I have been travelling up and down between California and Nevada for two months now. We have brought 5 suitcases with us from Italy, but the number has now somehow escalated to 7 - probably thanks to my Vegas shopping spree and some stuff we picked up from a storage that we rented at the end of our previous trip. We now bear a striking resemblance to a travelling gipsy family with our 7 suitcases, a countless number of smaller bags, a box full of our food essentials (like olive oil, agave syrup and Weetabix cereals), a pissed cat, and, at various stages of our journey, some friends and my mother in the back seat. It's not at all embarrassing to pull up to a hotel valet and load the bellman with 24 different items. Not. At. All.
However, I really do enjoy this kind of life. It gives me a certain sense of freedom and independence, and I wouldn't trade it for anything, but I also often feel a sense of loss when I leave a place I have managed to make my home. When our car pulls out of the driveway of a house we have been renting for two weeks, or a hotel we've been staying at, I always think about how unlikely it is for me to return there again, yet I know I will always remember it and the days I spent there, whether they were rainy or sunny, busy or slow, happy or sad. With time I have learnt not to look back too much, though - something new is waiting around every corner and I have to focus and keep going. Ain't nobody got time for being mushy.
Leather jacket: Pinko
T-shirt: Banana Republic
Jeans: ? (stolen from my fashion-forward mother)
Baseball hat: vintage (from Ibiza)
Bag: vintage python