Thirty-Four Hours (Approx.)

Hi. It’s been awhile. I’ll skip the usual excuses and get straight to the good stuff. As I write this first half, I am on a 17+ hour train ride to Los Angeles to visit one of my oldest friends, armed with a digital camera and a laptop. For someone like me, this amount of extended free time is a gold mine. It's a chance to dwell on my thoughts without interruption and potentially understand any aspect of my life. The understanding remains out of reach, but the poetics have come and gone. I’ll take what I can get.

the hills are sort of? alive

It’s been fourteen hours so far. I had the cliche experience getting aboard — I kissed someone goodbye and spent hours listening to Taylor Swift songs, reading faulty romances until my vision blurred. I got a black coffee at ten o’clock at night and let the caffeine run its course over me. I’ve been half-awake for every stop; from fellow passengers smoking cigars in Gallup to a smiling man in a white hoodie getting soaked as he hopped off at the Flagstaff station. Palm trees envelope us at all sides in Barstow as we pass a highway sign directing people to Las Vegas, and the homesickness threatens to drown me.

The longing for artificiality. I haven’t been home since I was eighteen, but this is my third trip to Los Angeles in three years. Priorities, you could say. The memory of home is not too different from the longing that latches onto me when we pass a tiny Santa Fe train with Route 66 stamped across it. Two different homes, and though they aren’t far apart, the sentiment couldn’t be more different.

immortality (or, the metro station)

My love-hate relationship with Albuquerque knows no bounds. I see the Route 66 logo, and I think of speeding down Central in the dead of night, laughter layering over indie sleaze and having to shout to be heard over the bass of the music. Or maybe it’s another memory; a slow drive, the frigidity of winter in my bones as I talk about dreams and hopes and how they rise and fall with each passing year. Classical music plays, soft and sweet. Both memories feel like scenes from a film. Sometimes I wonder if it really happened at all.

And now I’m here. The desert is barren, vast and terrifying like space. We’ve blurred past enough trailer parks (reminiscent of my original home once more) and now we pass makeshift mansions, precariously balanced atop red-brown boulders. It reminds me of Red Rock Canyon, and speeding to the top with my grandmother one of the last times I saw her. Everything reminds me of something these days.

the nostalgia of palm trees

Hi again. I'm finishing this blog on the train ride home. We’re in the final stretch — once again, stopped in Gallup, though no cigars are around this time. I loved my trip. I loved the sprawling, intimidating architecture of Los Angeles. I loved spending time with a friend I hadn’t seen in years; rediscovering each other’s personalities after the passage of time. I loved the unending supply of bookstores, perfected for every niche. I loved the cozy, hole-in-the-wall, late-night coffee shops and dinner places. 

the lost bookstore, downtown LA

I used to believe that I wanted to move to Los Angeles. I felt it with a conviction in my heart that rivaled anything I had ever experienced before. Now, I’m less certain. I still love the city — the art, the passion, the energy, the fast pace. But I’m not quite sure it’s for me anymore. Only time will tell.

Against all odds, I have grown to love Albuquerque. Despite living here since late 2019, it hasn’t been until the past year that it has truly felt like home. It took losing everything and having to reset to discover the city on my own terms. Crossing mid-morning traffic on Lomas to reach my favorite local coffee shop; pacing along the Bosque for a photo shoot; frequenting the same dive bar with the same friends for months; spinning around on a crowded dance floor. I’ve settled in. At least for now.

home, approximately

I'm a creature of habit who has realized there is always something new to uncover. I used to think I'd had every possible experience in New Mexico, but now I realize that was arrogant. There are so many bookstores, bars, cafes, shops, museums, hikes, long drives, and vistas that I haven't encountered. People and music and art. Discovering is endless, as long as you open yourself up to it.

Which is exactly what I plan on doing.

Have you recently discovered something new about your current location? Whether it's a secluded nook in the woods or a local coffee shop that amazed your taste buds, it's worth being excited about. Let me know in the comments!

As ever, thanks for spending part of your day with me.

All the best,

Jeanette :)