The question of east coast vs. west coast has always been an easy answer for me. As a somewhat complicated mix, (an east-coast born/west-coast transplant/New New Yorker), one of the questions I get asked almost immediately when asked where I’m from is whether or not I miss the west coast. (In case you’re wondering, I don’t).
The Pacific is my first love, and for that reason, holds a very special place in my heart. But when I was around 20 years old, I reached a point where I could easily map out the rest of my life. For some, that’s not a bad thing, and in fact, security and consistency holds a very valuable comfort. I had several, solid options of how I could advance my career, but for me, that path lacked the challenge I craved. Never one to take the easy path, I packed up two suitcases and moved to a city of unknowns.
I’m fortunate that I get to visit the west coast frequently; it allows me to recenter myself and find balance in my life. That being said, I’m always ready to come home — which is, at least for now, New York City.
But on my most recent trip back to the west coast, I found myself quickly (re)infatuated with San Francisco, and a hint of myself has a sneaking suspicion that I could be happy there as well.
Shot on 35mm, 400 ISO Kodak Portra
on my Konica t3