On this state

On this state

The cars shoot by on freeway down the canyon and sound like crashing ocean waves through my bedroom window. This is the definition of the state of California. The land of things that seem to be and are not really, but remain still bautiful. This is my interpretation of it all anyway.

 To my heart the places on a map are less about where we are and more about what version of ourselves we find ourselves to be in that place. It's about who we have been and who we become upon gathering new experiences and learning a little more about ourselves along the way.

I find myself wondering how people remain in one place their whole life. In an existential sense, travel shapes who you can be, what you can become, how you can feel, and act, and leads you to be any version of yourself you want to be in any given place. Living somewhere new for a while encompasses all of these things. Two years later and I am still trying to figure out who I am out here, and that's okay.     

California is a state of being. It's a life disconnected from the life I had lived for 18 years back east. There will soon come a June that I'm not on my way home to play volleyball everyday on Beach Avenue without a care in the world. Sometimes I struggle with this accepting growing up, but most days it excites me.

I think an essential part of living is recognizing the unknown. I have nothing figured out. I have no idea where I'm going to end up after college and whether I'll want to stay here or find a new version of myself out there in the world.   

All that seems to be really isn't out here. In photographs I look like I have my shit together and that I love this place everyday with my whole heart. It's not that way. That's California. That's just the way it is. But it's a fucking magical place I tell you.

I should leave California someday and create myself again. 

Ballparks

Ballparks

Landslide

Landslide