The Bastard Child of Two Dreams

After a recent conversation with my husband, I realized that our tiny house is the bastard child of these two very different dreams. Built on wheels, with a traditional facade and an interior with bits of modern design, the house is a confused byproduct of two goals and two lifestyles — and a symbol of my fragmented self.

This Is Not a “Travel Blog” (But It Is a Travel Blog)

In her essay about life on tour with a rock band, Claire L. Evans says that travel teaches her more about time than it does about place. I agree. My favorite kind of “travel writing” — or I suppose writing about place — embarks on an inner journey, and uses a physical location as a diving board into one’s depths, into their mind. On a recent plane ride, I read a lovely piece called “Seeds” by Thao Thai about her grandfather and his garden, growing up, and Vietnam. The post isn’t about “travel,” and yet the journey the writer takes me on is…

Roots vs. Wanderlust: On Home, Accumulation & What’s Missing

It’s quite confusing, all of this.

How seeing the accumulation of my things in a space that I own is both exciting and suffocating. How roots and wanderlust continue to battle. How I am eager for “home” to be something concrete, but know that no place I inhabit will feel like home until I have the one thing that’s missing.