The Search

What if your home doesn’t feel like home any more? What if you look around and wonder, “What is this place?” And you’re not sure if what’s changed is the place or you, but you know you’ve got to go. But then you wonder, “Where?” You obsess over it, you research the hell out of it. Then you walk out the door.

And there I am, in the middle of it, closer to answers. I think. We sold our home in the U.S. in August and have been traveling since then, first in our little camper (Julia Margaret Camper), until she gave out, then in our car (it gave out, too), and then in planes, ferries, trains and rented cars to this little green island that feels like it could be the happy place for us and for Henry the Dog. We got rid of much of the stuff we’ve schlepped around for years, incredulous we couldn’t let go before, while still, at times, struggling.

I haven’t had a way to make prints for all this time. I’ve taken some photographs. I think some of them might be worth sharing. I’ve stared at the ocean, looking for whales even though I know it’s not the right time. I miss my guitar. I feel free, but also in limbo. I hope to create something meaningful, soon.