It only takes twenty-seven hours to get home: from a van to the bullet train to the metro to the monorail, then to the plane, another plane, a shuttle, and then the van. There was immediate ingestion of Mexican food, doable only after a mad dash sprint to the airport parking shuttle, the high-speed drive back to the airport to pick up the wife and her baggage followed by the high-speed drive to Albuquerque’s San Mateo exit. Pico de Gallo, bean and cheese, a stray fajita or two. Normalcy.
Six hours of sleep. In the van.
The wife feeling the impact of five Japanese cities in fifteen days. She is a bit under the weather. I give her the entire bed while retreating to sleep in the van. But this is no hardship. I love sleeping in the van. The windows cracked a first taste of fall in the air. Coyotes coming to inspect. Near total silence. I dream of Japan. No specific faces, just a blend of all of us and the promise of something new. Something futuristic spinning like a typhoon off the edges of my dream. Just when I think I can identify, I wake to see the glow of dawn through the window.
Coffee, real coffee, hits like lightning as the sun crests the Sangres in a blur of brilliant red. Northern Flicker’s call from the brush near the edge of the patio. I dash inside to upload a specific version of a specific film and tweak some book settings I’ve been asked to tweak. Blurb work, right here waiting for me. A brief check of my calendar to identify call times for later in the day.
Unpacking, both cameras and clothes, takes less than ten minutes. Batteries are topped off, images backed up and clothes tossed in the washer. My brain moves on to the next trip, Miami, and the events I have before I leave. There is the online event for Blurb, the Albuquerque Balloon Fiesta, and the planning meetings for the next workshop in Berlin. I text the family to let them know I am home.
Fatigue pulls at my edges. Is it today yesterday or tomorrow? I know not. Down five pounds my body screams for something substantial. I dream of more Mexican food. A proof-of-concept idea pops up in my mind and I know I will have to address it at some point soon. I will have to go alone to get this done, but there is no shaking it. An idea that won’t leave me alone. I know it will change things unless I fail in the application.
The taste of photography lingers. Those few images just good enough to remind me of what is possible. It always happens this way. Like a relapse. One little sip and things begin to slip. What if? This is the tease, and it’s a good one. This will cause my brain to lose a certain percentage of control. I will make unrealistic plans. I will commit to meaningless things. And then time will pass and all will return to normal. Tomorrow, all will be forgotten. Time and duties will slide slowly over the blackboard. Dust from the chalked memory falling like stars.
Comments 14
“I love sleeping in the van.” A literally liminal state between there and home.
Beautiful piece of writing, Dan.
Author
That’s so true. A middle ground with wheels.
I must say, since you left youtube (more or less) your content and writing on Shifter has improved substantially. It’s now a daily stop. Maybe you should consider starting a newsletter, too :). I hear all the cool kids are now doing it.
Author
Ha, thanks for that. There is no plan. As of now. This post was written in ten or fifteen minutes off the top of my head as I pondered how bad by jet lag would be.
The last paragraph. Pure poetry about taking pictures. And suddenly the realization: that’s mine too. I know that. I should do that again one day. Thank you Dan.
Author
A slippery slope.
In my Business we have a saying: never offer an addict “just one last hit, one little sip” — never works out.
Author
Very true, and good advice.
What a whirlwind. What an adventure, but exhausting, too. After reading, I was ready for a nap. Great writing!
Author
I’m trying to decide if I’m sick, tired, both. A great trip.
Anytime I find myself having freshly arrived at the Albuquerque airport, my first priority is to make a beeline for the Frontier to get some of those fresh-made tortillas and cheese enchiladas with red chile. Yum yum.
Author
Hit Valentina’s yesterday here in SF. I dreamt of it for two days.
I find coming back that the jet lag is not as bad. Perhaps part of that is that you’re returning to “normalcy”. But places like Japan and VN take much longer to wash off — my mind is there pretty much constantly for quite some time afterwards. But I no longer travel in the way that your workshop — packed itineraries and moving all the time. Maybe it’s age, or something else, but I just like to fully unpack my bag and get to know the area, the people. In other places I rent a moto (not sure if that’s allowed in JP) and “overland” during the day and come home at night. This works for me. But it’s slow travel, time consuming, and you need to be the type that doesn’t have a strict agenda. I am that type now, but was’t 20 years ago.
Last trip back from DaNang was 47 hours door-to-door. And with each transfer I had to fight the urge to make a u-turn. My body and responsibilities needed me home, but my mind needed me anywhere but home.
Welcome back. You’ve been missed.
Author
Slow travel and workshops are on the opposite ends of the spectrum. Although, our 2026, Japan class will be very different from this one. There are benefits to both styles of travel.