Rust, Dust, & Cactus

Some trips teach you what to look for. Peaceful locations, unique sights, things that make your soul say, “ah yes - I know you”. The open road, sun in your eyes, your favorite music as soundtrack. Truly looking. Sincerely seeing. Is that place an impromptu roadside stop? Pulling over, lowering your foot to the ground, camera up. Taking the shot.

Other trips teach you what to avoid. Conflict, longing, flyby scenery. The last time I drove this direction, I wasn’t really navigating my own trip. I watched quietly, too quietly, as picture-perfect scenes receded in the side mirror and camera clicks passed through car windows. Roll down the window – no, roll it up. Keep the peace.

I’ve done Arizona before. Just not like this.

Last time, I learned how quickly a trip can cease to be yours. Your time, your money, your vision – there’s a difference between traveling and being a tagalong in someone else’s version of the journey. Timelines, rules, choices not your own. Disinterest with annoyance, the sighs and side-eyes, impatience with halfhearted apology.

Rushing through places has a way of making them feel like nothing at all.

It’s time to move slower, identify my own stops and view from my own angles. I will allow detours and refuse to be bound by overplanning. I will take the time to actually see. I will notice details instead of chasing locations; stay longer – as long as I want – in places that just… feel right.

I’m drawn to silence, quiet and overlooked places. To decay, unraveling, and that which remains when there is no one left to see it or touch it. To feel it. I want my work to feel emotional, recognizable, tangible. Undeniable. I don’t chase the “perfect shots” or the tourist highlights; I offer my time, my lens, my perspective, to the details that most people pass right by.

I’m less interested in where I go, and more interested in what’s been left behind there. Standing strong on its own shaped by time and in spite of it.

Lately, I’ve found myself needing something quieter. Something mine. This trip isn’t about escape - it’s about returning to something I trust.

Myself.

This time, I’m paying attention.

We’ll see what I find.