It was a quiet morning, a sleepy Sunday at 6 am. I spilled out of bed eyes half shut in the warm glow of June’s heat, wanting to lie in the shower and cool off…. but I had gone to sleep with a goal in my mind of something, something something. I had just recently figured out how to use my camera (kind of) and there was a town I had passed through months before that I wanted to try my new hobby out on. I had yet to realize I loved taking photographs, had yet to go on a 4 days crazy-insane-wtf roadtrip through bible belt states just to explore behind the lens, had yet to survive a pitch black hells highway through mountains and coastlines just for the chance to catch a sunrise on a rocky glass strewn beach.

I guess you could say this is where that changed, probably. Driving past Dallas skyline scrapers, down the semi-empty freeways past factories and fields, well and truly into unexplored, not-talked about territory, I realized I was slightly giddy with the idea of exploring somewhere I knew nothing about, somewhere more small and intimate than I had ever experienced. I was the kind of person who dreamed of visiting London, Prague, Boston, Seattle. Big cities with easily found gems around every corner. But after this little excursion, a morning spent (literally) running around silent and empty streets, poking my head and camera down narrow alleys and walking on empty railroad tracks beside grain silos, I crashed upon the realization that I wanted more than the already expected, I wanted to be surpirsed, I wanted to not know what was around every corner, to explore towns that didn’t show up in travel campaigns.

I still want London, Prague, Boston and Seattle, but I also want the kind of places I can sit on the sidewalk messing with my camera and just enjoy the still and quiet of a morning still waking up.