005: Trapped In Joshua Tree
Lockdown had us all on pause. The world slowed down, but the noise inside? Deafening.
Post-grad life launched with promise, then slammed into the wall that was COVID. What followed was a blur—Zoom fatigue, masked grocery runs, socially distant hangouts that felt more awkward than intimate. We all got real good at pretending things were fine. They weren’t.
Wearing masks during allergy season, though? Still a win.
Somewhere in the middle of that collective stall, the world cracked open. The names—Breonna Taylor, George Floyd, Ahmaud Arbery—weren’t just headlines. They were fuel. And for once, nobody could look away. America got a long, unfiltered look at itself. Ugly, overdue, and loud.
While the country was coming to terms with its reflection, I was wrestling with my own. Creatively stagnant, undervalued, restless. I needed out. I pulled together a visual campaign in upstate New York with a crew of fearless artists who didn’t care about rules—just results. We shot. We argued. We made magic in the cold. And then it ended, and I knew it wasn’t enough.
There’s something about that city. The way it lets you disappear and reinvent at the same time. I hit all the predictable beats—Hollywood sign hikes, rooftop drinks, reunions with college friends. It felt good. But it wasn’t what I was looking for.
Out there, with nothing but sand, rocks, and stillness, everything clicked. The chaos melted. There was no pressure to perform, no need to explain. Just space. Space to think, to breathe, to listen. That kind of quiet gets you out of you head.
When I came back to Jersey, I didn’t land—I launched. Music videos, location scouting, late-night edits that turned into something real. The grind picked back up, but this time, it had purpose.
I’m not claiming to have it all figured out. But I’m further than I was. The road’s still winding. Still wild. And the search? It definitely continues.