Crescent City, California—a place near to my heart.

Seattle to San Diego  |  August 2013

Ashlee and I continued South, determined to make it to Crater Lake before dark and the Pacific before morning. We pulled over first for a storm and second for a car wreck. Everything flash flooded around us and then the sun came. We drove. I comforted a bleeding stranger on the side of the road and then the ambulance came. We drove.

We arrived at Crater Lake at dusk and then to the ocean just after midnight. My memory of the whole evening is a mix of blue, black, and blood—and Ashlee screaming in fear after turning a corner and seeing her first giant redwood.

Seattle to San Diego  |  August 2013

Ally and Jake escorted us south to Smith Rock State Park, where we hiked and then split ways—them back to Portland, us on to the Redwoods.

The sky was blue when we arrived and we took funny portraits and asked each other hypothetical questions and laughed so much, because that's what old friends do together.

It started drizzling, so we ducked into little caves as the water came down and then began to pour down. It was my first time hearing thunder "roll," although I'm sure that's not true. Maybe it was my first time noticing the thunder roll. Or: it was my first time sitting in a cave with two of my closest friends, waiting for a storm to pass, and listening to the thunder roll.

Seattle to San Diego  |  August 2013

Ally's window in Portland, Oregon. It's hard to get out and see the city when you can drink beer and play cards in the backyard instead.

Seattle to San Diego  |  August 2013

I tried to phone myself the other day, scrolling all the way through my "recent calls" log trying to find the number. A simple act of absurdity or an action of deeper meaning? I don't know. I had been feeling out of sorts.

Sometimes you search and search and search.

It's in front of you. It's within you. It's you.

You are what you're after.