A good part of any day is driving state roads at dusk just to hear a song in full; sometimes on repeat. Start north and end south, wherever that may be, in places devoid of any meaning or familiarity simply to feel a semblance of novelty, if just for a moment. Wake up on a foggy coastline, buy a mediocre sandwich at a desert gas station, fall asleep high above the hedonistic, ever-promising lights of California– all in a day’s work in this speculative world. There’s equal importance in both ritual and change. I like having all my toiletries lined up in my bathroom but I also like stuffing them in scattered pockets of a duffel or when my toothbrush sits in the car cupholder. It feels good to move around - horizons are objectively fun to chase. It feels good to stay, too. To become a part of a couch, bolstered by blankets from college and pillows that smell like coffee. Sometimes it’s people that make a place. But sometimes they also live in your pocket, miles away from where you send your mail. They exist in the form of group texts and voice notes and phone calls that run a little too long and the ever-crippling need to share insignificant daily miracles. “Saw a cat with three legs in the park today,” I text you. As always, there are a lot of “you’s.” Home is place but place is not always home. It is, at once: what was, what is, and what will. If I could live anywhere, I’d live everywhere. #35mm