bergen moved to new york, again. san francisco seemed like forever. but there we were in a barely signed apartment somewhere in brooklyn. cardboard all over, pizza on the floor, air mattresses and two chairs in different rooms.
new start.
I'm listening to the new olivia rodrigo right now. the verses remind me of "don't delete the kisses" by wolf alice.
home really has to be in you.
the idea of belonging. you have to carry it. minnesota to los angeles, to brooklyn, to san francisco, back to brooklyn—all the trips in between. you feel yourself in all these spaces, are you familiar? is the walk to the bathroom foreign? is going to the market for food exotic? when does it click for you?
is home a person? people? the idea of having those things?
I was depressed in ohio. in the tour van, brooding. I don't decide when to feel awful, it just hits me. los angeles was across the country. I couldn't go to my bed and skip the days until my body evened out. is home escape?
we'd get airbnbs, sometimes crash with friends or family of the band. I never felt out of place. I felt welcomed. no places felt "new" to me. chicago and its dive bars felt familiar. detroit and mexicantown felt familiar. pittsburgh and those yellow bridges felt familiar. kentucky and their shitty mexican food. indiana and those ominous wind turbines. missouri and their disdain for apple pay. tennessee. alabama. arkansas. louisiana. all the places we visited.
maybe it was the band that felt like home. maybe it was the knowledge that los angeles was impossible at all given moments and I had to make do with where I was in. maybe it was the kindness of everyone we met and stayed with.
I didn't even miss los angeles as a home. I missed the warm weather, I missed my friends. if I was in los angeles with only the familiar sun, I'd still miss my friends. maybe the world as a whole is my home. plop me down anywhere, I'll accept it.
put me in space, will I still feel that way?
yeah, man.
I am home. I'm to myself.
where's home to bergen? to you?
this is how I feel in the moment.
tomorrow, home might be where I am right now. my laundry in the corner waiting to be done today (after I publish this). my fan recirculating the hot air in this makeshift room. the camera equipment collecting dust while I wait for clients to hit me up. my cats lounging outside, resting in the sun, chasing after lizards with loose tails. the somber backyards, silent after my neighbor passed away. I don't know what's going to happen to his dog. her name's rosie. she's a sweet german shephard. timid. one of my cats would scrap with her when she'd get a little too close.
I think home, is where you don't have to hide anything. you can feel everything without embarrassment. you can sing without shame. be still. that's how I feel today. tomorrow I'll change.
bergen and I caught up. it was about a year since we were in san francisco together. there wasn't much to add besides the growing pursuit of her dreams. she's really taken this interior decorating stuff pretty far—even getting into the design of things shortly after I left the first time.
we took a walk around the neighborhood. a beautiful place. home for her.
maybe brooklyn is forever. maybe tomorrow it'll change.
for me right now. I have los angeles.
