Today, I have spent two decades on this rock that we all call home. Continuing with that analogy, it is a shame that so many roommates share this home and not only do most of them never even find time to see all the various rooms of the home, but our time as roommates is spent bickering. Either way, today is my twentieth birthday.
For my birthday, I am practicing the same reasoning behind a Fat Tuesday celebration. Being fully aware that you are going to spend the following time without a certain something, you indulge in it to get your fill ahead of time. Because of not having a laptop for the first part of this second endeavor, I will not be staying with hosts from CouchSurfing as much and so a day where I just sit back on a couch with newfound friends and smoke during episodes of Buffy The Vampire Slayer intertwined with time spent dismembering creatures aboard the Ishimura, a floating intergalactic vessel (or rather, playing Dead Space on the XBOX360). I will be here for the next week or so though, to attend a party at the house of the Denton hosts that invited me to stay with them previously. It seems all of them are moving out of their house locally known as the Bordello (which is Spanish for "male whorehouse"), and I offered to clean the Black Lagoon (otherwise known as their clogged bathtub; a shower where you expect Jeff Goldblum to rise out of the murky water behind you and smile before he takes you under to his underwater chambers) to thank them for letting me stay last time, and as an incentive for getting a place to stay this time as I pass through.
I'm not sure why I associate Jeff Goldblum with stalking you from his watery lair in the Bordello Black Lagoon, but the thought of it just seems frightening; an alternative being Willem Dafoe. Nobody really wants to find him lurking in their clogged bathtub, I would assume.
But no more of the randomness, for I have a day to tell of-
I left about three from College Station and headed towards Dallas; though I don't usually concern myself with time, Alex was throwing a bit of a party for my birthday and so time became a concern. However, there was one other initial concern that remained on my mind since I left directly from College Station. It seems the Kodiak managed to obtain an arrest warrant while he lived in College Station (calm down, dearies, it was only for an outstanding traffic violation; a traffic violation so remarkable that all the witness just sat around in awe and said "Outstanding!" in unison as if they were a heavenly choir) and since I had been pulled over by an officer of the law twice before, I knew that if I was pulled over in College Station that I would be postponing my current venture by about a week or so as I spent time in a county jail.
In order to possibly avoid any trouble, I tried to find some other activity so that I could use it as an alibi to tell an officer if I encountered one. I chose sitting on the rail of a small bridge and reading an issue of Rolling Stone (remember the one with Bob Dylan on the cover from the last blog? I am loving all this continuity in everything now) because that is something that doesn't look conspicuous at all. I mean, why read Rolling Stone in the comfort of your own home when you can read it on a bridge on the outside of town and be surrounded by blistering heat and traffic? Yeah, I was sure a cop would believe that reasoning.
Fortunately, my first ride of the day came before the flashing lights and sirens did. He was going to a graduation party in Tyler and the route he was taking would get me about an hour and a half closer to Dallas, so I rode with him. This is so terrible, I can't remember his name, but he had a dog in the backseat of his truck named Avery. I suppose the dog must've had more of a personality worth remembering the name associated with it.
Not really, he was a decent man, I suppose. He challenged and defied his appointed stereotype and I really loved that. He had a Southern accent and loved country music and was generally a country boy all around; and yet mentioned how he hated Fox News and how he studies different religions to keep an open mind about everything. Also, he turned me on to a newfound country singer that I actually like a little; Eric Church. He reminds me of the old country singers, singing about something that most people that listen can relate to and he has a certain Southern charm that just bleeds out through his music.
He dropped me off in Buffalo, and so I got near an on-ramp and started again, even more worried now about the time now. I tried to put it all out of my mind, and just so I didn't get hassled (even though I was out of Brazos County and didn't need to worry about the warrant), I still tried to keep an activity going. I started grooving to my trusty old iPod, and let the time pass as it happened. Eventually, I started singing a little which wouldn't have been a problem if I wasn't listening to "Pretty Fly For A White Guy" when I started.
You have no idea what kind of looks you get when you sing 'Give it to me baby, uh-huh, uh-huh' in a faux seductive female voice, certainly not looks of "I'm gonna' give that feller there a ride." so I decided to hold off on the singing for that particular moment.
At first, I thought the on-ramp didn't make much sense for hitchhiking; much less traffic and more likely than not, the people are only driving a shorter distance. After my first day back on the road, I've become the on-ramp's bitch though. Sure, there is less traffic, but that works out to your advantage considering that drivers know that there isn't much traffic either which gives them more reason to pick you up. Nevermind the fact that on most of the on-ramps I was hitchhiking on that first day, people had to slow down to nearly a crawl to get on so I had time to make eye contact with them, which almost always helps.
But after some amount of time, I was picked up by a shorter man in a silver glimmering cowboy hat that drove me to the next town about twenty miles ahead, called Fairfield. There isn't much to say about this ride really, we didn't talk much as he didn't speak much English but he was still a very outgoing man. Also, if there is ever a religion started for his silver glimmering cowboy hat (which I have named Russell; the silver glimmering cowboy hat, that is), somebody please let me know so I can give all glory to it.
Upon entering Fairfield, I saw a stand selling homegrown peaches and thought about that ideal of the lone weary hitchhiker, tired and starved after a day of travel, eating a homegrown peach on the side of the road that he bought from a stand in a small town. I thought that sounded great, so I worked on getting myself tired, starved, and weary while I walked over to buy one.
Only to find out they only sold them in containers of varying capacity, all of which would be too large for me to carry around. She couldn't make an exception, but she offered her smallest container of peaches to me again. That wasn't enough to fix her ruining my dream though; now I was just a hitchhiker that wasn't too weary or tired and maybe a little starved that attempted to buy a homegrown peach but got shut down by the woman running the peach stand.
Well, I headed out to the on-ramp and it wasn't five minutes before a white sport utility vehicle pulled up and offered me a ride to Corsicana, which was about an hour away from Dallas. At this point, I was beginning to wonder if I was even going to make the party or just arrive on his doorstep in the early hours of the morning, but obviously I took the ride. You just have to appreciate a ride that is filled with interesting firsts. The first time a newer sport utility vehicle picked me up (probably the newest car I had ever rode in, actually), the first time you rode with somebody who was drinking while driving (because it isn't enough just to drink then drive, you really have to go the distance sometimes), and the first ride to do a third thing. Sorry, that is about all I have on him. He did offer me a meal if I wanted it, and I wouldn't have turned him down but I was concerned about time again.
Corsicana. Ah, Corsicana. I was in there for about another five minutes before my next ride came, and didn't really notice anything too interesting in the five minutes I was there, so we can move on.
Now, there was a worse dilemma coming up. All of my rides at that point had just been taking me one or two towns up the road for the most part; which wasn't a problem up until then but it seems that a town coming up had a prison there and for both it and the next town close to it, there were signs warning people to not pick up hitchhikers in the area because they may be escaped convicts. If I didn't get a straight shot into Dallas with my next ride, I would most likely end up stuck in one of those towns.
Well, count it all joy, my brethren. Not only did it take about five minutes again to get a ride and not only were they outgoing and friendly people and not only did they smoke me out in their car and not only did they invite me back to their place if I didn't already have a party to go to and not only did they drive straight into Dallas and not only did they drive to Good Records which is a great locally owned record store, but they also drove me to where Alex could meet up with me so I didn't have to walk across town to reach him; all of which got me in Dallas in time for the party.
Such a good day to start back on the roads.
Regards from the Kodiak.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Friday, May 8, 2009
To Go Back To Where I Was Would Just Be Wrong, I'm Pressing On
It has been a long time, brothers and sisters. I'll take a little bit to tell you about where I have been between then and now but not too long; today is a beautiful day, and I'm ready to get out and see it.
First, trying to leave Oklahoma City turned out to be a story all by itself; it seemed nearly impossible. I spent most of my first day walking along a toll interstate, blatantly ignoring the large signs that I passed telling me that it was illegal for pedestrians to walk along a toll highway. I really hadn't had much trouble getting a ride in Texas, so I assumed I would have had someone stop soon enough so I wouldn't have to be concerned with the fact that I was illegally walking down the toll road.
Stupid Oklahoma.
Seven hours I walked; and what happened after those seven hours (during which I decided not to worry about filling up any water bottles because I assumed too much) isn't much better. An officer of the law came up and turned on his lights and sirens when approaching me. How serious of a threat am I, really? I don't think whatever "kid walking down the road" in police numerical code really calls for lights and sirens. I liken this situation to a health inspector checking that a child's lemonade stand has a permit to operate; at that point, you're really just taking your job way too seriously, calm down.
Either way, considering that a few people I know of might be reading this will be looking for instruction and advice, let this be a moment to stop to talk of our men in blue. From what I have learned, it is going to happen; you'll be pulled over by someone that will more often than not remind you of a Sheriff Rosco Coltrane archetype. Now, this could be seen as an unfavorable situation from a commonly shared perspective, but even moreso for my hitchhiking brethren that are more likely to carry along a little something for their peace pipe with them. But despite any reason you may have, treat the officer with the utmost respect; usually ass-kissing is easily noticeable and frowned upon but in this particular case, lay it on thick. I've been stopped by three cops so far and each time, puckering up just tends to get me out of trouble.
The officer searched me and ran my name in his computer, then had me stand with my hands behind my back as he loaded my backpack and sleeping bag into his trunk. Yeah, because I could wait until the opportune moment and lunge my sleeping bag at him and start running-until five minutes later, when he would've caught up with me in his car. But he ended up giving me a ride to a nearby truck stop that happened to be back in Oklahoma City, at which point I was beginning to play with the possibility of being trapped in this town and after a slightly frustrating day, I determined not to get caught in the wicked little web of Oklahoma City any longer.
That explains why I was stuck there for four more days.
Apparently, no truckers head eastward anymore; "Fuck east, west is the new east" would appear to be the general consensus. The only trucker I could find headed that direction was going to Ohio which would've been a great start on my way to Maryland, so I decided to wait for him to leave. Unfortunately, that took a few days of him trying to find out about the load he was going to be picking up which meant a few days for me making that little slice of Oklahoma City my temporary stomping grounds. Mainly, that just meant spending a few days listening to truckers provide commentary on whatever movie was playing in the lounge; which isn't near as bad as it sounds.
But after a few days, the trucker left and the ride to Ohio had begun. I was dropped off outside of Columbus by about ninety miles and that is when everything started to fall apart in front of me. I did manage to get a ride to a small town outside of Columbus where I spent the night; but after that, I found out something. There is an old addage about people from Southern regions being more outgoing; and the more time I spent in Ohio, the more that honestly seemed to be the case. That waitress that smiles at you as you eat your breakfast in IHOP, the cashier that asks how you are doing with a friendly demeanor as he hands you your change; those little gestures help out immensely with the loneliness of the road but I couldn't get so much as a smile out of anybody where I was. The only person that I was able to get to smile and laugh was the man that gave me a ride to the small town, and he was from Texas moving to Ohio.
Given that, my loneliness on the road had hit me pretty hard when I got there and that alone I could probably handle as I had before, but then I broke one of the basic understandings of hitchhiking. I hitched into a metropolis nearing sunset, knowing that I didn't have any options once I got there of getting out or getting a place to stay. My desire to keep moving had overwhelmed me and left me unprepared for the situation. It was at that point, with the loneliness and paranoia of a night-drenched city all around me that I broke down and worked up a Greyhound ticket back to my hometown temporarily.
At first, I felt ashamed of myself for giving up when it was already one in the morning, and if I could've lasted a few more hours, I would've been fine. But it seems the road is always trying to teach me that no matter where I am, there is an opportunity there to experience and learn more about myself or that place. I think I know somebody that put it much better than that though-
"There is nowhere you can be that isn't where your meant to be, it's easy."
Coming back home offered me a chance to learn more about how far I had come in the last two months, but not in the regional sense necessarily. I am more of a patient person now, I feel like I have obtained some lost spirituality within me, and I am more confident in myself as a human being. Last night, when dealing with an issue that The Clash knew a good deal about, I had my first completely self-confident thought in several years.
"Darling you got to let me know
Should I stay or should I go?
If you say that you are mine,
I'll be here until the end of time.
So you've got to let me know
Should I stay or should I go?"
I had some forbidden fruit that could potentially become a relationship and I thought about resting and resuming a normal life there in my old stomping grounds, but I begin to develop a different opinion after pondering about it a little more. What would happen when I became miserable with every faction of the life society had appointed me, save for the lovely lady by my side potentially? I would want to leave again.
"I lost my Saint Christopher whenever I kissed her..."
I had lived by that line from Tom Waits, waiting for a partner that I matched with well enough that would end my life on the road and bring me back to the aforementioned normal life. I found out last night that I don't even want what I was planning on finding; I have fallen in love with the road and she kisses me kindly. Normal life? Fuck that, I'm everweird and I couldn't be more proud.
"I don't ever want to feel like I did back then..."
There is the newest issue of Rolling Stone on the counter next to me, and I can't help but think that Bob Dylan's kindly smirk on the cover is meant specifically for me; as odd as it sounds.
I've been thinking about the tomato vines as a metaphor for spirituality lately; how the tomato cage helps to make the plant stronger but in doing so, it limits it to only a general means of growth. Denominations are the tomato cages of our spirituality, some need them to remain strong in their lives and in their faith but it patterns their growth after most members of that denomination before them. So what happens to the ones who let their spirituality develop freely and disregard the consequences of doing so?
Well, I'm a tomato vine sprawling across a wooden fence with no particular direction to grow except outward. Sometimes for some vines, nature will grow those tomatoes more ripe than any tool of man ever could. It's a sunny day and I'm looking to stretch out and grow some more.
I'm ready to start again, enough typing, let's get this show on the road.
"Our battered suitcases were piled on the sidewalk again; we had longer ways to go. But no matter, the road is life."
Regards from the Kodiak.
First, trying to leave Oklahoma City turned out to be a story all by itself; it seemed nearly impossible. I spent most of my first day walking along a toll interstate, blatantly ignoring the large signs that I passed telling me that it was illegal for pedestrians to walk along a toll highway. I really hadn't had much trouble getting a ride in Texas, so I assumed I would have had someone stop soon enough so I wouldn't have to be concerned with the fact that I was illegally walking down the toll road.
Stupid Oklahoma.
Seven hours I walked; and what happened after those seven hours (during which I decided not to worry about filling up any water bottles because I assumed too much) isn't much better. An officer of the law came up and turned on his lights and sirens when approaching me. How serious of a threat am I, really? I don't think whatever "kid walking down the road" in police numerical code really calls for lights and sirens. I liken this situation to a health inspector checking that a child's lemonade stand has a permit to operate; at that point, you're really just taking your job way too seriously, calm down.
Either way, considering that a few people I know of might be reading this will be looking for instruction and advice, let this be a moment to stop to talk of our men in blue. From what I have learned, it is going to happen; you'll be pulled over by someone that will more often than not remind you of a Sheriff Rosco Coltrane archetype. Now, this could be seen as an unfavorable situation from a commonly shared perspective, but even moreso for my hitchhiking brethren that are more likely to carry along a little something for their peace pipe with them. But despite any reason you may have, treat the officer with the utmost respect; usually ass-kissing is easily noticeable and frowned upon but in this particular case, lay it on thick. I've been stopped by three cops so far and each time, puckering up just tends to get me out of trouble.
The officer searched me and ran my name in his computer, then had me stand with my hands behind my back as he loaded my backpack and sleeping bag into his trunk. Yeah, because I could wait until the opportune moment and lunge my sleeping bag at him and start running-until five minutes later, when he would've caught up with me in his car. But he ended up giving me a ride to a nearby truck stop that happened to be back in Oklahoma City, at which point I was beginning to play with the possibility of being trapped in this town and after a slightly frustrating day, I determined not to get caught in the wicked little web of Oklahoma City any longer.
That explains why I was stuck there for four more days.
Apparently, no truckers head eastward anymore; "Fuck east, west is the new east" would appear to be the general consensus. The only trucker I could find headed that direction was going to Ohio which would've been a great start on my way to Maryland, so I decided to wait for him to leave. Unfortunately, that took a few days of him trying to find out about the load he was going to be picking up which meant a few days for me making that little slice of Oklahoma City my temporary stomping grounds. Mainly, that just meant spending a few days listening to truckers provide commentary on whatever movie was playing in the lounge; which isn't near as bad as it sounds.
But after a few days, the trucker left and the ride to Ohio had begun. I was dropped off outside of Columbus by about ninety miles and that is when everything started to fall apart in front of me. I did manage to get a ride to a small town outside of Columbus where I spent the night; but after that, I found out something. There is an old addage about people from Southern regions being more outgoing; and the more time I spent in Ohio, the more that honestly seemed to be the case. That waitress that smiles at you as you eat your breakfast in IHOP, the cashier that asks how you are doing with a friendly demeanor as he hands you your change; those little gestures help out immensely with the loneliness of the road but I couldn't get so much as a smile out of anybody where I was. The only person that I was able to get to smile and laugh was the man that gave me a ride to the small town, and he was from Texas moving to Ohio.
Given that, my loneliness on the road had hit me pretty hard when I got there and that alone I could probably handle as I had before, but then I broke one of the basic understandings of hitchhiking. I hitched into a metropolis nearing sunset, knowing that I didn't have any options once I got there of getting out or getting a place to stay. My desire to keep moving had overwhelmed me and left me unprepared for the situation. It was at that point, with the loneliness and paranoia of a night-drenched city all around me that I broke down and worked up a Greyhound ticket back to my hometown temporarily.
At first, I felt ashamed of myself for giving up when it was already one in the morning, and if I could've lasted a few more hours, I would've been fine. But it seems the road is always trying to teach me that no matter where I am, there is an opportunity there to experience and learn more about myself or that place. I think I know somebody that put it much better than that though-
"There is nowhere you can be that isn't where your meant to be, it's easy."
Coming back home offered me a chance to learn more about how far I had come in the last two months, but not in the regional sense necessarily. I am more of a patient person now, I feel like I have obtained some lost spirituality within me, and I am more confident in myself as a human being. Last night, when dealing with an issue that The Clash knew a good deal about, I had my first completely self-confident thought in several years.
"Darling you got to let me know
Should I stay or should I go?
If you say that you are mine,
I'll be here until the end of time.
So you've got to let me know
Should I stay or should I go?"
I had some forbidden fruit that could potentially become a relationship and I thought about resting and resuming a normal life there in my old stomping grounds, but I begin to develop a different opinion after pondering about it a little more. What would happen when I became miserable with every faction of the life society had appointed me, save for the lovely lady by my side potentially? I would want to leave again.
"I lost my Saint Christopher whenever I kissed her..."
I had lived by that line from Tom Waits, waiting for a partner that I matched with well enough that would end my life on the road and bring me back to the aforementioned normal life. I found out last night that I don't even want what I was planning on finding; I have fallen in love with the road and she kisses me kindly. Normal life? Fuck that, I'm everweird and I couldn't be more proud.
"I don't ever want to feel like I did back then..."
There is the newest issue of Rolling Stone on the counter next to me, and I can't help but think that Bob Dylan's kindly smirk on the cover is meant specifically for me; as odd as it sounds.
I've been thinking about the tomato vines as a metaphor for spirituality lately; how the tomato cage helps to make the plant stronger but in doing so, it limits it to only a general means of growth. Denominations are the tomato cages of our spirituality, some need them to remain strong in their lives and in their faith but it patterns their growth after most members of that denomination before them. So what happens to the ones who let their spirituality develop freely and disregard the consequences of doing so?
Well, I'm a tomato vine sprawling across a wooden fence with no particular direction to grow except outward. Sometimes for some vines, nature will grow those tomatoes more ripe than any tool of man ever could. It's a sunny day and I'm looking to stretch out and grow some more.
I'm ready to start again, enough typing, let's get this show on the road.
"Our battered suitcases were piled on the sidewalk again; we had longer ways to go. But no matter, the road is life."
Regards from the Kodiak.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Why You Won't Be Seeing Blogs Near As Much For Right Now
Saturday marked a month on the road for me. For the celebration of such an event (and perhaps to drown out the loneliness), my host and I bought a 1.75 litre bottle of vodka to partake of; and by the end of the evening, we had drank most of it together. Perhaps more important to this story is the fact that I rarely drink and the last time I had vodka (or this much alcohol at all) was about two years ago. While my host wasn't too terribly altered because of it, I was committing a genocide of brain cells and as far as the old saying "three sheets to the wind" is concerned, my sheets had up and flew away about three screwdrivers ago. I was nothing to the wind now.
Needless to say, the next morning I awoke and while my brain screamed at the top of its brain-lungs how much it hated me, I got to play the "Guess What I Did Last Night?" game.
I hate that game. Win or lose, you lose.
With the game, you always get your first clue free. My first clue was the shirt I was wearing last night thrown to the floor beside me, and that was enough to get me started. Many thoughts arose at that first clue.
"Why is my shirt not on me?"
That one was determined by feeling my upper body and noticing a very distinguishable lack of shirt there.
"Well, could be worse. At least my pants are-"
Oh, balls.
A quick hand to the lower body revealed that despite me not being able to do common activities when blitzkrieged, shedding of my clothes is apparently one of the activities I can still do just fine under the influence.
But the shirt was more of a clue than it looked. After picking it up to put it back on my body, I felt the distinct feeling of a wet article of clothing. Well, other symptoms of something being wet typically includes a noticeable odor that might help me determine why said item is indeed damp, so I took a sniff.
If there was a smell to fit just the word "awful", I'm pretty sure it was all over my shirt.
"Awful and-"
"Awful annnnnd-"
"Awful and cheese."
My shirt had the scent of awful and cheese.
I hate this game so damn much.
I walked over to a pair of shorts (not the clothing I was wearing last night, mind you, that comes later) and slipped them on. Upon walking into the den, I saw the sight to fit the smell that you would call "awful and cheese".
Bodily fluids can ruin a laptop. And a couch cushion. And a wooden coffee table. And a shirt. And a floor. That should be the first tip listed in any guidebook of any kind; bodily fluids will fuck your shit up.
So my laptop is fried now.
But the game must go on, so I walked into the kitchen and found a smoke-filled room and a small skillet on the stovetop that had what appeared to be a large lump of charcoal, with little bits of yellow still around it.
One shouldn't attempt making a grilled cheese sandwich when intoxicated. Lesson number two in that same guidebook mentioned before.
Expecting my host to be furious, I found out that he had broke a window in his room from almost tripping and falling through it so suddenly things don't seem so bad.
I had to keep up my travels but I need the money for a new laptop so I will be hitching to Maryland to join a carnival temporarily. I think one of the things I love most about hitching is that we get to say sentences that most people would only say to jest.
I'm going to join the carnival in Maryland; and I'm not jesting.
Regards from the Kodiak.
Needless to say, the next morning I awoke and while my brain screamed at the top of its brain-lungs how much it hated me, I got to play the "Guess What I Did Last Night?" game.
I hate that game. Win or lose, you lose.
With the game, you always get your first clue free. My first clue was the shirt I was wearing last night thrown to the floor beside me, and that was enough to get me started. Many thoughts arose at that first clue.
"Why is my shirt not on me?"
That one was determined by feeling my upper body and noticing a very distinguishable lack of shirt there.
"Well, could be worse. At least my pants are-"
Oh, balls.
A quick hand to the lower body revealed that despite me not being able to do common activities when blitzkrieged, shedding of my clothes is apparently one of the activities I can still do just fine under the influence.
But the shirt was more of a clue than it looked. After picking it up to put it back on my body, I felt the distinct feeling of a wet article of clothing. Well, other symptoms of something being wet typically includes a noticeable odor that might help me determine why said item is indeed damp, so I took a sniff.
If there was a smell to fit just the word "awful", I'm pretty sure it was all over my shirt.
"Awful and-"
"Awful annnnnd-"
"Awful and cheese."
My shirt had the scent of awful and cheese.
I hate this game so damn much.
I walked over to a pair of shorts (not the clothing I was wearing last night, mind you, that comes later) and slipped them on. Upon walking into the den, I saw the sight to fit the smell that you would call "awful and cheese".
Bodily fluids can ruin a laptop. And a couch cushion. And a wooden coffee table. And a shirt. And a floor. That should be the first tip listed in any guidebook of any kind; bodily fluids will fuck your shit up.
So my laptop is fried now.
But the game must go on, so I walked into the kitchen and found a smoke-filled room and a small skillet on the stovetop that had what appeared to be a large lump of charcoal, with little bits of yellow still around it.
One shouldn't attempt making a grilled cheese sandwich when intoxicated. Lesson number two in that same guidebook mentioned before.
Expecting my host to be furious, I found out that he had broke a window in his room from almost tripping and falling through it so suddenly things don't seem so bad.
I had to keep up my travels but I need the money for a new laptop so I will be hitching to Maryland to join a carnival temporarily. I think one of the things I love most about hitching is that we get to say sentences that most people would only say to jest.
I'm going to join the carnival in Maryland; and I'm not jesting.
Regards from the Kodiak.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Thoughts On The Road
I figured that while I was sitting in Oklahoma City for a few days, it would be the appropriate time to write an entry that covers more of the emotional side of this lifestyle, especially since as of this Saturday, I have been on the road for one month. While I am not ready to turn around and go back to my former life right now, I am beginning to come to terms with some of the harsher realities of my travels.
The loneliness hit harder while I was here than it has before. I find myself constantly feeling like I am alone even when I am with other people, considering that I am a temporary visitor wherever I go. I'm only getting what I mentioned that I wanted in one of my first entries though, I'm getting single-serving friends. I guess I should've been more careful what I wished for.
The other part of the loneliness is the desire for human contact. Not sexual contact necessarily, but more of having someone hold you and holding them in return. I want to fall asleep in the arms of another again, I never thought I would miss it that much.
I wanted to share that because I know that a lot of tenderfoots are reading this blog to consider taking such a trip for themselves. There is a negative element to living this lifestyle, and I want anybody reading this to know that too. Now, that isn't all there is, but it is something to strongly consider.
I feel like I am on the steps of losing myself to my travels, and this is the point where most would turn around and resume society's ideals of a normal life. It is going to be tough to fight against the urge to go back to it, but I think it will be better for me if I stay along this road and find out where it leads.
This part of the journey is really all about shedding those layers that have developed over the years of your life, the layers that society and the many constructs of it have created to tell you who you are meant to be. It can be a hard process but once you can take off those, you find out who you really are.
By the way, I rolled a die today to determine where I go next, turns out I am headed towards Missouri, my friends and companions. Also, expect a general blog on hitching tips and tricks I've found so far soon.
Regards from the Kodiak.
The loneliness hit harder while I was here than it has before. I find myself constantly feeling like I am alone even when I am with other people, considering that I am a temporary visitor wherever I go. I'm only getting what I mentioned that I wanted in one of my first entries though, I'm getting single-serving friends. I guess I should've been more careful what I wished for.
The other part of the loneliness is the desire for human contact. Not sexual contact necessarily, but more of having someone hold you and holding them in return. I want to fall asleep in the arms of another again, I never thought I would miss it that much.
I wanted to share that because I know that a lot of tenderfoots are reading this blog to consider taking such a trip for themselves. There is a negative element to living this lifestyle, and I want anybody reading this to know that too. Now, that isn't all there is, but it is something to strongly consider.
I feel like I am on the steps of losing myself to my travels, and this is the point where most would turn around and resume society's ideals of a normal life. It is going to be tough to fight against the urge to go back to it, but I think it will be better for me if I stay along this road and find out where it leads.
This part of the journey is really all about shedding those layers that have developed over the years of your life, the layers that society and the many constructs of it have created to tell you who you are meant to be. It can be a hard process but once you can take off those, you find out who you really are.
By the way, I rolled a die today to determine where I go next, turns out I am headed towards Missouri, my friends and companions. Also, expect a general blog on hitching tips and tricks I've found so far soon.
Regards from the Kodiak.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Shun the nonbeliever. Shuuuuuuuuun.
First of all, my apologies for going so long without any form of an update, and it has certainly been the worst time to go without one. I just feel like I dove into a deep end with my travels and I needed the events that happened in Denton to give me a taste of my old life again, I'll explain everything as the entry continues on.
I ended up staying in Denton about a week at the Bordello, where seven different guys (all of them deeply delved into the arts, particularly film and music) lived together. It brought back enough memories of belonging to a group that I felt like I was beginning to miss from being on the road. It timed perfectly with whenever my loneliness began to really set in. I plan to meet up with all of them down the line, but for right now, I had to continue on my way as they continued on theirs.
Over the course of the week, I helped paint a new recording studio and met an array of interesting people while I was there. I had even considered moving there and living for a few months with the rest of the guys in the Bordello, but then wanderlust struck me again and I had to leave.
Leaving their side, a new adventure begins. I have ran out of initial funds and now, things are going to get interesting. So far, it has not been a burden, I asked to wash dishes in a Waffle House in exchange for a meal and I ended up getting one for free from a very gracious waitress. That is the only place where my lack of money has changed my travels thus far.
I initially got a ride into Oklahoma from an older man turning seventy who was going to gamble in a casino. He wasn't much in the way of company, but was playing some really early Elvis that I could get into and enjoy. He eventually reached the end of my road and let me out near the edge of the border, and I started walking and discovered it isn't as easy getting a ride in Oklahoma as it was in Texas. I've always heard that when you travel, you don't only get to experience a new region, you learn to truly appreciate your own; in this regard, that is true.
I reached a resting site and began to prepare to sleep for the night. Luckily, the trash bags in the storage containers made this rustling sound when the wind blew that sounded eerily like someone running in your general direction. Nothing like paranoia and fear to lull you into a gentle calm sleep. I ended up staying awake until early morning then finally got some sleep there. I woke up and got a cup of coffee from the local information center and headed out on my path.
Even during the day, the waiting time for a ride is much longer in Oklahoma. I walked up the highway some, but to no avail. I was in the middle of nowhere, with nothing in sight for another twenty miles. I had a trucker finally pick me up, and haul me right across the state into Oklahoma City. Along the way, he told me about how he just had a good feeling about me when he saw me standing there and that was why he picked me up. Personally, I was getting my groove on with some music at the time so I think he was just digging my moves. He told me all about himself and all sorts of stories about people he had picked up and helped in the past. He offered to take me all the way into Kansas with him and to stay at his house, but I turned him down. Unfortunately, I didn't get a chance to thank him for his help when we parted ways.
Wherever you are, Coyote, should this message ever cross your way, The Kodiak thanks you for everything.
He told me about his ancestry that was similar to my own and it felt almost like meeting brethren along the highway, which is always welcomed. It seems like this adventure just gets better and better for me.
I'm sleepy. I'm done for tonight.
Regards from Kodiak.
I ended up staying in Denton about a week at the Bordello, where seven different guys (all of them deeply delved into the arts, particularly film and music) lived together. It brought back enough memories of belonging to a group that I felt like I was beginning to miss from being on the road. It timed perfectly with whenever my loneliness began to really set in. I plan to meet up with all of them down the line, but for right now, I had to continue on my way as they continued on theirs.
Over the course of the week, I helped paint a new recording studio and met an array of interesting people while I was there. I had even considered moving there and living for a few months with the rest of the guys in the Bordello, but then wanderlust struck me again and I had to leave.
Leaving their side, a new adventure begins. I have ran out of initial funds and now, things are going to get interesting. So far, it has not been a burden, I asked to wash dishes in a Waffle House in exchange for a meal and I ended up getting one for free from a very gracious waitress. That is the only place where my lack of money has changed my travels thus far.
I initially got a ride into Oklahoma from an older man turning seventy who was going to gamble in a casino. He wasn't much in the way of company, but was playing some really early Elvis that I could get into and enjoy. He eventually reached the end of my road and let me out near the edge of the border, and I started walking and discovered it isn't as easy getting a ride in Oklahoma as it was in Texas. I've always heard that when you travel, you don't only get to experience a new region, you learn to truly appreciate your own; in this regard, that is true.
I reached a resting site and began to prepare to sleep for the night. Luckily, the trash bags in the storage containers made this rustling sound when the wind blew that sounded eerily like someone running in your general direction. Nothing like paranoia and fear to lull you into a gentle calm sleep. I ended up staying awake until early morning then finally got some sleep there. I woke up and got a cup of coffee from the local information center and headed out on my path.
Even during the day, the waiting time for a ride is much longer in Oklahoma. I walked up the highway some, but to no avail. I was in the middle of nowhere, with nothing in sight for another twenty miles. I had a trucker finally pick me up, and haul me right across the state into Oklahoma City. Along the way, he told me about how he just had a good feeling about me when he saw me standing there and that was why he picked me up. Personally, I was getting my groove on with some music at the time so I think he was just digging my moves. He told me all about himself and all sorts of stories about people he had picked up and helped in the past. He offered to take me all the way into Kansas with him and to stay at his house, but I turned him down. Unfortunately, I didn't get a chance to thank him for his help when we parted ways.
Wherever you are, Coyote, should this message ever cross your way, The Kodiak thanks you for everything.
He told me about his ancestry that was similar to my own and it felt almost like meeting brethren along the highway, which is always welcomed. It seems like this adventure just gets better and better for me.
I'm sleepy. I'm done for tonight.
Regards from Kodiak.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Jim Carrey is right. Grr.
I really don't want to write this entry, let me tell you why. I really don't want to admit that a philosophy from a Jim Carrey movie is actually almost completely accurate and leads to a better life, but I must. It turns out that it is true, you can really change your life around with the use of one simple word.
Yes.
It seems that the more time I spend on the road, the more opportunities I get to say that precious little word, and each opportunity typically leads to a better outcome and reward. It led me to a hotel room paid for by a man that gave me a ride recently, and today, it led me to a chance to explore and discover the religion of Islam.
I was looking for a ride into Dallas (previously, when I stated I was in Dallas, I was actually on the outer limits), and two friendly and very hospitable gentlemen originally from Pakistan picked me up. They had been living in this country for about a year, and along the ride, asked me if I had some free time. I replied that I did and they asked if I would like to see a mosque. They had to catch up on their prayers and needed to stop by, and I was interested so I told them that I would. We arrived there and I went inside and they both were very courteous and asked me to remove my shoes.
I thumbed through the Qur'an while I was there, and I noticed how many of the stories were the same from the Judeo-Christian Bible; Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, Moses and his trials of freeing the Israelites, and even Christ himself.
Expect an upcoming blog entry on my thoughts about religion, I don't want to stir up negative emotions tonight.
I'm also going to say that little word to an invitation I got today to spend a few nights with a group of filmmakers and musicians living together in their little slice of Bohemian paradise in Denton. Right now, I'm saying it to a pipe being offered in my direction by some friends of a friend so I suppose this is it for now.
Regards from Kodiak.
Yes.
It seems that the more time I spend on the road, the more opportunities I get to say that precious little word, and each opportunity typically leads to a better outcome and reward. It led me to a hotel room paid for by a man that gave me a ride recently, and today, it led me to a chance to explore and discover the religion of Islam.
I was looking for a ride into Dallas (previously, when I stated I was in Dallas, I was actually on the outer limits), and two friendly and very hospitable gentlemen originally from Pakistan picked me up. They had been living in this country for about a year, and along the ride, asked me if I had some free time. I replied that I did and they asked if I would like to see a mosque. They had to catch up on their prayers and needed to stop by, and I was interested so I told them that I would. We arrived there and I went inside and they both were very courteous and asked me to remove my shoes.
I thumbed through the Qur'an while I was there, and I noticed how many of the stories were the same from the Judeo-Christian Bible; Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, Moses and his trials of freeing the Israelites, and even Christ himself.
Expect an upcoming blog entry on my thoughts about religion, I don't want to stir up negative emotions tonight.
I'm also going to say that little word to an invitation I got today to spend a few nights with a group of filmmakers and musicians living together in their little slice of Bohemian paradise in Denton. Right now, I'm saying it to a pipe being offered in my direction by some friends of a friend so I suppose this is it for now.
Regards from Kodiak.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Two Rides; One Good, One Bad
I had stayed in Austin too long on the day I intended to leave and by the time I was walking down the highway with my thumb to the road, the sun was already setting and it is hard to find someone willing to pick up the Kodiak in the night. I walked several miles and someone pulled over and offered a ride to the next town and I took the offer.
He started asking me about how much money I had on me, and when I pulled out my cell phone to check the time, he asked about that as well in a very obvious manner. He attempted to come off as intimidating so when he finally noticed my laptop bag and asked what I had in there, I answered in a way that I knew would silence his questions.
"I'll tell you what I have on me. I've got a knife in my pocket to protect all my other things with me."
He dropped me off at the next exit after that, at the local gas station.
I walked a little longer and had given up hitching for the night as the clock struck ten that night. I began just walking to find a church to sleep behind until a pickup truck drove up beside me and the driver asked where I was going. I told him Dallas, and he said he was going to the same. He said his wife had just told him that she was considering divorce so he was going to Dallas to see his brother and play a round of golf for the weekend. Along the way, he told me all about his children and I told him about my journey so far.
We reached Lancaster, on the outside of Dallas, and I asked if he would just drop me off at a local motel for the evening. I was about to get out of his truck and he said that he would like to pay for my room for the night. I ended up getting a free room there thanks to him, but also suffered the first casualty along the trip since I left my cell phone in his truck. I'm working on getting another one now, and will have it as soon as possible.
I'm not sure how long I'll be in Dallas. It all depends on where the wind blows me.
Regards from Kodiak.
He started asking me about how much money I had on me, and when I pulled out my cell phone to check the time, he asked about that as well in a very obvious manner. He attempted to come off as intimidating so when he finally noticed my laptop bag and asked what I had in there, I answered in a way that I knew would silence his questions.
"I'll tell you what I have on me. I've got a knife in my pocket to protect all my other things with me."
He dropped me off at the next exit after that, at the local gas station.
I walked a little longer and had given up hitching for the night as the clock struck ten that night. I began just walking to find a church to sleep behind until a pickup truck drove up beside me and the driver asked where I was going. I told him Dallas, and he said he was going to the same. He said his wife had just told him that she was considering divorce so he was going to Dallas to see his brother and play a round of golf for the weekend. Along the way, he told me all about his children and I told him about my journey so far.
We reached Lancaster, on the outside of Dallas, and I asked if he would just drop me off at a local motel for the evening. I was about to get out of his truck and he said that he would like to pay for my room for the night. I ended up getting a free room there thanks to him, but also suffered the first casualty along the trip since I left my cell phone in his truck. I'm working on getting another one now, and will have it as soon as possible.
I'm not sure how long I'll be in Dallas. It all depends on where the wind blows me.
Regards from Kodiak.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
A Late Update
It is six in the evening, and I am just now waking up to write an entry about the night before. I went to sleep about 10:45 this morning, after spending a majority of the night at Epoch Coffee, trying to some form of conscious and awake. But let me Tarantino this one and go back a little bit.
Yesterday morning, I was walking down Guadalupe and trying to find something that would make my day and my blog more interesting. First of all, I stopped in a Texadelphia because of how hungry I was, and if you've never had their cheesesteak, I would suggest you closing my blog and immediately leaving for the nearest location (preferably going to the original Texadelphia like I did) and I sat and finished a few more chapters of Watchmen while I enjoyed my cheesesteak. Not too interesting so far, but damn delicious.
Afterwards, I went strolling again and walked past the Church of Scientology (maybe I'll go get my thetan levels tested before I leave and write an entry about it), before coming up on a small bookstore called Brave New Books. I am not one for conspiracy theories personally, but considering that the day before hadn't had much conversation at all, I thought somewhere like this would give me a few people talk to; and that was right. I was in the store for the longest time talking to the two owners and various customers that came in and I certainly heard my share of theories. However, the owners are charismatic and very friendly and for all the things we disagreed on, we agreed on almost as many.
Eventually, a man that looked a little like a short Shaggy from Scooby-Doo walked in and I began talking to him for a while. The store was closing shortly afterwards and so all of us parted ways but we managed to cross paths again. Considering that marijuana decriminalization was a topic of choice that day, I asked him if he knew where to find any and he told me he had some if I wanted to smoke it with him.
Yes. Yes, I did.
Throughout the night and into the early morning, we sat and had a beer and about three bowls and talked about our experiences and our worldview. He is a traveler, much like myself, and many of our motives and ideals matched. We had such a great time talking and sharing the company of each other that I hardly noticed how early it was. I had lost my chance to stay with my CouchSurfing host for the night.
I tried to argue with myself about getting a hotel again, and I lost the argument to good logic so I kept walking the streets. I met a seedy guy on the bus circling town, who had apparently just paid a poor homeless drug-addicted girl to do a few favors to him. God, I wanted to hit him. He disgusted me, the way he talked about another human being that happened to be down on her luck at the moment and the way he abused her.
I eventually had to get off so I wouldn't have to hear him talk about it any longer, so I ended up hitching to get a ride to Epoch Coffee since I knew they were open all night. It only took me about forty-five seconds to hitch a ride to here, from an older bearded man wearing a "Keep Austin Weird" tee. I love the people here.
I ended up conversing with a new friend in Epoch until the morning came around, and I got a ride from his friend back to the host's apartment. I crashed as soon as I got here, and I'm waking up now to maybe do it or something similar all over again.
Regards from Kodiak.
Yesterday morning, I was walking down Guadalupe and trying to find something that would make my day and my blog more interesting. First of all, I stopped in a Texadelphia because of how hungry I was, and if you've never had their cheesesteak, I would suggest you closing my blog and immediately leaving for the nearest location (preferably going to the original Texadelphia like I did) and I sat and finished a few more chapters of Watchmen while I enjoyed my cheesesteak. Not too interesting so far, but damn delicious.
Afterwards, I went strolling again and walked past the Church of Scientology (maybe I'll go get my thetan levels tested before I leave and write an entry about it), before coming up on a small bookstore called Brave New Books. I am not one for conspiracy theories personally, but considering that the day before hadn't had much conversation at all, I thought somewhere like this would give me a few people talk to; and that was right. I was in the store for the longest time talking to the two owners and various customers that came in and I certainly heard my share of theories. However, the owners are charismatic and very friendly and for all the things we disagreed on, we agreed on almost as many.
Eventually, a man that looked a little like a short Shaggy from Scooby-Doo walked in and I began talking to him for a while. The store was closing shortly afterwards and so all of us parted ways but we managed to cross paths again. Considering that marijuana decriminalization was a topic of choice that day, I asked him if he knew where to find any and he told me he had some if I wanted to smoke it with him.
Yes. Yes, I did.
Throughout the night and into the early morning, we sat and had a beer and about three bowls and talked about our experiences and our worldview. He is a traveler, much like myself, and many of our motives and ideals matched. We had such a great time talking and sharing the company of each other that I hardly noticed how early it was. I had lost my chance to stay with my CouchSurfing host for the night.
I tried to argue with myself about getting a hotel again, and I lost the argument to good logic so I kept walking the streets. I met a seedy guy on the bus circling town, who had apparently just paid a poor homeless drug-addicted girl to do a few favors to him. God, I wanted to hit him. He disgusted me, the way he talked about another human being that happened to be down on her luck at the moment and the way he abused her.
I eventually had to get off so I wouldn't have to hear him talk about it any longer, so I ended up hitching to get a ride to Epoch Coffee since I knew they were open all night. It only took me about forty-five seconds to hitch a ride to here, from an older bearded man wearing a "Keep Austin Weird" tee. I love the people here.
I ended up conversing with a new friend in Epoch until the morning came around, and I got a ride from his friend back to the host's apartment. I crashed as soon as I got here, and I'm waking up now to maybe do it or something similar all over again.
Regards from Kodiak.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Beginning To Crash?
I woke up this morning and began to let my day fold itself out and for some reason, I feel trapped inside myself. I couldn't exactly explain why, but yesterday, when I felt a desire to hear every conversation around me, is gone now. I am completely happy now sitting next to a construction site and listening to Bob Dylan wail out Desolation Row over my earbuds and type for a little while on my laptop.
I never heard back from Daniel about the recording session so I assume that I won't be blogging about that. Either way, I'm happy to be in Austin where there is plenty to do no matter what plans change. Leaving here is going to be bittersweet; I'm eager to move on to other places but everything just feels so right here. I've got until the end of the week and hopefully, I'll tire of it by then.
Even with the little of bad or negative sides that have come out of this, I'm still completely content with my decision. There hasn't been a moment, even with the blistered feet and closed-minded looks, that I have thought about regretting my decision in this.
The last hindrance I am working on overcoming is sleeping outside, I still have my worries concerning that. I know that they are ill-founded and the very fact that I still have them is contradictory to my preaching in and of itself but I still do. Hopefully, with time, I'll get over that and be able to pursue this more fully.
There might not be another update today, and if there is, it might be a pretty small one. I just feel like enjoying a beautiful day through giving it my complete attention.
I never heard back from Daniel about the recording session so I assume that I won't be blogging about that. Either way, I'm happy to be in Austin where there is plenty to do no matter what plans change. Leaving here is going to be bittersweet; I'm eager to move on to other places but everything just feels so right here. I've got until the end of the week and hopefully, I'll tire of it by then.
Even with the little of bad or negative sides that have come out of this, I'm still completely content with my decision. There hasn't been a moment, even with the blistered feet and closed-minded looks, that I have thought about regretting my decision in this.
The last hindrance I am working on overcoming is sleeping outside, I still have my worries concerning that. I know that they are ill-founded and the very fact that I still have them is contradictory to my preaching in and of itself but I still do. Hopefully, with time, I'll get over that and be able to pursue this more fully.
There might not be another update today, and if there is, it might be a pretty small one. I just feel like enjoying a beautiful day through giving it my complete attention.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Another Night And What Two Days On The Road Shows You
Originally, I thought that my night was going to conclude with preparing my sleeping bag in the nearby camping ground and I really didn't think any part of that was enough to justify a whole new entry. However, "Life is what happens when you're making other plans" sang Lennon and that is exactly how my evening played out.
I decided to take public transportation to the couch that had been offered to me for the night, thinking that the directions were simple enough that I didn't need to write them down or even try to harshly commit them to memory. Needless to say, I was just riding on a bus down the middle of Austin with no basic hints of where to go and I started playing with the mentality of breaking down and getting a room for the night. Slowly, I began noticing the streets we were driving perpendicular against; I saw 3rd Street, then 4th Street, then 5th Street.
6th Street. The epitome of everything that makes Austin such a cultural area; an endless supply of counterculture, live music, and a few more adult locations. I already was lost, but sometimes when you lose your way, it is really just as well. I decided to stop and walk around a little while.
Up until this point in my journey, I've still been sheltered. At The Bugle Boy, everybody was very welcoming and kind; and the only other people that had really seen me were the drivers I hitched with (not counting Skip and the couple that hosted us). Tonight, I saw the other side that I'm not going to be welcomed by everyone and many are going to look down upon it. I walked down the street passing clubs and bars on the left and right with my backpack on my person, and was continously greeted by looks of distaste (that was, of course, whenever I even got looks; most looked away when I was coming). The bouncers would announce specials of the evening to men in suits then never when I was passing.
There were exceptions to the rule, however. I came upon a group of street performers playing a more cultural cover of Purple Haze. I began to join in with a little vocal work, and had a conversation with a few of them, before the police broke us up and told us that we couldn't play there anymore. I was back at my original position again, walking down the street with the same looks in my direction.
That was when I started thinking, this lifestyle is comparable to high school; when you love this girl or guy more than anything else and you love them more every day, but it is never returned and is possibly shunned. I begin to pick up more interest in the people around me every day, I find myself listening to conversations because I am genuinely interested in what they have to say. Sadly, at the same time, I still get more of those same looks in return. My love and interest still continues though.
I finally came back to my mentality of settling down in a comfortable hotel for the evening and came to another bus stop. I was sitting there for a moment, when an older man came up to me and stuck out his hand for a power fist and wished me well, and as I assume anyone would, I returned it. He told me that I had been the first to wish him well in return, and told me his thoughts on it in a very spirited manner. He told me all about how you will never matter to some people because you don't have enough money for their class.
It can be funny how life can show you lessons when you are too stubborn to see them yourself.
I boarded the bus afterwards and met a helpful man that told me parts of his story and assisted me in finding a cheap hotel for the night. Upon reaching the IHOP near the hotel, I had the strangest sense that I had been here before. It turns out that two years ago, I had attended a conference that a friend invited me to concerning ways to make money and become self-made millionaires.
Life can also show you how your priorities were changed in such a short time.
Two years ago, I was greeted with the most passionate smiles and friendly attitudes because a millionaire was sitting with us and he made it very evident based on his attire and attitude. If you go forward two years, you see a tired and weary man enter the same restaurant with a backpack, and he is put in the back of the restaurant and barely spoken to.
Yet, I am happier now than I was then, regardless of the treatment I receive from others. I really don't think little things like this will change that.
I've got a big day ahead of me tomorrow and it is just after midnight, so I'll call this it for tonight. No worries, and may we all meet in the valley before we meet in the plain.
I decided to take public transportation to the couch that had been offered to me for the night, thinking that the directions were simple enough that I didn't need to write them down or even try to harshly commit them to memory. Needless to say, I was just riding on a bus down the middle of Austin with no basic hints of where to go and I started playing with the mentality of breaking down and getting a room for the night. Slowly, I began noticing the streets we were driving perpendicular against; I saw 3rd Street, then 4th Street, then 5th Street.
6th Street. The epitome of everything that makes Austin such a cultural area; an endless supply of counterculture, live music, and a few more adult locations. I already was lost, but sometimes when you lose your way, it is really just as well. I decided to stop and walk around a little while.
Up until this point in my journey, I've still been sheltered. At The Bugle Boy, everybody was very welcoming and kind; and the only other people that had really seen me were the drivers I hitched with (not counting Skip and the couple that hosted us). Tonight, I saw the other side that I'm not going to be welcomed by everyone and many are going to look down upon it. I walked down the street passing clubs and bars on the left and right with my backpack on my person, and was continously greeted by looks of distaste (that was, of course, whenever I even got looks; most looked away when I was coming). The bouncers would announce specials of the evening to men in suits then never when I was passing.
There were exceptions to the rule, however. I came upon a group of street performers playing a more cultural cover of Purple Haze. I began to join in with a little vocal work, and had a conversation with a few of them, before the police broke us up and told us that we couldn't play there anymore. I was back at my original position again, walking down the street with the same looks in my direction.
That was when I started thinking, this lifestyle is comparable to high school; when you love this girl or guy more than anything else and you love them more every day, but it is never returned and is possibly shunned. I begin to pick up more interest in the people around me every day, I find myself listening to conversations because I am genuinely interested in what they have to say. Sadly, at the same time, I still get more of those same looks in return. My love and interest still continues though.
I finally came back to my mentality of settling down in a comfortable hotel for the evening and came to another bus stop. I was sitting there for a moment, when an older man came up to me and stuck out his hand for a power fist and wished me well, and as I assume anyone would, I returned it. He told me that I had been the first to wish him well in return, and told me his thoughts on it in a very spirited manner. He told me all about how you will never matter to some people because you don't have enough money for their class.
It can be funny how life can show you lessons when you are too stubborn to see them yourself.
I boarded the bus afterwards and met a helpful man that told me parts of his story and assisted me in finding a cheap hotel for the night. Upon reaching the IHOP near the hotel, I had the strangest sense that I had been here before. It turns out that two years ago, I had attended a conference that a friend invited me to concerning ways to make money and become self-made millionaires.
Life can also show you how your priorities were changed in such a short time.
Two years ago, I was greeted with the most passionate smiles and friendly attitudes because a millionaire was sitting with us and he made it very evident based on his attire and attitude. If you go forward two years, you see a tired and weary man enter the same restaurant with a backpack, and he is put in the back of the restaurant and barely spoken to.
Yet, I am happier now than I was then, regardless of the treatment I receive from others. I really don't think little things like this will change that.
I've got a big day ahead of me tomorrow and it is just after midnight, so I'll call this it for tonight. No worries, and may we all meet in the valley before we meet in the plain.
My Entrance Into Austin
Today was certainly an experience. By the end of this entry, you'll hear about an aging hippie with a van filled with Mexican pastries, a roll-on comedian that gets an undeserved reaction, and how the Cody draws all the ladies to him.
I left from the house I was staying and began down the road with Skip, until I felt how every step tortured me so I split directions with him to go my own way again. Sure enough, about ten minutes later, a van pulled over with an elderly man in it. I opened the back door to place my baggage there, and was welcomed immediately by a flood of pastries wrapped in colorful labels with Spanish print. I felt like Noah, had Noah been troubled by a great flood of candy.
Actually, wouldn't that make all the stories from the Bible just a wee bit better? Jesus could've healed the blind man, then given him a lollipop. Zaccheus climbed a tree just to see Christ, imagine how high he would've climbed for a Klondike Bar.
Over the course of the ride, he told me stories about how he dropped acid during the Nixon administration and how he was growing some mushrooms out on his land. I told him I haven't smoked in a while, he told me that he would've given some to me if he hadn't smoked it himself on a previous highway. He also explained to me how Albert Hoffman and Elvis were his two predictions on the Messiah, because of how Hoffman turned us on to such a visually stimulating and spiritually enlightening resource, and Elvis taught white people that it is okay to have fun. Eventually, he dropped me off next to a bus stop in Austin, and wished me luck.
First, I headed to the only place that made sense, Jack In The Box. Jack has been there for me so many times before, why not be there for me when I come to him with open arms and sore feet?
Maybe I should make another personal revision to the Bible mentioned above, maybe Jack is the second coming. Instead of dealing with salvation and eternal damnation, he deals with sourdough bread and curly fries. I really need to stop being offensive, that can get you kicked off a bus.
Speaking of being kicked off a bus, I decided to relax and watch people get on and off a bus for about two hours of my day. Nobody ever told me how cold and silent some people in Austin can be. The first person that actually talked to me was a wheelchair-bound man that introduced himself as a roll-on comedian. He told three other men and me some lines and jokes that slowly become a tad politically incorrect and the bus driver forced him off the bus because of it. I met a new friend, Daniel, that helped cause a little bit of a commotion over the issue. It didn't do any good, but damn, it felt right.
I ended up conversing with Daniel and found out he was a recording engineer and got invited to a recording session tomorrow with a jazz artist, which I am looking forward to attending. I also got to relax at his place for an hour or two.
I haven't decided how sleeping will work tonight, I have a couch across town offered to me, or a camping ground within five minutes of me. Is comfort really worth paying for a cab to drive me across Austin? I'm debating that right now.
"Albert Hoffman and Elvis are my two nominations for the Messiah, the second coming of Christ"
"What do Dale Earndhart and Pink Floyd have in common? Their biggest hits were The Wall."
I left from the house I was staying and began down the road with Skip, until I felt how every step tortured me so I split directions with him to go my own way again. Sure enough, about ten minutes later, a van pulled over with an elderly man in it. I opened the back door to place my baggage there, and was welcomed immediately by a flood of pastries wrapped in colorful labels with Spanish print. I felt like Noah, had Noah been troubled by a great flood of candy.
Actually, wouldn't that make all the stories from the Bible just a wee bit better? Jesus could've healed the blind man, then given him a lollipop. Zaccheus climbed a tree just to see Christ, imagine how high he would've climbed for a Klondike Bar.
Over the course of the ride, he told me stories about how he dropped acid during the Nixon administration and how he was growing some mushrooms out on his land. I told him I haven't smoked in a while, he told me that he would've given some to me if he hadn't smoked it himself on a previous highway. He also explained to me how Albert Hoffman and Elvis were his two predictions on the Messiah, because of how Hoffman turned us on to such a visually stimulating and spiritually enlightening resource, and Elvis taught white people that it is okay to have fun. Eventually, he dropped me off next to a bus stop in Austin, and wished me luck.
First, I headed to the only place that made sense, Jack In The Box. Jack has been there for me so many times before, why not be there for me when I come to him with open arms and sore feet?
Maybe I should make another personal revision to the Bible mentioned above, maybe Jack is the second coming. Instead of dealing with salvation and eternal damnation, he deals with sourdough bread and curly fries. I really need to stop being offensive, that can get you kicked off a bus.
Speaking of being kicked off a bus, I decided to relax and watch people get on and off a bus for about two hours of my day. Nobody ever told me how cold and silent some people in Austin can be. The first person that actually talked to me was a wheelchair-bound man that introduced himself as a roll-on comedian. He told three other men and me some lines and jokes that slowly become a tad politically incorrect and the bus driver forced him off the bus because of it. I met a new friend, Daniel, that helped cause a little bit of a commotion over the issue. It didn't do any good, but damn, it felt right.
I ended up conversing with Daniel and found out he was a recording engineer and got invited to a recording session tomorrow with a jazz artist, which I am looking forward to attending. I also got to relax at his place for an hour or two.
I haven't decided how sleeping will work tonight, I have a couch across town offered to me, or a camping ground within five minutes of me. Is comfort really worth paying for a cab to drive me across Austin? I'm debating that right now.
"Albert Hoffman and Elvis are my two nominations for the Messiah, the second coming of Christ"
"What do Dale Earndhart and Pink Floyd have in common? Their biggest hits were The Wall."
When The Morning Came
Already after only one day, a hot shower, a comfortable couch, and a bowl of Frosted Flakes feels like a luxury and something I feel lucky to have this particular morning. In fact, the only thing in the world that is hurting me right now is my feet.
I've always heard people say that they have blisters on their blisters when they are sore and I have always thought of it like an exaggerated farce, but that isn't the case. Upon taking care of one of my many blisters this morning, I found yet another blister directly under the one before it. Even with some aid, I will have to see exactly how well I will be able to walk on it over the course of the day. I might end up hitching some more if I have any trouble walking on it.
Skip suggested I get a bicycle in Austin for the two-hundred miles of nothing between Austin and San Angelo. I might do that, or possibly try to find some interesting people that are driving that distance. I'll update you when I decide for myself what I'm going to do.
That has become one of the most loved parts of my journey even after such a short time so far, it is the ideal that I don't have anything holding me back. At any moment, if I hear about something in the complete opposite direction of my current route, I can just turn around and head that way.
Sorry if I'm not as witty for this entry, I will update more later tonight.
I've always heard people say that they have blisters on their blisters when they are sore and I have always thought of it like an exaggerated farce, but that isn't the case. Upon taking care of one of my many blisters this morning, I found yet another blister directly under the one before it. Even with some aid, I will have to see exactly how well I will be able to walk on it over the course of the day. I might end up hitching some more if I have any trouble walking on it.
Skip suggested I get a bicycle in Austin for the two-hundred miles of nothing between Austin and San Angelo. I might do that, or possibly try to find some interesting people that are driving that distance. I'll update you when I decide for myself what I'm going to do.
That has become one of the most loved parts of my journey even after such a short time so far, it is the ideal that I don't have anything holding me back. At any moment, if I hear about something in the complete opposite direction of my current route, I can just turn around and head that way.
Sorry if I'm not as witty for this entry, I will update more later tonight.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
My First Day (And Continuing Thoughts)
I'm sitting here on my sleeping bag, under a sign at Highway 71 and Green Acres Loop, I figured this would be a good time to go ahead and write my entry for today. First, a little more thought on last night.
Sitting in The Bugle Boy, I just cannot help to think about what an interesting yet small place La Grange is to start this sort of venture. I sat and started thinking about how my story was just beginning and took a look around at the women and men in the room on the other side of their years and I couldn't help but think about all of these people about twenty or thirty years ago when the infamous Chicken Ranch was still open.
You see, not many people move or relocate to La Grange; it is the sort of town that if you were born in it, you'll probably end up dying there too (and if you die there, chances are you were born there too). Needless to say, a majority of the people in that room grew up with La Grange and saw the tainted history behind it. I look at this crowd and wonder which of the women of today were the prostitutes of yesterday. Not in an arousing sense, mind you, but just one of intrigue; that these women and men had, in their own small way, purchased their little slice of history (whether it be through a really special birthday present that welcomed a young man into adulthood, or an old man that received the little bit of human contact before he departed this world). These people have stories, and I could spend a hundred lifetimes listening and enjoying them. But it was late, and I had my own story to start on. As Kerouac said, "the road is life."
That night, I laid out my sleeping bag under the stars and the headlights of vehicles that passed me by on the highway, each with their own destination and reason for seeking it. Over the night, I discovered that no matter how well you think you can handle the weather of your home state, you shouldn't buy the cheaper sleeping bag. I got through the cold weather and awoke the next morning to Skip bundling up his gear and preparing for the day.
After walking a few miles, we stopped at a locally owned breakfast diner and had a decent meal. I sat down to a burrito that had been bathed in melted cheese and raped by eggs, bacon, sausage, cheese, and several other fillings that I don't bring to memory, either by taste or appearance.
Heh, maybe I should be worried about that.
We left down a backroad and traversed it for about five or six miles before the water (which came from a well, apparently) and the burrito that I had disemboweled and pulled from its lake of cheese earlier began to discuss matters that shouldn't be discussed in my stomach and suddenly for obvious (and therefore, undisclosed) reasons, I needed to use a restroom immediately. There weren't any businesses for a few more miles and right after I suggested to Skip that we keep walking, the burrito assumably delivered a sucker-punch to the water. The final round was coming and I was a tad fearful over which consumable would be losing (because it didn't matter who lost, it meant I lost something too).
I went to a residential house and asked them if I could use their restroom and fill up my water bottle. Luckily, they didn't have an issue with that, so everything was appropriately handled and we were off again.
We had reached a total of about nine miles and Skip noticed that I looked weary and suggested to me that I hitch a ride for the rest of the way and wait for him to catch up with me. It sounded reasonable, and I think I set a pretty decent mark for my first day with someone from my physical condition going nine miles on the first day of travel. I stuck out my thumb and waited for a ride. It took about seven or eight minutes then I was lucky enough to be picked up by a man on his way to Austin to see about an ill friend of his (and whether you read this or not, sir, I wish you and your friend the best). We talked for a little while, and once we reached my destination, went our parting ways.
That leads me to here, under a sign and waiting for Skip. I'm going to read Watchmen for a bit, and I'll update a little while later.
My First Night (And My Thoughts Surrounding It)
Remember this day.
This is the day when everything changed, and when I don't constantly consider the two decades that I have been living and regret not doing anything.
Today I started something; something that I intend to finish.
I drove with Shaggy into La Grange (a-houw houw houw houw; the part of me that loves ZZ Top interrupts the coherent sentence), and met up with Skip Potts, my new partner in crime to start my travels where his are already on their way and have been for some time. I had heard a blues artist by the name of Doug MacLeod was playing that night and thought that it would be fitting, considering how many older blues and folk artists had sung about their experiences and life on the road while traveling. Unfortunately, we only made the last fifteen minutes but it was enough to give me time to reflect on what was coming and what was behind me while letting the music drift me away temporarily.
What is behind me? Metaphorically, my burnt bridges and ships. I have not an opportunity to resume a previously normal pattern of living back in College Station anymore, I've completely made sure of that. There is nothing left except that internal strength and I expect to completely draw on it for these next few days.
There was once a great general who reached an opposing land by a fleet of ships. His crew reached land and saw before them a plain and occupying it, in the distance, were a group of men that outnumbered them several times over. Sensing his men and their fear and concern, he turned back to light the ships aflame until they had been torched and sunk beyond all repair. He then told his men, "You now have two options; you will fight and arise victorious, or you will fight and die."
I now have those two choices. I can either continue on and let the combination of stubborness and wanderlust take me over and come out on the coast victorious, or I won't. I'm sure you can interpret that for yourself.
Behind me, there is a past that will always hold me back and keep me from moving on to new locations and new experiences. Behind me isn't all bad though. There are several things that I have left behind that I regret.
There are friends and family that love and care about me behind me, but even them without intending to or even understanding that they are, are keeping me from moving on with the goals I have set for myself.
What is in front of me? I don't know for sure, but I do know it is an adventure.
It has reached that time in this entry, I've got to do a bit of name-dropping. First of all, my traveling companion Skip Potts. He is walking to raise money for a great cause, public school funding specifically. I would suggest everyone check out his blog (skippotts.blogspot.com) and the website for PFEE (People For Educational Equality; the group he walks for, their site is PFEE.org) and follow his travels as well.
Second, Doug MacLeod was the blues artist we went to see at The Bugle Boy, and I'll be posting links in the next entry for both of those. Doug is an absolutely riveting storyteller in addition to his music and all of his work is available on iTunes for download. I couldn't recommend it enough if you are a lover of blues or folk.
That's all for now, I'll start updating with more linear entries now to keep up with the journey. No worries, my brothers and sisters.
This is the day when everything changed, and when I don't constantly consider the two decades that I have been living and regret not doing anything.
Today I started something; something that I intend to finish.
I drove with Shaggy into La Grange (a-houw houw houw houw; the part of me that loves ZZ Top interrupts the coherent sentence), and met up with Skip Potts, my new partner in crime to start my travels where his are already on their way and have been for some time. I had heard a blues artist by the name of Doug MacLeod was playing that night and thought that it would be fitting, considering how many older blues and folk artists had sung about their experiences and life on the road while traveling. Unfortunately, we only made the last fifteen minutes but it was enough to give me time to reflect on what was coming and what was behind me while letting the music drift me away temporarily.
What is behind me? Metaphorically, my burnt bridges and ships. I have not an opportunity to resume a previously normal pattern of living back in College Station anymore, I've completely made sure of that. There is nothing left except that internal strength and I expect to completely draw on it for these next few days.
There was once a great general who reached an opposing land by a fleet of ships. His crew reached land and saw before them a plain and occupying it, in the distance, were a group of men that outnumbered them several times over. Sensing his men and their fear and concern, he turned back to light the ships aflame until they had been torched and sunk beyond all repair. He then told his men, "You now have two options; you will fight and arise victorious, or you will fight and die."
I now have those two choices. I can either continue on and let the combination of stubborness and wanderlust take me over and come out on the coast victorious, or I won't. I'm sure you can interpret that for yourself.
Behind me, there is a past that will always hold me back and keep me from moving on to new locations and new experiences. Behind me isn't all bad though. There are several things that I have left behind that I regret.
There are friends and family that love and care about me behind me, but even them without intending to or even understanding that they are, are keeping me from moving on with the goals I have set for myself.
What is in front of me? I don't know for sure, but I do know it is an adventure.
It has reached that time in this entry, I've got to do a bit of name-dropping. First of all, my traveling companion Skip Potts. He is walking to raise money for a great cause, public school funding specifically. I would suggest everyone check out his blog (skippotts.blogspot.com) and the website for PFEE (People For Educational Equality; the group he walks for, their site is PFEE.org) and follow his travels as well.
Second, Doug MacLeod was the blues artist we went to see at The Bugle Boy, and I'll be posting links in the next entry for both of those. Doug is an absolutely riveting storyteller in addition to his music and all of his work is available on iTunes for download. I couldn't recommend it enough if you are a lover of blues or folk.
That's all for now, I'll start updating with more linear entries now to keep up with the journey. No worries, my brothers and sisters.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
My Last Night In My Apartment
I should probably put the pen to paper (or the fingers to keyboard, as it were) to mark tonight as a memorable evening. This is my final evening to spend in the comfort and safety of my townhome, before I begin my personal journey. I don't remember the last point in my life where I felt a rush of so many different emotions; between exhilaration and anticipation to fear and worry and so many others. It is one of the more bittersweet moments of my life.
In a few days, I'll be going on one the most physically stressful journeys I've ever found myself on. I've thought about it and planned it out for a year now, and yet suddenly I feel so unprepared for this milestone. I know that I am, but I don't feel that way at all.
I'm at a bit of a loss for words this evening, so if everything feels a bit forced, that would be why. I just don't know what to say, I am reminded of the Narrator from Fight Club when Tyler Durden has a pistol in his mouth and ask him if he has any last words and the Narrator can't think of anything to say to that. I'm at this moment where I should have so much to say and yet, I don't, and I don't know how I should feel or if I should feel at all about this.
I'm happy about it. I want to do it. I just don't feel anything right now. I'm just going to lay back and absorb this moment, let it not go unnoticed.
In a few days, I'll be going on one the most physically stressful journeys I've ever found myself on. I've thought about it and planned it out for a year now, and yet suddenly I feel so unprepared for this milestone. I know that I am, but I don't feel that way at all.
I'm at a bit of a loss for words this evening, so if everything feels a bit forced, that would be why. I just don't know what to say, I am reminded of the Narrator from Fight Club when Tyler Durden has a pistol in his mouth and ask him if he has any last words and the Narrator can't think of anything to say to that. I'm at this moment where I should have so much to say and yet, I don't, and I don't know how I should feel or if I should feel at all about this.
I'm happy about it. I want to do it. I just don't feel anything right now. I'm just going to lay back and absorb this moment, let it not go unnoticed.
Monday, February 2, 2009
And It's A Battered Old Suitcase...
I mentioned yesterday that I don't have an answer to my dilemma, it turns out there is one and if what happened tonight is any implication, I have my answer already. It wasn't exactly unexpected, but certainly unwanted.
I've been trying to form some sort of a verbal answer for the inquiry of why I would travel on this particular journey for when it is asked by others and myself. I will be taking one entry here to discuss the more positive side of travel, and another for the side of travel thats serves as a hospice for hearts no longer a flutter. Travel is a hospital, where new ambitions and hopes are born, old hearts can be healed and helped, and where dreams can make the passage to their final resting place.
I thought about this for about a year before I worked on my decision. For friends and family, I can imagine this seemed like a rather odd lifestyle for me, considering my previous plans of grandeur and how much money I spent on my current and more luxurious lifestyle. Slowly, through an unexplainable series of thought processes, I came to the understanding of how continually unhappy I still was even after spending more money. I was used to the attitude of throwing money at anything to repair it (at least to match my concern). Money should be used as a tool, but I was using money as the tool.
That started the establishment that I would continue to be unhappy no matter how much money I spent on anything, and that meant I had to determine a few things. First of all, why was I so unhappy? Secondly, what could I do to become happy again? Through some deep searching (which is worth mentioning considering how hard it is to do when the soul you search has the footprints of society and family all over it; more on that later), I found that I wanted to travel and experience cultures outside of my own to be happy.
I began to set dates for airlines, plan for financing and for excused absences from my office for vacation. I was working on flying to Paris in December, and spending several months there and come back to work as a refreshed person eager to put his nose to the grindstone. However, as the date seemed to move farther away instead of closer, I began to think that this was solving the aformentioned problems in the sense that putting a Hello Kitty band-aid on a gaping wound would heal it. It could possibly help out temporarily, but it isn't going to help the problem in a more permanent way.
There I was, still with a problem and still without a solution. Then, an important revelation struck me, why was this a problem? Why did I feel like I needed to find something to fix the way I felt inside when maybe it didn't need to be fixed? With those thoughts came the excuses that seemingly counteracted them. These are the same excuses that others have told me about this or similar ventures in their life, and I have dealt with the same ones on my own. Any of these sound familiar?
- I won't have food or water.
- I need the security that comes with a job in my life.
- I won't have means for making money.
- I'll feel like I am wasting my life.
- I won't have any retirement money saved up, and I'll be sweeping floors at Taco Bell when I am eighty years old just to make money for medication.
- I won't have food or water. Remember when I said that I thought money was the tool, not a tool? This is exactly what I meant by that. Society has reached a point where we have made synonyms out of the terms "money" and "survival", it would seem. You do not need money to survive. Write that down. The road watches out for her children walking on her, and you will always end up with the food and water you need if you are helpful and willing to lend a hand to others.
- I need the security that comes with a job in my life. Circuit City. Midway. Starbucks. Glaxo-SmithKline. Caterpillar. Sprint. Home Depot. Harley-Davidson. Microsoft. Google. Intel. If you worked at any of these companies and many others, the term "job security" doesn't mean a thing to you anymore. This sounds cynical, but trust me when I say it is the most uplifting way to say this; you don't have security in anything. Security should be found between Ronald McDonald and Tony the Tiger considering that it is an entirely fictional term. In a relationship? If you are, I picture that you feel pretty secure in it and your partner. Truthfully, that's a facade, and absolutely anything could happen to take away that security. That goes just as much for your vehicle or your home or your pets or your career. I know it sounds terrible, but it is important to understand that security shouldn't matter to you since adults don't spend their time worrying about figments of their imagination.
- I won't have means for making money. First of all, we've went over the fact that money is only one tool that you should be using and you can use several other tools to get the items you may need (and still stay within ethical and moral boundaries). Even so, there are always options to make money if you truly need it. We tend to forget what a truly interesting age we live in; I can find a company going out of business in Florida looking for people to hold signs for them, and arrange to be there and a method of payment all while laying in bed and writing this blog. It all seems so normal to us now, but read that again and see that because of it, finding sources of financial means will not be a problem. Once more, the road provides for her children.
- I'll feel like I am wasting my life. By what or whose terms? If you are wasting your life according to your own terms and you have greater plans for yourself than that, you should pursue it. However, if you are following the terms of your parents or society, strongly consider why you do that. We seem to all fall in line with what is expected of us. Live your life in the way that it makes sense to you. Write that down. If you are working as a lawyer but always dream of opening a store selling unusual varieties of rock candy, then do that. Our schools and teachers tell children that they can be what they want to be, but what we have been taught is that you can be anything you want to be (as long as it includes going to college, getting a degree, getting a good career in that field, meeting a member of the opposite sex and marrying them, having several kids and living out your life in suburbia). Hopefully, this is reaching you by this point so the most touching thing I should be able to mention now is to repeat the same thing you've been told over and over but this time, understand that it finally comes without the extra baggage. You can be whatever you want to be.
- I won't have any retirement money saved up, and I'll be sweeping floors at Taco Bell when I am eighty years old just to make money for medication. This was the hardest hindrance to overcome, because this one is almost undeniable. Reaching that age, your options begin to lessen and you must rely on the options you have made for yourself in your younger years. However, my dealing with this came in the form of an agreement. I'm fine with working the rest of my days in order to bring the final chapters of my life to a peaceful closing. Consider the other option though, you spend several decades working in a cubicle and pleasing your boss so that you can enjoy your elderly years when you are much too old to enjoy anything. I'll sweep floors if I get the opportunity to lead this life.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
18 Days Until Departure
I'm sitting here at the wee early hours of the morning, trying to think of how to start this entry. I don't exactly know which route to take, and I have several available to choose from.
Should it begin with a basic introduction to myself for unfamiliar audiences? Fitting, but my mind isn't focused on my past enough right now to give a decent and proper introduction.
How about writing about what your mind is focused on then? I could do that, but again, I have several factors that my mind is focused on at the moment. It could be about the best friend that I struggle with having to leave behind, or about the journey and my cold feet towards it at the moment, about where I got the title for this blog from, or about that flame that never seems to go out even when you try to douse it with water.
I'll give the best of a basic introduction that I can to try to stay away from writing about topics that I am not ready to handle yet. I am Cody Hopkins, and about a year ago, I began to discover the possibilities of traveling as a lifestyle and as I began to research it more and more, it seemed like the answer for me. I worked in a cubicle for eight hours a day and I was paid decently for it, I had a decent townhome I could afford with a decent paycheck and friends that always were there for me. I had the finest green you can buy in my smaller town, and I could find someone to be intimate with should the urges present themselves. I had security both in my position and financially, and I decided to consider the option of giving up all of that to walk around this continent without a home or continuous source of income.
I always get the same answer when I describe that situation to people, especially considering our current economic crisis. Why would I give up such an opportunity at my younger age to pursue a path where I don't even know where my next meal may be coming from? Even if everyone didn't ask me that initially, I would've still asked myself the same thing and demanding some sort of an answer or explanation. I did have answers I had prepared for that so I could handle the constant barrage of the same question and originally, I had planned to use those same overused answers here.
The truest choices we make come from our hearts and not our head. I know in my heart that this is the right choice for me, and I've spent a year determining that. Nobody else can tell you whether this is the right choice for you either, but you will know if it is because of how you feel. Now, some factors came in that made me rush my decision along the way, but those are not for tonight.
Tonight, I try to get some sleep and I replay those words and sentences that were spoken over the course of the evening in my head all through the night, looking for my own answers to my own dilemmas. I don't think I will find it though, I think there may not be an answer that I will like to this dilemma.
It is 18 days before I leave, and I want a reason for the way things have to be.
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