Being back in LA has not been easy, mostly because I have come to a realization that getting out of the city for a week or so every few months is just not enough for me. I have come to a realization that I was born a wanderer and will die as one, belonging on and to the road, ever pressing, never stopping. I’ve been reading this blog by someone who has been traveling through Europe and Asia on his bike, with nothing but the clothes on his back, the roof of his single tent above his head, and his camera around his neck; he’s made me realize that somewhere between my childhood and the now, I have lost myself, that I have lost my wide-eyed wonder and replaced it with cynicism. I am have become bitter and withdrawn, my light slowly dimming into nothing. But tonight my head is so full of images, images of the places I need to breathe in, of faces I need to meet, of things I need to feel. It’s time that I participate in life again, this much is true. But where do I begin?