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Journal

Finding Home

It's 7pm and I'm in the window seat of a small plane, taxiing toward the runway. The sun is falling from the sky, and golden light is spilling onto the wing. The landscape blurs as we pick up speed, and I feel the wheels lift. We're flying. To Atlanta. Then Paris. Then Cairo, Egypt. A new country, a new continent. A new home. Sort of.

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La Push, Washington

I stood on the beach today at sunset. Watching people balance cameras while wearing knit hats and flannel shirts – teetering out onto massive logs, silhouetted together against a crimson sky. I saw the same scene I had seen five years before. The same rock formations in the distance, the same haystacks and mossy green trails.

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Lost in Translation, Naples, Italy

Napoli isn't the sort of city you can just label and file away, It is beautiful. Infuriating. Confusing. Living here is like going down a rabbit hole of sorts, regardless of voluntarily immersion. Napoli doesn't house wallflowers. Quiet observation is simply not allowed. The people, the noise, the seasons, the chaos…you become involved.

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Machu Picchu, Peru

Our guide Americo pointed into the white abyss and said, “familia...there, through the fog, is Huayna Picchu and the best view of Machu Picchu." We squinted, each of us, willing our eyes to see beyond the white wall of cloud. We had hiked fifty miles, for four days, and the thing we had come to see was invisible. 

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Cusco, Peru

Buried beneath alpaca and sipping hot coca tea, we contemplated the climb through the city's dimly lit passageways for a few high vantage night shots. A relentless route of ascending stone steps, high into thin mountain air, away from the steady hum of Plaza de Armas.

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