OCEANSIDE // TYBEE ISLAND

I was in college when I took an Oceanography class. I'm not sure what I thought we were going to be learning about (I suppose I was hoping whales, the gentle giants of the sea). Instead we learned about the thousands of creatures that dwell in the deep floors of the ocean; other worldly monsters surviving in the darkness. They have fangs and naturally glow with their own light, have translucent skin and are capable of destroying things much larger than their own size. Otherwise known as, me never going into the ocean ever again. 

Yet, this only means that my fascination with the ocean intensifies. There's the remnants of the life that people have made around the sea; destroyed wooden fences, long forgotten lighthouses where the lone lighthouse keeper once dwelled. There's a beautiful stillness that comes with standing on a beach; the perverse reality of the landscape, looking out over the vastness of the water, dreaming of what could be lurking down below, or even what could be waiting for you on the other side.  

RIVERSIDE // SAVANNAH

My visions of Savannah were much like reality: oak trees covered in Spanish moss, colonial homes which line cobblestone streets, southern accents, etc. What I didn't envision was the lesser-known history of pirates sailing into port, getting the men of the city drunk and sticking them on ships, only for them to wake up on a boat, halfway across the Atlantic. 

What's left is a decaying strip of buildings, once brothels and pubs, now a row of tacky bars and souvenir shops. It's still fun though to wander along the port and imagine the barges coming in are full of rogue pirates, ready to take the city. 

SOUTHERN HOSPITALITY // SAVANNAH, GA

It's odd to walk the streets and question which century you may be inhabiting. 19th century homes adorned with gas light lamps, each with a secret garden among the small property. It's also a strange feeling to be visiting my parents in this place instead of Ohio. I fear that I'll lose them to Georgia and there won't be anymore trips to Ohio, furthering the confusing enigma of home.

NEW YORK, I LOVE YOU

"I WENT TO NEW YORK TO BE BORN AGAIN."

This post is not about New York. This is not about Chicago. This isn't about London, nor Nashville. Although all must be mentioned in relation to a line from a lone Remax ad seen from the New Jersey Transit: "Looking for home?"

A hazy summer afternoon in 2007 I was dropped off at the corner of 29th & 8th. Tears filled my eyes as my mother wished me luck in my new home. I had never in my life lived more than an hour outside of my tiny, cozy Ohio village and suddenly I was plopped down into the center of the universe. New York was the city where I learned to live away from home. Spread your wings and learn about new cultures and all that jazz. More importantly it was the first place to truly inspire me. I've spent a good majority of my life concerned about place and my own identity. It only recently became a concsious problem, but I remember thinking as a child where I was eventually going to call "home". I would dig through our encyclpedia collection and look at pictures of the Empire State building, old photos from the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, and yellow taxi cabs and watch old episodes of Saturday Night Live. I dreamed of a life in the "big city", wishing the trees of our front yard would suddenly turn into massive skyscrapers. All of those things eventually became my realty during my brief time in NY, but that's besides the point; this post is not about that. 

Six years after my last visit, I found myself in New York once again. I got lost at 34th street station, mixing up the D and N train. I eventually found my way amongst the crowds and we all sat upon the train, gently rocking back and forth in our own little realities. I think back to Chicago and the amount of time I spent on the trains there. I must've taken those experiences for granted, because there's nothing better than being on a train. I listened to Fare Thee Well on a constant loop until I got off on 8th, right at NYU. I arose from the ground to find flurries blanketing the city in a slushy white scene; people rushing in all directions. They're all walking too fast, I angrily thought. 2007 me would be so disappointed in 2016 me. 

Brett and I wandered the East Village in the snow until we happened upon a restaurant on 2nd Ave. We re-hased our time together in Tennessee until we ventured to his "local" dive bar to share a few more drinks. The bartender instantly recognized him and he apologized for the loss of her favorite team, the Seattle Seahawks. I was instantly jealous of his local bar status. We returned to his tiny studio and watched Parks and Rec, and I made him share his cozy blanket. For the first time in awhile, I wasn't lonely. Nashville is such a lonely place. 

My time was limited and I arose in the early hours of the morning. Luckily I was near one of my places to visit and wandered to Tompkins Square Park. I only went because there's a Mumford and Sons song named after it, but that's how an obsessive personality thinks. I sat on a snowy bench, watching the few dogs in the park run around. I can't tell you how cold I was, and how strange I must've looked to passers by, just sitting in solitary in the snow. But that's the beauty of New York: no one cares. 

I hopped on the L and found myself in Brooklyn. I instantly felt like an outsider along side the cool people in my Doc Martens that had been killing my feet for the past few days, making me walk like a duck. I had no idea where I was going, but I kept walking until I reached the East River. I again sat on a snowy bench, gazing out on the skyline. How's it has changed over the years, but my favorite building, the predictable Empire State Building, stood out amonst the chaos. The immense cold and wind made it feel like I was there for hours. I anxiously waited for Rough Trade to open, so I again began to walk. I aimlessly wandered the streets; I had a hard time processing everything that I saw. I wanted to take photos, but my hands were too cold. I wanted to write everything down, but I had no place to do so. So I just took it all in, much like how I spent my time in London. Every corner and building, all the grafitti and passers by were different stories waiting to be told. I felt, for the first time since the UK, alive again.

I continued to walk. My feet stopped hurting, the cold went away, and it was just me and New York, alone together once again. 

Famous Amadeus Pizza. I ate here more times than I'd like to admit when I lived around the corner. I felt it appropriate to return for another meal, only to find that the staff was exactly the same and so was the price. A slice of pepperoni and a Diet Pepsi for $5.

I've never willingly left New York; I always feel like I'm being dragged away by some unknown being. The first time was hard; just a short time after I was dropped off, I was picked up again, just before Christmas 2007. I held back from crying until we hit the Lincoln Tunnel. We arose from the other side and the buildings of Manhattan appeared. I never took my eyes off of it as I watched the shrinking skyline through tears. My subsequent visits (during fall break, winter break, spring break, etc) were all the same. I had something else waiting for me that I had to return to. Not that I was immensely sad to be going back to Philly (cheesesteaks awaited me...) but it felt as though I left as soon as I arrived. However, this post isn't about that.

I stared out the window of the NJ transit into hazy wasteland (it is New Jersey, after all). I think about my time in NY, Chicago, London, and Nashville. It feels odd to have lived in so many places in a short amount of time, and how each of them, in their own unique way, were home and were not home. This doesn't make sense, and I fear that it never will. I'll continue to wander, missing the places I have already been, and somehow missing the places I haven't been even more. It's a joyous thing to see someone like Charlotte love her city so much. She hasn't lived outside Philly for at least six (seven?) years and doesn't plan on leaving any time soon, and I wish I could feel the same about a place. I wish I could love a city like Char loves Philly. I will say, NY will always have a special place in my heart. After all, it was my first home away from home.

When I leave home in Ohio, my mom waits for my car to be completely gone before she'll go back inside. She stands on the porch as I pull out of the driveway, endlessly waving until I'm fully gone. I look up just before I drive away to see her still standing there, waving. I peer out the window of the NJ Transit, thinking I must be too far away, and I see out the corner of my eye that the skyline is still there, with the Empire State Building shining in the winter sunset. Eventually the city shrinks into the horizon and I come to terms once again that I'm leaving; I return to this sinking feeling that I've felt before: going home to a place that no longer feels like home.

Until next time, New York...

LOVE LETTERS FROM PHILLY

"Meet me on fifty-second if only for fifty seconds."                  West Philly murals by Steve Powers

Over the past seven years, pretty much every phone call, post card, letter, e-mail, and text from my friend Charlotte has ended in "COME TO PHILLY." Due to my lack of funds, she finally threw in the towel and (what I believe to be semi-drunkenly) bought me a plane ticket. 

Upon arrival, I made my way down to where Charlotte works, which happens to be across from one of the most beautiful buildings I've ever seen. It surprised me greatly when I found out it was city hall, but then again, Philadelphia was the capital of the United States for a hot second, so it deserves its prescense of historical buildings. We took the trolley home to West Philly (first time ever on a trolley!) and visited the local bottle shop. I'm not sure what a bottle shop is. I'm not sure if it's a Philly thing, a PA thing, or an East Coast thing, but what I'm really trying to say is that it's genius. Why wait at a crowded loud bar, when you can wait in a quiet room filled with lots of beer (goodbye youth, hello adulthood)? Un-politely of me I ended up leaving with a Chicago beer, breaking my "only drink local when visiting" rule. 

SATURDAY MORNINGS WITH CHAR

Charlotte and I sat in her living room, basking in the sunlight and sipping tea and coffee. Honestly, I could've spent my whole time in Philly doing this and would have been perfectly content. Charlotte is one of those friends where you just enjoy being in her presence; we don't have to constantly be stimulated, just simply sitting in silence is enough to understand one another. I lazily gaze out the window to Hazel Avenue. A set of identical twins home, completely different than their neighbors, line the streets of West Philly. It's overwhelmingly Philly, and overwhelmingly like Charlotte.

ON THE EL

The best (and cheapest) way to see the city is through public transportation. I used to ride the Brown Line in Chicago all the time to see the sights. Luckily, Philly has a similar elevated train so I was entranced with seeing this new city from above. There was an amazing mural project called "Love Letters" done by Steve Powers. 50 murals of lovely sayings are spread across West Philly, all seen via the El. We bypassed our original stop in City Center to see the Liberty Bell and just kept going. We stalked out the front seat on the first carriage (tourist alert) to get the best views. 

WHEN IN ROME...

...eat as the Philadelphians do. Not that most Philadelphians eat cheesesteaks all the time, but sometimes I have to give in to my natural tourist instincts and have myself my first Philly cheesesteak. We skipped the hullabaloo of the Pat's/Geno's war/tourist trap and ended up at Tony Luke's in South Philly. We sat in a dim orange light, still freezing from the outside air and munched on cheesesteaks and bay fries. A perfect ending to a fantastic trip.