Somewhere in California

Spoiler alert. I failed hard at van life in the conventional sort of dreamy, I’m gonna live in the National Forest or at the beach and somehow commute to work in LA and live this simple existence total bad ass fantasy that I had tried to prepare for myself. I spent a week constipated and freaked the F out before I asked for help. That’s what this was really all about after all: vulnerability. I’d become pretty isolated, proud and cocky.  

I spent the last 10 months asking for help and letting the people who I was in community with take care of me. Letting them love me. And you know what most of the time I was too big of a coward to ask. I’d never been in such a vulnerable position, and I still couldn’t get my ego out of the way. People calling me out of the blue offering shelter, food, showers, and company. All I had to do was graciously accept. And most of the time I still couldn’t do it. I didn’t want to be a burden. Didn’t want to need help. Didn’t want to have any pieces of my heart exposed. 

Somewhere on the road I found this language around love from Dr. Alexandra Soloman. She says “Love is letting yourself be defined as the light that is around you. [That] loving means letting yourself be defined by something near to you. [It] demands contact.” And now I’m paraphrasing a bit…that it moves us, changes and touches us. The risk of being that close. Surrendering, allowing yourself to matter that much to another. Remaining open and changed and getting to keep the love shared no mater the outcome.

In far more pictures than words, my language of choice, these are the people who pulled me through. Taught me to love again. The people who moved me and held my hand and offered their hearts to me when I didn’t have anything material to offer in return.

“I have a shameful amount of gratitude. It’s hard to express it sometimes, because I think I might turn people off, the overwhelming gratitude I feel for it all.” - Jeff Tweedy

First, My sweet friends and former coworkers Sarah and Chanel let me crash with them. Sarah helped me get my wisdom teeth out. I was a pretty big let down. No funny high rambling stories. Just some very sexy selfies and a rom-com movie marathon. Oh and that’s Amrick. Gosh dang it he’s a helluva human and the funniest IT Director I’ve ever had.

It would be absurd to leave out this fool. I call her Erin. She always seems to know when to show up that pretty ass bird.

Next my friend from college, Justin, asked me to help with the set design and BTS for a really cool pilot about mental health called The King’s Table. We even got to set up a promotional photo shoot for it.

Jon and Sally Corum are my childhood friends. They let me stay at their apartment in Koreatown for December and January while they were home in the Midwest on holiday. This allowed me to finish training the staff at work and to save a few more pennies at my photo studio gig in Compton. I snuck in a really sweet hike with Bronwen and Jeremy in Ojai too.

Ha don’t you believe for a second I missed an Indiana Christmas with the fam and a New Year’s Eve with Maggie. Sorry bout it California, I loved them first. For some reason I couldn’t find a picture of everyone, so Thanksgiving 2021 will have to do. That’s a wild bunch. Love you all.

As soon as my stay was ending in Koreatown, my life transitioned up to the central coast and immediately I got a call out of the blue from my former Creative Director at Wayfair. Lori sent me a simple message. “How are you doing. I was thinking about you.” My stubborn ass had to call her back and say you know what I’m scared, I don’t have income, housing, or a plan really. I thought I could live in my van and ride this out, but I’m actually really bad at it. I need help. She and her husband Ray took me in for the next 6 months no strings attached. They let me take over the dining room for a few months to create the pages for my Chairscapes book.

Then, in March started surfing with Cheyenne. We found each other through a Friday Meet-up beginners surf group. This girl dealt with my cranky ass. Surfing is a pain.

On April 7th got a barista job at Beacon Coffee in Ojai. Making coffee is not an easy job. This is probably one of the hardest jobs I’ve ever had actually. Show your favorite caffeine dealers a little extra love next time you splurge on a specialty coffee. (or any person who does nice shit for you honestly)

Then I tried to live in van again in the Los Padres National Forest for shorter durations.

April 30- May 2nd  Margie visited. The stoke was very high. She got us a hotel in Ventura and we found all the delicious snacks.

May 1st- Got first art studio ever in Ventura and moved out of storage. I let go of a few more things and made way for whatever was coming down the line next. Found a good home for my mattress and dresser and an even better home for all of my art supplies :)

I tried a few times to stay in the forest for a week. I thought the art studio would be enough “home” to get me through, but I was showering in the ocean. I didn’t sleep well, made a lot of coffee each day, and never felt safe. It was still too big of step for me, so I commuted to Ojai each day from Ray and Lori’s an hour away in Moorpark.

In June I went to see my family in Yosemite. We celebrated my mom’s birthday up there. Uncle John lives in Santa Rosa. I share his love of hospitality and home baked goodness. He hosted us the first night and sent us on our way with a million home baked treats. Also, side note. Have you ever watched someone repair a tire by themselves? My dad is so freaking cool. Mom too. She had the aux cord. You know we were rocking Collin Raye and Neil Diamond rolling through the park singing loud for all to hear. She led the pack per usual and had us focused with all those elevation gains on our hiking endeavors. Sam decided that he was going to be a professional rock climber on this trip staring up at El Cap at sunset. I don’t want to misrepresent him with a direct quote, but it went a little something like this: I don’t care that you and Jake go on adventures now that you’re old. I want to go on adventures now before I get old like you. I want to take my own path. As of this writing he has switched career paths and wants to race BMX bikes. Lead the way man. Love you endlessly.

In July Jake came to visit. We stayed at a farm in Ojai for a week and did a bit of adventuring in the national forest nearby. My friends Jack and Sophia took us in and made our trip way more comfortable than HWY 33. They shared their cool little spot on the Ventura River and pies and music and art doodles and lots of coffee.

For most of August I dog sat in Ojai for Brian. This is Ziggy. He and I hung out and made strawberry jam. Also Quinn, well he’s great. A musician and philosopher and brilliantly open hearted surfer from San Diego. We met at a cook out at Jack and Sophia’s on Memorial Day We taught each other loads of important things. I love his deep resonance with music and love of words.

I turned 30! Yep, It was dirty, flirty, and fun. The team took me out in Ventura, then I went to Ohio to celebrate with Maggie and Mark!! Thats Hannah there on the left. We were music video vixens for our friend’s alt band. Marge and I got a million coffees per usual, went on a very romantic dinner date, and picnic-ed on the little Miami. Oh and I snuggled with Max. F that cat and his loud mouth,

Got promoted. Now I’m the art director for Beacon. Yes these people are my bosses! That’s John and Jen and the rest of the leadership team. We make beautiful coffee for and with beautiful people. Can’t wait to tell you all more about these cool farmers and communities where speciality coffee is grown.

September was epic! I was feeling pretty done with commuting and van shit, so I rented a room and a shower from a friend for the month. That’s Bronwen by the way. She’s in coffee too and the most compassionate and patient woman and fellow adventurer. AND then I started rock climbing! That’s Brendan and my first trip to Joshua Tree! Ah this man. He makes me feel brave and calm when I’m absolutely terrified. He has this impossibly sincere hearted character, a carpenter, adventurer, climber, skateboarder, and creator of beautiful communities among other things.

In October I found the next ledge. The next place to call home, Ventura, California. I moved onto Hope street, lol, a 250sq ft master bedroom a few miles from this super beginner surf break called Mondos. 5 miles away from my art studio where I’m installing my first dark room. 5 miles from the climbing gym and the coffee roasting plant. 30 min from the edge of Los Padres National Forest and that epic sunrise cathedral where Terry teaches me about Qi gong. I’m 40 min away from very dope climbing friends and community in Santa Barbara, and 1 hour away from the sprawling madness and wild chaos of Los Angeles. So here’s where we part. I’ll be growing and changing forever. Chasing this wild heart from the front seat. Windows down. Singing my brains out.

Beat still my heart. Learn your rhythm in time. This life is for living and loving messy and beautifully. Full of half truths and contradictions. Speaking of which, not sure if I’m really much of a van blogger. I’m really happy I documented this journey. Light is still my all time favorite. I like to throw together little stories on Instagram from time to time. You can check out my adventures there if you like I suppose.

In relaying all of this to you. I realized that mostly this has nothing to do with me specifically. Yes, writing it all out has been therapeutic and instrumental for me to begin sharing openly. This is actually about dreams. More specifically your own. Living them out and finding the present.

Currently I’m reading “ How to Write One Song” by Jeff Tweedy, so I’ll sign off with his quote I just ran across.

Do it for love!

“I’d like to believe that everybody, if allowed to pursue their dreams and passions, would have a gift for something. A gift for making somebody feel better, maybe. It just seems like humans…we’ve got to all be good at something.”

“You have to stop thinking about anything other than what happened when you were a little kid, and you laid on the floor and you drew. And you lost yourself in that drawing.”

Thanks Jeff. And you…well, go on then. Have a fabulous adventure.

Manhattan Beach, CA

How does a person get here…to this place. Ready to face the unknown. Battle their demons. Fight the good fight. Get in the front seat of their life and paddle out?

There’s no magic algorithm for this stuff. We all have our own path and curious things that make us tick. In truth it happens in those little quiet moments way more that it does in these big romantic gestures of living. If i look back far enough, I can see that little through line. Those little moments where I chose to follow my gut regardless of the consequences. Life is brilliant that way.

I was at the very top of my gigantic mountain. Workaholic, detached, full of anxiety attacks and mood swings, isolated, afraid of love, closed, rigid and full of sadness and impossibly numb. I’d even adopted this unworthy posture and fused myself there as if to sacrifice myself for others for the rest of my life. I was stuck! I found purpose there in all of that, in my sad little story. Happily climbing and enduring always going “somewhere.” Chasing anything that brought my attention away from the present reality.

I remember the day I put the finishing touch on my beautiful apartment. It was a huge achievement, first solo apartment in fucking Los Angeles and a huge promotion at work in a few months. Then I heard a voice inside me saying. “When you’re done with it, let me know.” I don’t want to take anything away from this. I worked so freaking hard and I really ‘earned’ that. I’ve even met some outrageously delightful people along the way. 

I was freaked out of course. I’d just pushed play of the ride of a lifetime. I couldn’t wait to have people over to share my space with two blocks from the beach.

I never shook the obvious truth of that voice that day. Truth has a funny way of sticking around. At the start of Covid, I finally started getting serious about my body. I looked in the mirror with no more distractions or holes to hide from myself in. I knew that I disliked myself deeply, and I was in a world of pain. I really didn’t know what I was going to do about it. 

Living out these big questions started quite simply for me. I didn’t have enough motivation to love myself properly, so I had a few lovely friends mirror some my way. My friend and mentor Mark asked if I’d like to log on and do virtual workouts 3 times a week at 5:30AM. He suggested the Calm app, so I could start learning about mindfulness and mental health. Then I bought myself a subscription to a cool yoga, surf lifestyle app with these whole vibrant women who I looked up to.

I always thought my life was this grand gesture of living, and it truly was in a million ways. It was just laced with some volatile landmines, poor emotional regulation behaviors, and deep unresolved fear. This isn’t about judgment, perfection, or lack. Some ledger of rights and wrongs.

This is about healing and self compassion. This is about living in peace with authentic joy. This is living in the front seat aware of the dark parts, ready to patiently allow it surface and fall away.

Santa Barbara, CA

Santa Barbara held my former life in all her bubble wrapped glory. Moving is kind of love hate relationship.  Because of this, I’ve sort of adopted this cut everything in half rule. Leading up to this trip, I was in the process of cleaning out my 500 sq foot apartment in Manhattan Beach, CA. Half rule in place, we were left with the following: 1 plastic wrapped mattress, a bicycle, camping gear, the dresser from my childhood, an old desk from Grandma Book’s basement, an iMac, several totes of kitchen wares, and dark room equipment. At this point, I’d been spending most of my weekends commuting from Manhattan Beach up here, so I’d had my fill of exploring the streets of Santa Barbara. I really just wanted to stop at all of the coffee shops to document them, drag my yellow couch around a bit, then head to the beach in Goleta and decompress. The South Bay was a mere 100 miles away, and I started feeling the pressure of the actual homelessness and deep unknown that I was about to endure. 

Have you ever walked up to the edge of a cliff or some high place? Did it freak you out? 

I hope it did. I hope you respected it, that feeling in your gut. I hope it made you lose your breath a little, feel a bit wobbly. 

I’d been preparing for months. Selling furniture. Gawking at friends who made similar jumps. Reading every scrap of material I could get my hands on. Watching every episode of Chef’s Table. Read The Alchemist a million times. Thanks Ben Moon for writing Denali. I was just drooling over these people who had the guts to leave it all behind and walk their path. Their hero’s journey, their artist’s path, their dream. Call it whatever you want. 

I’d arrived at one solitary truth. Living the life I had imagined for all of these years (and badgered your poor souls about) would require one gigantic leap into the unknown. 

I want you to know that this course correction felt like seeing the edge of that high cliff, but, instead of approaching it thoughtfully with great reverence, we just took a running leap and dove headlong straight into the abyss. 

There’s a quote about this that will always hit home. This bit from Erin Hanson about freedom waiting for you in the sky and asking the universe ‘what if I fall’ and her rushing in to offer ‘but what if you fly.’ The dualistic nature of risk is so beautiful to me. I savor it. Deep sadness revealing abundant joy. Life implying death. Needing “black for the white to show.” (Thanks for the cool line Quinn. It’s from a song he wrote called Smile.) You’ll notice it show up in my work if you look closely enough. Always contrasting with color, subject, and light.

That’s the only way I know how to describe the feelings that were wreaking havoc on my being. Like I was being pulled apart at the seams to make way for something I couldn’t begin to conceive. This wasn’t silly fake horror film imagination night terrors. This was true vulnerable fear. Is this safe? Am I ok? If I fail, who will help me? Where will I go? How far am I prepared to fall if this doesn’t work out?

My plan was full of holes. Well to be honest, I didn’t really have one. I was running on courage, but I had a few goals I guess. 

Goal 1: Get off Treadmill

Goal 2: Build community

I had two months of expenses saved and that’s about it. My stubborn ego and my wild anxiety were about to endure adventure of a lifetime. 

Charan Springs Farm, CA

As far as my imagination was concerned, I strolled straight into another horror film just as the sun was setting. 

Mom, I swear I booked a legitimate campsite. I promise it had good reviews. Hipcamp boasted a “Working organic farm with sulfur springs.” I imagined I’d wake up and take pictures of the property, make a beautiful meal, pick up some fresh produce. And well all of that kind of happened.

I realized at precisely dusk what they were referring to when they mentioned that if I was afraid of a little junk in the yard to forgo the stay. In my mind, decorated with eerie shadows, it was full on junkyard, haunted farm with one hoop house and a billion rusted out tractors. To compete the wild imaginings in my mind, after many minutes of following tiny arrows down rutted out farm paths, one two story dilapidated barn full of tools and spare parts loomed in front of me. Holy shit I was in for a ride. 

 A quick rerouting to the designated camping area, I met the farmer himself. A wrinkled old man with simple eyes and very few words. He was really soft and mild about it all. The directions were clear: Noise canons would go off if deer or other wild beasts set foot in his farm perimeter. Take some fruit from the tree if I pleased. Pick whichever camp spot I liked. 

 A sunken river bottom to the left, a tent camper just out of view, two hot tubs with rusted out casings and goopy sulfurous drippings. Just behind, a cabin, vacated and littered with haphazard appliances and beat up furniture on the porch. Finally a lone persimmon tree, glowing orange and full of fruit with the last of the days light fading fast in the canyon. 

I settled on a spot further up the canyon and beyond the vacant cabin. I parked myself behind a gate (for mental safety I presume), under an acorn tree. My campsite had these little oddities, hand build tables, bizarre charm, and one perfectly fashioned out house. Running around distracting my thoughts I busied myself to throw together a sublime dinner. Smashed potatoes, greens, and a mushroom grain salad. I even rigged this cool lighting scenario with a flash light and a water jug that I was pleasantly surprised with.

After a quick clean up, I locked myself in and set myself off to dreamland. Acorns rained down all night long  pelting the van. The wind howled furiously through the canyon and you better believe the noise cannons sang their triumphant song. 

Thrilled when the morning came with all her daylight and perceived security, I set out to capture the whole mess of the place. Hope you enjoy.

Beyond my hallowed campsite, I set off toward San Louis Obispo for some well earned civilization and fancy coffees.

It was Thanksgiving, so I face-timed home to my sister Jill and spent a few hours catching up with crew. I was outside in my van, in a parking lot sipping on very sexy coffee very alone. There I was in the middle of the vastness of it all ‘living” and simultaneously plugged in to another world 2000 miles away talking about a Thanksgiving feast, nieces and nephews, church, and the weather. Sometimes I wonder what they all make of me traveling out here, wind in my face, alone and free. In many ways it’s really not so different. Swap out a few comforts and add in a few survival skills maybe. I’m just as concerned about food, and the weather, what God means to me,  and if I’m gonna have a family someday.

I spent the rest of the day exploring little worn out towns, stopping as usual for all the distracting details that make me smile. I made it to Santa Barbara as the night came to a close where I happily forked over a few hundred dollars to charge my laptop and dive into a sea of fluffy covers.

Big Sur, CA

Did you know that I love to sing? There is something quite insignificant and also alarmingly vulnerable about using your own voice as an instrument. Music feels like magic to me, and the people who get to create it never cease to amaze me.

We grew up singing our brains out. The living room at the Book house on Bradford Rd and the navy blue Ford van with room for 10 have witnessed more 90s country dance parties, 80s love ballads, and 70s classic rock jams than your favorite local joint. My mom would literally stop the car if you refused to join in our spotty renditions of Neil Diamond’s Cracklin’ Rosie or Bonnie Tyler’s Total Eclipse of the Heart. I remember the fist time dad let us listen to the ‘bad stations’ on the radio on the way to one of my brother Josh’s baseball tournaments in Jasper, IN. All of a sudden we were rolling down I64 bumping to Eminem Lose Yourself and I swear he knew more of the words than we did.

Another cult classic in the Book house was surprisingly Lou Bega’s Mambo No. 5. I can still recite each word and have lovingly passed it down to my youngest brother Sam. Maybe the most impressive and inventive experiment to come out of these youthful jam sessions was a dance move called the “Collin Dance.” Do yourself a favor crank Baby Likes to Rock it by The Tractors. Proceed to find a gallop-ish shuffle in your step and hoist your right arm fist in tow. Gallop and pump your fist in the air shuffling about belting the “tractor song.” It feels best when performed in your living room in endless circles while avoiding the furniture.

How did I get so far from this youthful expression? When did I learn to put limitations on it? And why do I find it so embarrassing now to be overheard?

The walls of my own tiny Ford van are now filled with song thanks to this wide open road and plenty of room to shout big country ballads into the sea. Can you hear it? “In my car, I’ll be the driver. In my car, I'm in control. In my car, I come alive and In my car, I am the driver” Thanks for all the ridiculous pop country anthems Shania. For a chance at being in the backseat of my mom’s van, windows down, sun on my face, without a care in the world.

Seems like this wave is coming back into my life. Not entirely sure what to do with this gift, but I’m finding a whole lot of joy here. Who knows maybe someday soon I’ll shed enough layers to share.

Santa Cruz, CA

Waved at Santa Cruz. Smiled at some waves. Drank 5 coffees. Really loved the concrete. Really felt the vibes. I think some very true part of me is all things Santa Cruz. You might not care that I had a great slice of pizza followed immediately by a swift restroom experience.

I really struggle with this whole write down my story thing. I don’t know how this doesn’t get all ranty and crass. Start covering up my emotions with funny one liners. Find my way down some intolerable philosophical rabbit hole. Explode with too much joy. You probably care more about my “adventure” than any of this mumbo jumbo. But this space is for me and I’m gonna let it go where it freaking wants.

I’m a real person and not some wild adventurer, and the honest highlight of my tour through Santa Cruz was this first picture. Santa Cruz makes me feel so damn cool. Like so damn cool. I love finding furniture on the side of the street. I think it always looks so ironic and perfectly placed. It’s huge inspo for my Family Room imagery. Plus if you throw in some hard Cali cross light and a concrete wall I’ll just drool at it all damn day. But like the cool tasteful gawking.

Fun fact and quick side note: My girl Sally has turned finding gently used furniture into the most hilarious trash picking side hustle. It’s brilliant and so is she. You’ve never truly lived until you ride down the street with her and feel the rush of hoisting someones trash into the back of her pickup truck.

Back to the story: Basically you should know that Santa Cruz is really special to me for no special reasons as all. I guess that’s the mark of a truly great place. I feel home the most in those places. Room to spread out and be myself. Find the other people also being themselves. Thanks Santa Cruz for being very chill.

When you’re on the road or hell when you move to a new place you’re granted this permission to become a new person. Try on a different lens. It’s one of best parts of moving in my opinion. But honestly just go try it for yourself if your curious about it. It doesn’t matter what I have to say about any of these things or places. Travel or don’t for the reasons you want to or don’t.

I’m writing all of this down for me, so I can stop judging myself. So I have a place to share my voice. Those squirly neurotic little bits. It’s incredibly cathartic to plop it all down and push publish. Let you judge it however you fucking please. Words have historically tripped me up. I still can’t seem to get big feelings to come out of me without an ocean of tears. I was always a pretty introverted kid, and kind of just did was I was told. I naturally gravitated toward picture making and loads of other crafty things. I still love hiding behind a camera instead of being in the moment. To observe a room full of people is quite an intoxicating rush. It’s a gift and a crutch that camera.

More and more lately I find myself wanting to step into the dance leave the walls at home. Being yourself is all that counts. Just go do whatever you fucking want. Please. No one cares. Go live your life.

Onward to Monterey, CA for the night. I booked a hotel there, found something to soothe my incredibly upset stomach, and prepped myself for a morning drive through Big Sur.

Pescadaro, CA

Hey do yourself a big favor. Meet yourself where you’re at. The first night’s adventures freaked me out enough to book campsites for the rest of the trip. Van life doesn’t have to look like some heroic epic tale. For me it’s about these planned road trips, the way light moves in wide open spaces, and stepping into a bit of discomfort. This van life shit straight up freaks me out. I am not some brave gritty woman with a thirst for the wild, and being alone out in these beautiful places is far from something I have mastered. Negative self talk and anxiety seem to be lurking at every turn during these adventures. You should know that I find houses and showers incredibly comforting. In fact, I love having a roof over head with expertly curated living spaces. They make me feel safe and creative and full of joy. Honestly, having people over for dinner might actually be my favorite thing in the entire world. So before you go off and feel too small for your dreams, check in on your limiting beliefs and see if you can find a bit of space to expand in the smallest way that feels safe. Partnering with giant ideas in this way keeps me moving forward. Cheers ya lovelys!

I found a space to crash on this huge bluff overlooking the Pacific. Welcome to Wind Dance Ranch and Horse Sanctuary. I gave myself plenty of time to dive into the light that evening and the next morning. I wanted to practice shooting table top still life commercial photos outside, because somewhere in my daydreams I decided to be an adventure lifestyle food photographer. Baby I got so lost in the sauce I couldn’t tell you how long I shot or what I was doing. I can still feel the light from that day. A woman, her machine, and something that only can be described as flow state. That etherial space where we press pause on our thinking brains and loose all perception of time, space, reality. Drink her up. I had a blast watching her steal the show.

After a brilliant morning, I packed up and set off toward Santa Cruz.

San Francisco, CA

It was getting late…like supremely late. I just finished dinner in Sausalito with my good friend Joe, when I laid it on him that I had no place to camp out for the night. I kind of sheepishly asked to crash on his couch, but from the second that the words left my mouth I knew the plan didn’t have legs. I quickly reeled them back and made a half truthful gesture that I’d just head back toward the coast. I’d be ok. That something would come along just in time like always does. You should know that Joe is a complete gentleman and that wasn’t ever going to fly. A man of great mystery and endless connections, he said “ I’ve got it, do you trust me?”

I followed him. Not that I really had another plan or choice in the matter. Where else was I going to sleep in the middle of a huge city? After twenty minutes of on-ramps, toll bridges, and narrow city streets, we approached a dimly lit side access road under a bridge that seemed to wind off into nothing. Towering fences lined with barbed wire and spooky buildings dripping into the bay, I crept along close to his tail lights. I was positive that we were heading straight into a horror film. In fifteen minutes more we stopped. One massive locked gate decorated with more barbed wire and a single floodlight towered over our cars.

After a few swift taps on the key pad, Joe granted us entry. Beyond the gate, a restored out building gave way to a fridge stocked with brews, wood for a fire, and city lights: San Francisco laid out in front of us like a post card. Awestruck and coming down from the high, I was exhausted and wanted to settle in for the night. He pointed out a path up a gravel road that switched back and forth several times.

Joe led us further into the darkness where we shared a few more stories and cold ones before he bid me goodnight. Alone in this strange place, I did my best to settle my fear and soothed myself to sleep.

To my great surprise, I awoke unscathed and unbothered. Wild turkeys and distant harbor rustlings welcomed me to Terminal 4, a weathered shipyard, urban sanctuary, and strange dream bathed in the most delicious light.

Beyond the city, I turned back toward the coast and reconnected with the Pacific Coast Highway. She led me south-bound through the local surf scene at the Outer Sunset District and onto Pigeon Point for the night.

Point Reyes, CA

I was born with a revolutionary heart. This wild and unruly truth certainly delivers lofty highs and maddening lows. Born in a rural Midwest town, this certainly wasn’t the mold and all this dreaming certainly raised plenty of questions. To this I say, the road has always risen to meet me in this grand gesture of living; I have learned to find a home within myself; the world is full of brilliant illuminating details, and I want to taste them all. Planting furniture in landscapes seems to be the only way I know how to express this story: a welcome gesture into my family room, a catalog of my travels, and a tiny nod to my first photo job in Cincinnati, Ohio.

I set out down the Pacific Coast Highway for Thanksgiving Break 2020. We were in the middle of a pandemic, and I was a long way from home. I found comfort in the road and drank a bit more from the brilliance of the California coast.

A Pacific Coast highway-sunny-retro-couch-kind of laid back

Enjoying life in the slow lane and indulging in tasty coffee snacks. Drinking up all those tiny details and singing a sun-soaked glittery tune with enough groove to make you fall in love.