I’ve always been enamored by lost places. I step into them and drift away, watching golden light stream through treetops, quiet and listening to the sounds of the world. I never feel more alive, more inspired, than I do when I find something lost, something wild. That euphoria sings in my blood, igniting passion and excitement in my bones.

That first breath when you come up from a dive, and water streams from your face. That motionless moment floating beneath the surface of the sea, watching sunlight dance in the water above you. That sense of comfort exploring a shipwreck in the jungle, or a broken ruin on a hilltop.

I’ve been captivated by the concept of home for as long as I can remember. I’ve found that home is not a place so much as a feeling, a feeling that makes you want to come back to it time and time again. Home for me are those lost places, places I have to find, ruined places you can’t help but explore. I desire to be more lost in places so I can finally learn to remember.