no, the city isn’t for me.



i think no creative person will ever be content to call a city a permanent home base. we are too wild and too curious to think in terms of boundaries or to be content with the ones that the government drew for us. we want to know what’s beyond those divisions; we question why those divisions exist in the first place. we want to feel the sand of uncharted territory and simply stand in + celebrate the mystery of all that we don’t know. we want to be living right at the edge of the cliff, peering down below into stormy waters or up above at a sunlit sky and know. know we are both powerful and insignificant.

no, the city isn’t my home with its crowd and people who sleep walk while regulating their lives to the drum beat of society’s expectations and ‘how things have always been’.  no, I cannot truly be at peace there when no one believes in slowing down or how even a cup of coffee on a wintry evening warrants your full attention. i cannot find fullness for long when each moment that comes along is discarded as being unimportant or retrievable. no, it is not.

the ocean and the woods are my home. i must venture back there. there in the silence where i can breathe free and deep and long. there in the leafy canopy where God’s voice comes disguised as a birdsong or trails me in the erratic flight of a butterfly. there on the shores of sapphire beauty and calmness where the eternal and the ephemeral become one in the span of a second.

no, I am not the one for the city. no, I am not the one to be contained or to have sharp defined edges that you can promise will never shift. do not mistake my compliance for having settled down. because while you sleep at night and fret over being enough, i still go outside to stare up at the stars and dream + believe in all the wildness and impossibilities you are so afraid of desiring for yourself. i still resolve to always question and seek + make up my own music. i still resolve to be the untamed and the wild, wild one.


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