I was born and raised in California. I have not been able to claim it as my residence for many years, however, I have never relinquished my CA passport, and I continue to see myself as Odysseus lost in a world of monsters and men, ever trying to find my way back to Penelope. However, if I am terribly honest in my accounting, the east too has seeped into my psyche, and I am left losing all of my iPhones, glasses, and backpacks on airplanes (as I live a life of back and forth). Yes, most recently I lost my backpack that had absolutely everything that I needed to survive being me (including my personal journal—eek!—and a spare pair of underwear as I have been tired of being marooned overnight in Philadelphia without one) (I still cringe when I think of airport workers with plastic gloves carefully going through the contents of my abandoned backpack). I had gotten wrapped up with a tractor repairman from Dearborn who had just lost his wife to cancer, and he was explaining to me how he took the job since her death because he could not have a home anymore. He said he could not bear staying in one place along with the memories of her. Instead, however, he now lives a life of traveling all over the United States repairing Dearborn tractors that are still under warranty. Sometimes he would have to stay at the location for weeks waiting for parts. So, of course, when it was time to get off the plane I forgot my backpack.
I am a big fan of tractors (they are very fun to ride on), fellow drifters (we have our reasons), and Casey Neistat. Here is a very perfect movie. Love, California, sex, airplanes, and French music; it is a perfect little island to park your tall ship and take in a little dream (while you are waiting for your tractor parts to come in).