The world always says, "Hey, if you want to explore me, you can."
And in 2010, once again, I said, "YES!"
I made a plan. I had done my first adventure with 95% improvisation, but this one would be different. I imagined the future adventure I wanted to experience, I considered the rewards and risks, and I studied the maps extensively. I calculated the expenses, consulted with friends, and read the wisdom through the ages that can be applied to every journey, regardless of what the stage is.
The stage happened to be America. I wanted to venture from New York to San Francisco, and go many places in between.
The journey began in New York City. After several days I also visited Providence and Boston, then New York City again, including Brooklyn and Queens, and then on to Philadelphia and Washington, DC. While in Providence I listened to this Godspeed You! Black Emperor song called "Providence," and there's one haunting part where this spooky voice fades in and repeatedly asks, "Where are you going?"
I knew where I was going, and mostly knew how I was going to get there. The only question was exactly how everything would link up along the way, as there were plenty of question marks to fill in the gaps. Sure, I could plan to visit Mt. Mitchell, the highest point East of the Mississippi, and then even plan to hitchhike for the first time there (that is, since Egypt). But I couldn't plan who was going to give me the ride, or what the conditions would be like when I got to the top. The same went for couch surfing requests, and exactly how I would meet my deadline for catching my plane right on time.
Everything worked out, even when it wasn't easy. I had to trust many people, and I had to learn to live in the cold desert and keep my balance when traversing the ice and snow near dangerous slopes to the abyss below. And even when I was stranded by the highway, I at least knew how to find my way to a bus.
I made the flight in plenty of time (61 days), and I arrived at the Pyramid of the Sun feeling the joy of life.
Was I living in a fantasy?
The journey was all I could see or be, so I don't know what else would be reality. The snow was seriously cold, and that ice was seriously slippery. Those headlights were distant at times, and those scowls on passing drivers' faces were angry. The ex-con's who shared Greyhound seats with me were the real deal, and so were the mountains and the canyons and the trees and the stars.
The whole time I was traveling I felt like my voyage was immensely important, both for my life and the world beyond my life. But why?
Well, at the very least, I was able to go somewhere desired and meet strangers along the way. These strangers became acquaintances and hosts and guides and friends, and gave me wisdom from their varied experiences and taught me new ways of enjoying life. They erased fears and prejudices that had previously held me back. And I stepped into nature to feel her peace, and she put my mind at ease, even when it was three degrees.
I know that I'm happier and have a greater life when someone reports to me that the world has more joy on the way, and that I should not be afraid.
I am honored to reflect the light of this timeless tradition.
And in 2010, once again, I said, "YES!"
I made a plan. I had done my first adventure with 95% improvisation, but this one would be different. I imagined the future adventure I wanted to experience, I considered the rewards and risks, and I studied the maps extensively. I calculated the expenses, consulted with friends, and read the wisdom through the ages that can be applied to every journey, regardless of what the stage is.
The stage happened to be America. I wanted to venture from New York to San Francisco, and go many places in between.
The journey began in New York City. After several days I also visited Providence and Boston, then New York City again, including Brooklyn and Queens, and then on to Philadelphia and Washington, DC. While in Providence I listened to this Godspeed You! Black Emperor song called "Providence," and there's one haunting part where this spooky voice fades in and repeatedly asks, "Where are you going?"
I knew where I was going, and mostly knew how I was going to get there. The only question was exactly how everything would link up along the way, as there were plenty of question marks to fill in the gaps. Sure, I could plan to visit Mt. Mitchell, the highest point East of the Mississippi, and then even plan to hitchhike for the first time there (that is, since Egypt). But I couldn't plan who was going to give me the ride, or what the conditions would be like when I got to the top. The same went for couch surfing requests, and exactly how I would meet my deadline for catching my plane right on time.
Everything worked out, even when it wasn't easy. I had to trust many people, and I had to learn to live in the cold desert and keep my balance when traversing the ice and snow near dangerous slopes to the abyss below. And even when I was stranded by the highway, I at least knew how to find my way to a bus.
I made the flight in plenty of time (61 days), and I arrived at the Pyramid of the Sun feeling the joy of life.
Was I living in a fantasy?
The journey was all I could see or be, so I don't know what else would be reality. The snow was seriously cold, and that ice was seriously slippery. Those headlights were distant at times, and those scowls on passing drivers' faces were angry. The ex-con's who shared Greyhound seats with me were the real deal, and so were the mountains and the canyons and the trees and the stars.
The whole time I was traveling I felt like my voyage was immensely important, both for my life and the world beyond my life. But why?
Well, at the very least, I was able to go somewhere desired and meet strangers along the way. These strangers became acquaintances and hosts and guides and friends, and gave me wisdom from their varied experiences and taught me new ways of enjoying life. They erased fears and prejudices that had previously held me back. And I stepped into nature to feel her peace, and she put my mind at ease, even when it was three degrees.
I know that I'm happier and have a greater life when someone reports to me that the world has more joy on the way, and that I should not be afraid.
I am honored to reflect the light of this timeless tradition.
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