I have always believed that moving—p h y s i c a l l y moving—is my greatest escape from myself. I live for the
process of driving over state lines or waiting at baggage claims or flagging
down the next cab or scrounging up enough loose change to pay for the next train
ride because these are the things that keep me in m o t i o n, these are the things
which keep my brain occupied.
The past few years have
provided me with so many warmly welcoming cities, so many early morning
flights, so many hello’s and goodbye’s – from New York City, to Boston, to Atlanta,
to Chicago, to Nashville and beyond. And sometimes I forget that there’s a
whole world that’s been sitting at my fingertips all along, just waiting to be
my escape route at a still and steady pace.
The world of film and
movies (and television in general) has never been a place I’ve found a home in. The
idea of physically shutting down and remaining in one place of focus for an
extended period of time is not something I’ve ever considered to be an escape.
But, for me, the idea of
traveling means only pushing into the future, experiencing new places and
people for the very first time. Films have the ability to take me back to past
experiences, past feelings, past heartbreak.
(Maybe that’s why I never
let them in.)
