My own journey was longer, less vast in destination and more desperate in finding the way back to myself. I didn't go through a messy divorce, I went through a string of failed and hilarious one night stands. For three years I spiraled into a lifestyle of partying and excess. Everything was booze, drugs, pills and fashion. And then I woke up. January 7th, 2008, a cold night. I was alone, another failed one night stand aborted, and my heart was racing. I surveyed the room: a pile of dirty designer skinny jeans, empty take-out containers, and a huge empty bed.
I called my best friend for help. I cut up my credit cards, quit my job, sold my furniture, gave away my clothes, and packed the rest of my belongings into my dirty white mazda.
On groundhogs day 2008, I began retracing my childhood. Starting with the place I left first: Sidney, Nebraska. Driving West, I was still operating with the same problematic demons. There were still chemicals swirling in my system.
The aperture of the camera lens, of my brain, was starting to open and shut on it's own. Every step of my life becoming a question of clarity- being able to focus the lens without tripping on my feet. Some things had to be constant in this quest. I wanted to revisit places I had already lived, or places that were formative in my childhood environment. The list was as follows: Sidney, Nebraska; Las Cruces, New Mexico; Roswell, New Mexico; Houston, Texas, and Santa Fe, New Mexico.
I'm consider myself an adventurer, always willing to seek out a new experience. Many things are dictated by environment- the foods we eat, who we become friends with, and how we come to know ourselves. Changing environments changes who we are, I hope revisiting environments can revive who I am.
Being in a small place forces you to slow down, pass the time between major daily events. This can be done in two ways: noticing more small things and making them seem huge or remarking on the contrast of where you are not. It's not that small towns are boring, we become boring by letting the smallest parts of life pass us by. Walking down a busy street or down a dirt road are only as meaningful as the walker.
I love airports, temporary cities of strangers, they are starting blocks: the place of pause before jet propelled life begins. Small, slow places are like this too: places to figure out who you are, what you enjoy, where you are going before starting your own jet engine to find the next adventure. Options become epic- frozen yogurt or ice cream. Minneapolis or Denver. Bloody Mary mix or ginger ale. Wait or wander.
