How you find a place to call home?
You know, the place where you descend a plane or drive around the corner on the street and think, ah, this is it: this is home.
For me, right now, it’s Los Angeles.
But lately… I’ve been thinking that maybe, just maybe, I could
survive thrive in New York. Or Barcelona. Or… pretty much anywhere in Italy. I don’t want my work to be confined to any one place. Maybe my home can’t be confined to one place either.
I want to wake up in a loft apartment on the twelfth story and see the beauteous grunge of skyscrapers. I want to open the door and find myself among the delicately faded buildings of old European cities. I want to perfect the art of walking on the cobblestoned road. I want to be a quick drive away from the ocean. I want to feel the dry heat of the hot, hot desert in the summer.
It feels like I want everything and nothing all at once. Everything, because I’m making the impossible demand that there is a perfect locale where I can experience all of these things simultaneously. Nothing, because when it comes down to it… all I want is to surround myself with beautiful things. And these things: cities, old textures, cobblestones, modernity, and bountiful, bountiful, sunshine are elements I find beautiful.
No matter where I am, I want to look out beyond expansive, glass windows so that I can see the sun. I want to live where the sun shines.
There’s a deep part of me that wishes to call each of those places “home.” And maybe someday, I’ll be able to.