The feeling is always there, some days I’m barely aware of it; other days, it almost hurts: the desire to hit the road again. And yet, there’s no place I’d rather be than San Francisco right now.

It feels strange. I haven’t been in a situation like this in years. My “normal” is to be always on the move, nowhere for too long. But I keep scanning the map and I find nothing: there’s nowhere I want to go*.

The summer doesn’t inspire me. The bright sun and the heat make me feel miserable most of the time. I much prefer those gray cloudy days, slow rainy afternoons, and the magical foggy mornings. And of those mornings, I’m getting plenty here.

I spent the last two summers in Norway and Scotland, grayscale times I cherish now. I want that, I need that. So I’m learning to work on the same spots over and over, trying to find what I failed to see before. And while my desire to go somewhere is still there, I’m starting to love it. A project is building up here, I think. We shall see.

Come around September, though, I’ll be more than ready to hit that open road again. Where to, it doesn’t matter.

* By car, that is. I guess I could always take a flight to somewhere exotic on the other side of the world, but you know, I can’t afford that.