Run Home, Jac. Run Home.

I’m staying in Brighton, England.

Just thought I’d rip off that bandaid. I have chosen not to come back to the U.S. in literally one of the most conflicted decisions of my life. The US and UK Embassies are pretty much like “Go home now, or be prepared to kiss your friends and family goodbye forever.”

And in all the travel communities I’m a part of, they’re like, “Don’t go anywhere. Stay where you are or you will die.”

And in my head one voice says, “What if something happens to your family while you’re away? What if something happens to you while you’re away and you can’t get home?”

The other voice says, “Do you really want to make that trek back to the States through all this? You wanna risk the trip back to them have to quarantine somewhere away from your friends and family in hopes that you don’t have it and give it to them? Also, this is your life. This is where you chose to be before this, because it’s your life.”

I don’t technically have a home in the States. Of course friends and family on both coasts would happily welcome me, but it’s true, this is my life. I want to be here. If I went to Oregon, I’d be doing it against myself. I’d be indefinitely somewhere I’m not comfortable being. An what a luxury to have a place to go, whether I’m comfortable or not.

So I have to choose between my family and my adventure, and I chose my adventure. (Which is obviously reductive and not true). It’s just a shitty place to be. A shitty choice to have to make. If I were still living in New York, I’d have stayed in New York. Because that was home for me.

I love this pure innocence. ‘We’re cutting off communication for my health. Here are lyrics to a song in Bring it On.

And I’m here now, comfortable, just as safe as I’d be in Oregon. I have friends. I have stores. I have things to keep me occupied and I have the incredible generosity of friends and family supporting me.

I dunno if I made the right choice. I hate knowing that the only way I find out if I’ve made the right choice or not is if something bad happens.

And I’m, and you are if you’re reading this, lucky. We have our lives still. We hopefully have the lives of the people we love. Comfort, safety. In Brighton people still fill the streets (I don’t fill the streets. I sit on couch in bnb). Some people still have total freedom. So I suppose it’s important to remember that while we have a chance to be lucky, we should be pretty fucking grateful for it. Thousands and thousands of people all over the world no longer share that with us.


It’s actually been a nice week in quarantine (I was sick, I am now fine, I do not know if it was Plague). I haven’t had a place to myself literally in years. Like lots and lots of years. So that’s cool. Started doing yoga again. Attended an Instagram live workout sesh and decided it’s too weird for me.

I did no writing. Which is to be expected when you have endless real time to do it.

I read one book.

Wait, what have I actually done this week?

I interviewed my little brother Scott for a post about eating healthy while traveling. It seems a little, um, dated… maybe… is the word? A little irrelevant? Anyway, I’ll do a modified post because he’s a smarty and a baddy and was burping and farting the whole time and I got some realllllyyyyy good quotes that were pretty much just him spewing nonsensical words. It’s solid gold.

Anyway, wish me luck this week. I meet Paula tomorrow at what looks like a mansion via the bnb photos and will try to avoid the hundreds of people still enjoying the sunshine in Brighton. I’ll be actually writing (I swear it) and hopefully, maybe posting stories for you to read if you, like me, are limited on reading material.

Good luck to you. Stay safe. Stay inside and all that.