I’ve just moved into a big, light-filled studio with a loft. It’s bright and empty, with only a few pieces of essential furniture.
Chair. Desk. Bed at the top of a ladder.
I’ve been going through a lot of changes this year which has been without a doubt, the most difficult of my life. I won’t get into the details (it’s the same story of a broken heart that’s been told a million times the world over) but suffice it to say that I feel as though I have come through some sort of exhausting fire. I don’t feel reborn or anything overly dramatic like that, but I do feel as though I have been laid bare and reconstructed, to find that the essentials are still there even if the future I was so sure of has flown.
So here I am, back in Burlington, Vermont for exactly one month before I travel to San Francisco and then begin the next phase of my life as a (once again) student.
I’ve lived in this small city by the lake so many times that it feels like a touchstone of some sort. I don’t exactly have a home town, so this is as close as it gets. It feels strange and sometimes painful to walk down streets that summon so many memories and ghosts. Time has passed; everything is the same but I am not. So, I plan to spend the month of June writing, photographing, and preparing to enter into the world once again with the lessons I’ve learned firmly in hand.