not much but enough
Sunrise soloer
Micah in Mantua
it means home
The comfort of waking up to the sound of your family in the kitchen, the smell of coffee, and the sun coming through the windows. It’s a warm blanket of safety and it means home.
dirt courts
Camera Man
Just as I reached the bottom of the 248-step pyramid of Teotihuacán I realized I had left my disposable camera at the top. I sprinted back up, frantically asking ”¿cámara? ¿cámara?”
This fine gentleman had brought it down to me.
Mexico, 2018.
to be held
Sasha & Elliott
cheese
Pirates of the Southeast
Hot Hut Hike (by Christopher Davila)
Self V
on the way out there, 2017.
alegría de juventud
Tigre, Argentina. 2011
410
2011
seth
I picked Seth up at the Bent Prop in Hostel downtown. We were supposed to meet for a hike, and ten minutes before I was about to leave he shot me a message. “Hey man, my ride fell through. Any chance you could drive me?” Who organizes a hiking meetup and doesn’t have a way to get there? I had no good reason not to pick him up, so I obliged. Seth had just arrived in Anchorage a few days ago with some clothes, a camera, and $50 to his name. He went straight to work at the hostel (which would be his routine for the next 50 days). He hadn’t yet gotten out on the trail yet, and being with people as they first stepped out into the Alaska’s wilderness was quickly becoming one my favorite experiences. A young guy with a beanie and wayfarer sunglasses exited the hostel and let himself into my van. At that moment I couldn’t yet see his long flowing lion’s mane, or anything else that made Seth special. Before we began to head south on H Street, I queued up some music. I had just survived my first Alaskan winter, and was desperately missing my road trip that got me there. A huge part of that trip was the new Dispatch album, America Location 12. I added it to the queue. By the time we were on the Seward Highway, the heavy guitar of Be Gone came through the speakers. Seth couldn’t believe it.
“DUUUUUDE… You listen to Dispatch too? I love Dispatch. It’s a sign.”
“Really…” I responded, “I feel like their pretty popular…”
“Dude I don’t think so, I’ve never met anyone who’s ever listened to them before.”
“Hmm.” Does he really think this is a sign because we listen to the same pretty-popular band? That first hike was cut short, due to the knee deep snow that filled the valley, but we started to get to know each other. I realized we had a lot in common. We were filmmakers, photographers, and far from home. Later, I’d learn what else we had in common. A sister. A mom who does mosaics. A spiritual leaning. A trip to Vietnam at the same time the previous year. A love for cooking. A respect for plating the food you just cooked. A preference to keep plans loose and fluid. As we slid down Indian Valley on our asses we talked about how we were going to explore together. Make films and assist each other in reaching some creative goals. We were only a few hours into our friendship and talking about future plans. I knew he was special. Over the next few months, Seth and I got closer. He told me of his plan to buy a motorcycle and go from Prudhoe Bay down to Patagonia. Crazy. I loved it. Finally, thousands of miles from home, in Alaska, I was starting to consistently meet people who weren’t all talk. And sure enough, he worked his ass off every single day until he could afford a motorcycle (albeit, from a questionable guy at a highly secured property outside of Glennallen for cash… but that’s a story for another time). Through hikes, dinners, people watching out the kitchen window at the Bent Prop, walks through town, and campfires, I realized something about Seth. He would continue to tell me these stories of serendipity in his life. Things that just happened to fall into place. There were a few stories that were truly jaw-dropping, almost unbelievable. But more often than not they seemed sort of common. Coincidences I wouldn’t have thought twice about. The more time I spent with Seth, the more I realized that this was the way he lived his life. He chose to see the beauty and interconnectedness of our world. Even the small things. Seth taught me to open my eyes, and it changed everything. The signs are everywhere. Surrounding us. In the way the light slips through the blinds and projects onto the wall. In the way that a flock of birds always seems to swoop by when need a sign that my mom is still with me. In the song that plays through the speakers that you thought nobody else knew. I had become so used to people that were trapped in routine. The enemy of sensory living. Faded sounds, the colors subdue, and the muscles carry the body where it is expected, day after day after day. Seth is awake. When you’re constantly going to new places, you have to be. Or at least he chooses to be. What I once thought was strange, to see the connection in the tiniest of occurrences, has saved me in many ways. Maybe nobody would ever understand the power of a breath of fresh mountain air, I didn’t. Now I have that space in my heart to hold such a seemingly insignificant moment. Seth understands that feeling. Because that’s how Seth lives. It’s not all about the milestones that knock us off our routine. I found that if I am constantly waiting, waiting for my weeklong paid vacation a year, my friend’s graduation, or my cousin’s wedding, I’m missing out on so many little moments that will tell me that this is all worth it. I know that I still miss most of this small miracles that occur every day, because there are infinite (truly, infinite), but since knowing Seth I’ve found a new way to see my world.