Photograph by Brian Scott Casey
“Every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.” Matsua Basho
For a long time, I thought I was looking for my home. I have loved and lost many places in pursuit of this dream; left them behind me and kept on looking.
I lived in Missouri for 19 years, and never once felt like I belonged. My youth was a series of unfortunate events, plagued by a desperation to be anywhere but where I was. The road that led me out of there was chiseled into the hard edge of the limestone hills that had always seemed like strangers to me.
I remember Missouri best rolling behind me in the rear-view mirror, my past receding in a speeding haze of rust and green. The rush of the wind against my face blew away the stale air that had hung in all the places I had been before. A weight in my chest lifted, and the motion of the car kept it suspended. Finally, I could breathe.
I followed the road south until it hit the Gulf of Mexico, and I could drive no further.
Photograph by Brian Scott Casey
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