I’ve lived more than half my life in New Mexico. As much as I honor my roots back in New Jersey, I have to admit—I’m more New Mexican now than anything else.
Albuquerque and I have a love–hate relationship. I’ve been here long enough to see it all—the good, the bad, and the ugly. Too often, I dwell on the negative. Maybe it’s just my nature, or maybe over time the flaws simply stand out more than the beauty.
This place is a chaotic mix of everything America is. Stunning natural landscapes right next to extreme poverty. A complex mix of cultures and histories, with all the benefits and challenges that brings. And yes, it’s where nuclear weapons are still developed, just a few hours from where the first atomic bomb exploded in 1945. The fallout—both literal and figurative—still lingers, especially for Native communities who’ve lived with contaminated soil and water for decades.
But there’s also something rare here. Being a weirdo—or just different—isn’t just tolerated, it’s celebrated. I don’t think any other place in the country has this much genuine uniqueness. That recognition of individuality is part of what makes New Mexico one of the last truly original places to live.
It’s tested me, certainly, but it’s also given me a lot—personally and creatively. Case in point: this past weekend, I took part in a day-long project by Pulitzer Prize–winning artist Raven Chacon. The piece, Tiguex, went from dawn to dusk, a multifaceted performance celebrating this complicated, confusing, and ultimately original place we call home. I think it’s an event people will remember for years.
Being part of it reminded me why I came here in the first place, why I stayed, and why—even with all the frustrations—New Mexico still feels like home. For at least one day, it renewed the passion that brought me here decades ago.
Amplified metal rod with portable speaker; Glass Graveyard, part of Raven Chacon’s Tiguex. Video courtesy of Jesse Tatum