hello

Shawn and I having a sunset drink at Potato Head in Bali, Indonesia
 
You’re always you, and that don’t change, and you’re always changing, and there’s nothing you can do about it.
— Neil Gaiman

You’ve come to the frankest page on this site, the one thing hardest to write because believe it or not, it’s gone through a few iterations where early versions were watered down versions of “frankness” sprinkled with a dusting of travel sparkle. Read = oh, look at my wonderful travelling spirit. Well f*ck that. 

OK so it’s hard to write because I always figured I’ll take myself to the grave in the most literal sense - my brain, my mind, me. I’ve spent a good thirty odd years trying to keep myself private and only letting the surface bits touch the world. I was happy with that and I think I still am. But it’s a comfort zone. And comfort zones are the scariest things in the world.

For the first few years of my working career I chased dreams and passions, but I abandoned them to hobbies when I realised that while it put food on the table, I wasn’t that person whose dreams and passions made me whole. I wanted conflict, the unknown, to learn something else, be somebody else. That realisation took me on a journey that I never could expect, and I achieved things younger me never thought I would. 

But then I quickly hit a plateau. When I stepped out of that shining light for a minute I realised that oh dear, I’d hit a comfort zone. I was doing great, probably had a few more years of wonderful things I could do, but I wasn’t growing anymore in the way that younger me hungered after. I’d stopped being challenged. 

Somewhere during that time I got attracted to doing things the easy way, the popular way, gotten comfortable with a known set of rules. A rat race keeps you focused, but it doesn’t really evolve you. A part of me forgot how to travel, how to photograph, how to feel the world like I used to and make memories for me, not for anyone else.

This site came into being somewhere during that period of my trying to find my feet again. It’s a recovery process, a slow introspective performance art piece I’m using to unlock my thoughts, run screaming from anything that looks like a comfort zone, perhaps record the shifting sands of my person as it changes to become something else again. Sometimes called growing up.

We’ll see where we land, shall we?