Passing Through

Sunday, November 1, 2015

I spent last weekend sorting through my iPhoto library; reliving my travels. When I first went abroad, I had just bought my DSLR and—through sheer trial and error—was teaching myself how to use it by religiously documenting my trip. Luckily, the haphazard photos I collected over those six months later served a purpose. I came to depend on those albums—scrolling through them on an almost daily basis to cope with the unexpected (reverse) culture shock I felt coming back home.

Fast forward a few years and I'm back at my scrolling. But, what's interesting is that the shots I cherish the most now are not the ones you might expect (hint: they don't involve me in a psuedo-Euro-chic outfit posed in front of X monument). These days, I'm drawn to the photos that capture a seemingly ordinary moment in time. Featuring people I'll never see again and movement that can't be replicated, no matter how many times I retrace my steps.

And so, this little black & white photo series was born.

Comprised of old and new... and just passing through.


Write Time

Monday, October 19, 2015

Lavender Shore by Melina Peterson
I often worry that if I stop blogging, I'll simply forget how to write. The longer I go not blogging, the more anxious I become about the thought of opening up a blank post and letting words, however silly or significant, transform themselves from jumbled html to coherent prose. I can only imagine the kind of anxiety professional writers must feel, which is why I don't think I could ever write for a living. I think the pressure to churn out creativity on command would ruin it for me. 

Since my last post on August 25th, I haven't attempted to draft anything new. However, there's been countless times I've gone off on mental tangents—usually while driving or cleaning my apartment— and thought "I should really blog about this." Yet, life continues to plug along at what feels like a weird combination of slow motion and hyper-speed, and other things have taken precedent. So, I've lost track of these ideas and left the words suspended in some of kind of limbo between pen and paper. (Or in this case...hand and keyboard?)

After uploading this shot from a weekend trip in Cambria, it took me a solid hour to work up the courage to even start typing. Instead, I lost myself in a daydream (that should really just be...a dream, since it's past 11pm on a Sunday)...staring into the sea of lavender and listening to my latest obsession on Spotify. In hopes of being somewhat-human on Monday morning, I tried to convince myself that 11:38pm on a Sunday night was not an ideal time to start a blog post. But, my irrational fear of forgetting how to write won. So...here we are. 

Now that I've probably lost 95% of the people that started this post, I don't know what to tell the loyal 5% still reading my jumbled Sunday night thoughts. I'm desperately trying to come up with something climactic to say after spending 3 wordy paragraphs writing about writing.

And it's turning into one of those moments. Kind of like the moment you first land a job. You're SO excited you finally have a job, until you realize...OH shit, I actually have to work now. 40 (or 60) hour weeks, 6 am wake-up calls, and 11pm bedtimes even when a tangential blog post is calling your name.



Tuesday, August 25, 2015

Griffith Park Observatory, Los Angeles by Melina Peterson
Griffith Observatory by Melina Peterson
The Reluctant Angeleno by Melina Peterson
From Griffith to Downtown by Melina Peterson
Let me preface this post by saying...I'm not entirely exaggerating when I refer to this as my new backyard. It's a 10 minute drive from my apartment and a reasonably timed hike for the rare occasion I wear my yoga pants to actually like, exercise. 

On a Sunday night whim, a couple friends and I ventured up to the Griffith Observatory to take in the view and the last few hours of the weekend. It was one of those aimless summer evenings. Our night at Griffith felt like summer the same way that drinking too much Pinot Grigio on the staircase of my un-air conditioned college apartment felt like summer. Moments like this embody that intangible characteristic of the season...but have become too few and far between lately.

Next to us at the top of the observatory was a young couple admiring the view. One of them was visiting from Paris for the week, so my friends and I subconsciously stepped up our LA-game, reciting the names of streets like a scene right out of The Californians. There was even a heated debate about whether or not the bright light running down the center of the city is in fact Western Avenue—jury/Google Maps is still out if anyone would like to lend some geographic expertise. 

And as we loudly pointed and squealed when we recognized a landmark, the dreamy French boyfriend (note: not just an archetype used for the dramatization of this blog post) stood in awe at our extensive, probably misguided, knowledge of Los Angeles.

It was a weird moment. Because, atop a big hill filled with buses of tourists...I felt unusually at home. Somehow, even after moving to the opposite side of town, I'm still in love with this dysfunctional city.

And yeah, it doesn't hurt that I have a telescope in my backyard.
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