Arabia, Egypt, and Israel. Standing there, geography stopped being a map in a book. The world felt suddenly smaller.

Sadi talked to us about how the war in Palestine has affected Jordan’s tourism industry. Jordan is extraordinarily safe, politically stable, and home to one of the strongest currencies in the world; the Jordanian dinar is valued higher than the U.S. dollar. And yet tourism, one of the country’s major economic lifelines, has been deeply affected. According to Sadi, fear and misinformation travels faster than facts. It’s a theme we would hear again in Egypt.

I had thought about the war before, of course, but proximity changes thinking. Being here, now knowing people here, hearing their stories, it felt closer in a way the news never made it feel. Some Jordanians told us they could see missiles in the night sky as they traveled from Iran toward Israel. In fact, Jumana, Sanad, and Sadi had some version of going outside and counting them. A Swiss woman working at the Embassy in Amman said, “If I didn’t know they were missiles, I would have thought they were beautiful.” She went on to tell us about the sirens blaring in the streets and how frightened she was as she made her way down to the bunkers. The distance between “there” and “here” suddenly felt uncomfortably thin.

And yet, life continued.

We walked the corniche and watched families play along the beach. Children ran in and out of the water. Parents sat watching on benches. Music drifted through the air. We took a glass-bottom boat ride run by two teenage boys who proudly showed us the coral and fish in the crystal-clear water below. They pointed out coral that had grown around a submerged tank, what they told us was from King Hussein’s army, life reclaiming something once built for war.

They played Snoop Dogg as we cruised along the Red Sea. “You’re from America,” they said, “You like Snoop Dog.” We laughed and told them we liked it. It was oddly comforting. Familiar music in an unfamiliar place. Another reminder of how close the world can feel.

We didn’t have nearly enough time in Aqaba, but we had to move on.

Aqaba taxis are the only permitted taxis to operate within the city, running strictly on meters. On Sadi’s advice, we told the armed guards at the checkpoint that we were “on a meter,” even though we weren’t. The words mattered more than the reality. We were waved through.

As we headed north, the landscape changed. The brown desert slowly changed  into green. We stopped at the Dead Sea Spa and Resort, where day passes allowed us access to the water. It was chilly for me, but manageable. Floating felt almost comical with no effort required, no possibility of sinking. You cannot dive down. Your body refuses. I tried multiple times! 

We covered ourselves in thick Dead Sea mud from the mud pits. Yes, that is a thing! It was like a buffet of mud on cement serving platters. Oh, what an eleven-year-old’s dream to slather mom with mud! It is said to be incredible for the skin, but even if it weren’t, there was something joyful about it, smearing mud, playing like kids.

Then it was time to say goodbye. We drove on to the airport and said farewell to Sadi. He lives in one of the seven camps surrounding Wadi Rum. He drinks a lot of coffee, which didn’t surprise me with a newborn at home and another child just a bit older. Life keeps going. Responsibilities remain. Even as tourists pass through, others are holding everything together.

This day was defined by proximity.

To borders.

To conflict.

To ordinary joy.

To the ways global events ripple into individual lives.

War was close enough to feel real, but not close enough to stop families from gathering at the beach. Tourism was fragile, yet generosity remained steady. Beauty and tension existed side by side, even in the water. It’s one thing to read about conflict from afar; it’s another to stand somewhere that feels safe and hear how easily it might not be.

I used to think distance made things clearer. Now I think proximity makes them truer. One thing I still wonder is how differently we might understand the world if we paid more attention to what is happening just beyond our own borders, and just within someone else’s daily life.