The Story of Us

Is crafted with every experience good or bad, extraordinary or mundane, it’s all the same. It all matters

I’m sitting at the kitchen table in the hills of Northern California, starting the day. It’s pleasant: the aged hardwood tabletop, the subtle scent of white roses and earthy eucalyptus emanating from the bouquet, and the mist outside the window — a calming azure blue spread throughout the hills.

I’m staying with my girlfriend at her grandma’s house, as right now, I don’t really have a place of my own. I’m okay with that. I find warmth in myself, comfort in the things I carry from place to place.

My girlfriend and I have both been on the move for some time. How long either of us can last like this, we don’t know. But it sure is beautiful here — both in these peaceful, chilly hills, and in this season of life.

I write about the hardwood table and the home’s European decor, and I’m satisfied. Why? Well, because while I don’t exactly know what I’m doing (who does?), this is what I do.

I write about these experiences, and I feel more connected to something; maybe it’s an anchor, my source, this process that guides me. I assimilate my surroundings and they stir my soul, and these two forces — without and within — alchemize into something else…