I don’t have much to say on San Diego, surprisingly. Despite having such a history with the city. We lived there for a few years when I was little. I remember fragments of fragments of memories. The hippo sculptures at the San Diego Zoo. Beaded wares in an Old Town shop front. Crashing waves and sandy toes.
I’ve been back several times since we lived there. As a teen, a young adult, then in 2022 for work. We were filming a commercial for San Diego tourism. “Three artists explore San Diego and find their inspiration.” That piece was the beginning of the beginning of my thoughts about how people travel differently.
I had to leave my work trip early for my grandma’s funeral in Idaho. I left San Diego, ran through airports, and missed connections—crying to a gate agent after my flight left without me is a tale for another day. I missed the wake but made it for the funeral services the next morning. It was the first time my entire family had been together outside the context of a holiday in years. And for the first time in years, I stepped foot in a Mormon church. Neither has happened again since. I pray no one dies and forces another such meeting.
The trip was awash with nostalgia and grief. Both San Diego and Idaho. Both places I’ve known as a child and as an adult. My family has gathered and lived in both. And both these places feel familiar and not familiar at the same time.
And yet, when I look through the photos below I think of..
the smell of fresh tortillas
damp ocean air
the Mormon family in our hotel breakfast nook having 6 AM scripture study before they go to SeaWorld
the smell of eucalyptus
the way the eucalyptus smells exactly how I remembered it
the octopus cupcakes my mom made for my 4th birthday
walking in a parade as a toddler, dressed in a pioneer skirt and bonnet hat
the reading nook at the Scripps Miramar Ranch Library
damp ocean air
the smell of fresh tortillas
From my journals the week of the San Diego trip and Idaho funeral:
9.11.22
“When I’m overwhelmed, I start on the right side of the page. Like I’m trying to start over.
You need to slow down, to become reacquainted with yourself. This is all related and unrelated.
I’m tired of it. And tired of the idea of performing traumas. What others see is a projection of you. Do you think what they see is true? Are you, you? Or are you what happened to you?
I miss losing myself in art. In creation. In a character.
Grief is a kind of character. Memory is a kind of character.
This is something and nothing.”
This was two years ago. Almost exactly. I don’t know what any of it means in the long run. But looking back on memories, at journal entries, and photos…it’s nice to have the context.
That’s all for today’s analog log. Til next time…
xoxo
Omg starting on the right hand side page in a journal when overwhelmed! I do this too ahahah