I started writing this over several days and never found the time to actually post it. It started when I was sitting waiting for the first oil change for my jeep. Having lots of things running through my brain and had some time to just sit. I wasn’t sure if I was going to post the first part, but I think I will. This whole thing makes me feel very exposed. And in some ways, seen. Or maybe understood. I don’t know. And writing has helped me a lot through all of this. I missed it while I was not traveling. So I think that means I will have to continue journaling. I used to when I was in middle school-ish. And then one day I found my journals after not having seen them in a while, read a little bit of them, and ripped them up and threw them in the trash. So cringey. Even parts of this make me cringey. Alas.

Anyway, as I start up my trip again, here’s a bit of brain ramblings. 

The past month and a half has been strange, but really good in a way. Some annoying things—plumbing issues, yard work, etc. And then some good time with friends. Putting my jeep together, concerts, spending time with my grandmother. Trips to REI every other day. Some passed AREs (some failed). Getting closer. Trying to get back to running. Some days better than others depending on how suffocating the humidity is at any given moment. 

It is strange how my last trip almost feels like a dream. Almost like it didn’t happen. Almost impossible to think it was my life everyday for a while. 

And it’s always interesting to me how quickly we adapt. When I got home, I was still lost in Europe—the food, the places, the constant movement, the mental and emotional space, the ability to be, and see, and rest. I almost didn’t want to slip back into what I was doing before. Like maybe if I just picked up and moved after that, it would be easier to hold on to it all. Just keep moving.

But I was still here. And also there. And I think I have been able to see things with a bit more clarity. 

And I think the pandemic gave us a bit of clarity. But with a good dose of trauma and fear mixed in. So, very different. I had a good clarity. A chance to step back and take inventory of it all. And though I’ve settled back into Home, back into the same sweltering summer I remember from each rotation around the Sun, I’ve been able to hold on to the mental peace and emotional confidence I found halfway around the world. Still working through, but I caught it. 

And though I did catch it, I have stumbled a bit. Just so you don’t think it’s all roses. This life I’ve currently designed and put together, while good for travel and experience and movement, has an element of loneliness and impermanence that I also live with. Maybe that is the human state—one of impermanence and loneliness, and a constant search and desire to reach a comfortable level of equilibrium. A good dose of solitude and connection, of both change and very necessary anchors. 

Sometimes the shaky ground scares the shit out of me. Feeling the earth rumbling and shaking underneath. Especially when everything has been so precarious the past two years. Looking around and trying to feel where it’s going to slip next. Looking around and trying to see where I can hold on.

And sometimes it’s exhilarating. Somehow feeling like any and all barriers are gone. Surfing the tectonic shifts. I am a free agent. Choose your own story. And trying to find the places where the fear of not moving overcomes the fear of moving. 

I think that’s the thing. I’ve talked to a lot of people. A LOT of people about what I’m doing. “Wow. Alone? You’re so brave.” From men, from women, young and old, all people. People I’ve known for years. People I just met. They think I’m brave. And I have never, never, ever, never thought of myself as brave. Not in anything. I operate in fear. All of my ruminating and weighing of options and thinking and worrying is looking through a lens of fear. And sometimes it’s just that the fear of not doing something outweighs the fear of actually doing it. So I’m doing it. Not in a reckless, thoughtless way. But doing it. And learning along the way that applies to a multitude of things. Big things, small things. All the things. It also helps that my nervous system isn’t running in overdrive on other things. That really helps. A privilege to be able to set those things down. 

But I still struggle. Especially the past week or so before leaving. Slipping into some old, familiar feelings. Slipping back down the hill I just climbed up. Feelings of not being able to share these big exhilarating experiences, and the small special ones, with any particular person. And wondering if something’s wrong with me. What the hell is wrong? And wondering if anyone else actually wants to be part of these things with me. If it’s just annoying when I ask if you want to get dinner, or coffee, or see a concert, or build my jeep. If you have to decide if you’d rather chill at home or hang out with me. Some sort of burden. It’s so stupid. My therapist says, “Do you feel that way about your friends?” Umm. Absolutely not. Literally never. “Then they probably don’t feel that way about you…” And I’m probably letting too much of my secrets out. But maybe everyone has felt that at some point. Maybe it helps to share the things. I think our culture makes us believe we should be independent, self-reliant, money-makers, when all we really want is a hug and dinner with the people we love.

I was talking to a friend one time when I was having a hard time with this whole thing. How it doesn’t feel like I have my own thing. How it’s not really mine, I just get to experience pieces of everyone else’s life— family dinners, first birthdays, anniversaries, weddings, new babies, holidays. Like I just insert myself into these moments of everyone around me, but they’re not mine. 

And then she said something that changed my view on the entire thing. And I keep trying to remember it when I find myself in those same feelings. 

It was something like this:

“I know you see it as inserting yourself into all of these moments. But the way I see it, I think it all rotates around you. All of these beautiful moments and beautiful people rotate around you.”

When I was in high school, one of my best friends used to give me such a hard time about loving the movie Under the Tuscan Sun. No, I haven’t read the book, but I loved the movie. Loved it. I wanted to be Diane Lane. But I remember watching the part where she talks about wanting to fall in love there, and have a wedding in that house, and a baby, and all of these things that are said to complete your life. Meaning, she wanted them for herself. But she realizes that all of those things did happen there in the house, to all of these people she loved and shared her life with. Just not to her. I can remember thinking, this is a sweet movie, but I would be so pissed if that happened to me. So mad. Betrayed by the universe or god or whoever is calling the shots. 

Apparently I jinxed myself. But it has been one of the greatest joys of my life. Thank god I spend my life with the best people on the planet. Thank god I get to experience their most special moments with them. Thank god they love me. Thank god.  

I try to really see these moments, when I start losing myself in the sadness and worry. Goddamn the loneliness. 

Just so you know when I’m running off on my own, how fun it seems. And how fun it is! But it is also really hard sometimes. Necessary and great. So, so great. And hard.

But I have spent some really special times with some of my favorite people since I’ve been home. 

Two weekends ago now I went on an adventure! Closer to home than Europe, but still fun!

A short two hour drive to the Buffalo River to canoe with some folks from the office. 

An interesting bus ride to where we let the canoes in, an interesting (and dangerous) spot to let the boats in, and then an interesting canoe ride (though our canoe was excellent at navigating the approximately 18” deep waters, including a perfectly executed backing-up to offer some friends some snacks). “Interesting” is the only description I can offer the entirety of the trip. But our boat had moments of peaceful, quiet paddling, and then moments of stories and laughter and eating Gus’s chicken. 

The first of many road trips for the Jeep. And it was fun! Good music and good talks. And good snacks. And the best company. 

The next day a trip to Nashville. Warning: some Nashville hate coming up.

I went to see Iron and Wine and Andrew Bird at the Ryman. I love Iron and Wine. Like, have a painting of the man in my living room. I like Andrew Bird too, but this was about Iron and Wine. And perhaps the two of them together at the Ryman might create some kind of magic moving through that sacred music space.

 It was cloudy in Nashville when I drove in. And everything felt so dead and gray. And seriously, on the cloudiest, coldest, saddest day in Memphis I can find soul and life. I used to spend days on the weekend downtown photographing the city. In the winter and the clouds. And they’re still some of my favorite photos. But Nashville wasn’t giving me any of that. 

Anyway, I dropped my things at the hotel, the 21C down the street from the Ryman, and started getting ready for the show when I realized I left almost all the things I needed in a bag at home, along with the shirt I wanted to wear. Shit. I ran to the Walgreens down the street literally 15 minutes before it closed. I got myself ready at the speed of light and picked a new outfit, which I think was actually better than the one I put together at home. I was feeling good.

I was so excited. I was sitting on the first row of the pews. But the whole vibe of the place and the people felt strange. Like it was all off. And I had to get a dumb whiskey and Pepsi because they didn’t have Coke. 

The show finally starts. Meshell Ndegeocello opened the show. I had never heard of her, but she started singing and it was incredible. Then she sat down and started playing the bass. I have literally never in my life felt that kind of energy move from the stage and out into the audience. Everyone started clapping and cheering when she started playing. Surprise and awe making their way around the room. I think I will be chasing moments like that until I die. 

Then Iron and Wine came out and played with just his guitar. The set was great, the stage design was great, he was great. But I love him with the full band. The back up singers, the upright bass, the whole thing. Andrew Bird was great. And they were fun together. But the Iron and Wine show at the Orpheum was infinitely better to me. I walked back to the hotel, slightly disappointed, through a very weird Nashville. But so happy I now know about Meshell. 

The next day, a visit to Third Man Records. Just a quick run around the place then back on the road to Memphis. I was happy to leave those big, horrible multi-family monstrosities they’re building everywhere.

Back home again. Getting things together for the next big thing. And I find myself thinking about time a lot. Worrying I’m running out of it. Worrying I won’t get certain things. Worrying I won’t do or be certain things. And then thinking about where I was two years ago. Both of my parents were still here. And then suddenly one day in August my dad was gone. It’s so strange how some of those moments can still feel so fresh and new when I think about them. I can hear Emily on the phone running down the stairs at the hospital to get to mom and dad’s house. I was still in bed. Getting up and speeding over. And then the blur of the rest of the week. And then the blur of the rest of the year. How quickly things can change. Everything turned upside down and inside out in the most painful ways. And so, so quickly. 

And trying to remember that just as quickly as things take a nosedive they can be better than you could imagine. I never would have thought I would be getting ready to drive my jeep across the country to raft the Colorado River, or see Joshua Tree, or ride my bike through Moab, or anything I’m about to do. Trying to remember. And use my time wisely. 

And I’m running through the park, trying to shake some things off. I have this mental image of all the energy running out of all the annoying thoughts in my head. They lose energy and fall away with every step. I’ve got a good pace. And focused on this feeling of losing time and all the other stupid, stupid shit racing around my brain, and I just realize how beautiful the evening sun looks shining through the leaves. And all the thoughts go quiet for a second. God, just typing that sounds so stupid. But I swear if you don’t take the time to really see the beautiful things, take all of the goodness in, and then pass it around, what even is the point of any of it. 

Anyway. 

I packed up and left for Nebraska. Driving with Chaderlee and Adam to Wilber, Nebraska for Czech Days. On the farm. 

Listen. I have never been on a farm in any real way. Certainly never stayed at one. Especially with an entire family that I don’t really know. In another state. But it was SO. FUN. And I’m not just saying that because I know they’ll read about it. 

We started early, were on the road by 7:00 am. We talked and listened to music the entire way. Some dumb conversations, some deep conversations. A stop at the largest fountain drink. Lots of interstate. And then, cornfields. 

We walked in and almost immediately sat down for dinner—breakfast this night. The table was so sticky from what we later realized was the boys wetting marshmallows and throwing them on the ceiling, walls, wherever they would stick. And stuck to the sticky table was confetti. Stuck so good I thought it was glued.

After dinner a ride in the go cart. And then a ride in the golf cart to town. And then cards. Fake $100 bills would be all over everything the entire weekend from that card game. 

Some of the festivities started the next day. A visit to the butcher to get jerky and kolaches and rye bread—all amazing. Bingo in town that night (I won four times, a total of about $20. I handed the third winning card to Chaderlee’s nephew and told him to shout bingo. I think he was hooked after that.) and dinner at the Sokol Hall. Pork roast and kraut and rye bread and green beans. I haven’t eaten like that since my mom cooked dinner for me. She would have loved this. 

Polish sausage with kraut on rye buns and more kolaches. A visit to the Czech museum to see the history of the town. More bingo, but this time Czech bingo (I won 3 times, some crayons and a bubble wand) and then regular bingo again on the street. Parades and polka and more good food.

The festival was so fun. And I loved learning about the culture. The food, the music, the dancing, the clothing. All of it. But I think the best part was spending time with the family. And Daisy the big dog.

I haven’t laughed until I almost threw up in a very long time. But we definitely did that here. 

We stayed up way too late and ate way too much food. 

One morning we are sitting at the table after just waking up—

Chaderlee: “Are you going to write about this family on your blog?”

Before I can even answer, her brother walks in, no shirt on, with confetti stuck to his back. 

“Umm. A little probably.”

Everyone gave Grandma a hard time. But I thought she was the best. She loves her family a lot. A whole lot. And you can tell. And someday, everyone will be glad she was always taking pictures, even if they seem silly now. Trust me. 

She also told me I had balls for going on this trip by myself. I sorta enjoyed that a lot. 

I always loved it when my friends or family friends would tell me things about my parents after spending time with us. Like how funny and happy my dad was. Or that my mom was a total badass and insisted people be decent humans to one another. It was a chance for me to see them from a different perspective. See them as people instead of Mom and Dad. See so clearly the things people loved about them. 

Anyway. I loved being with family these few days. It feels like mine was obliterated over the last couple of years. And I miss it so much it sometimes feels like my heart is going to shatter into so many pieces I won’t be able to put it back together. But it also feels like I’ve got a big family. And I love it. And I’m building a bigger one this summer with everyone who’s joined me at some point along the path. 

The last night we had a bonfire at the lake and took the kayaks out before dark. We could hear polka music coming from the festivities downtown. It was all kinda perfect.

Yesterday I drove to Denver. Less fun than driving with friends. But I watched the landscape change across the states. Low cornfields that stretch from the street all the way back to a line of trees. Then cornfields that rise up and meet my eyeline on the road, stitching the ground to the horizon. Then the crops stop and the land becomes more desolate and dry. Rolling hills creating crisp lines on the horizon. Small groups of cows hanging out, large groups of cows you can smell from the car. Cows in the dessert and cows among flowers. And big open sky. Until the mountains show up as a hazy shadow in the distance. With glowing clouds above. If you squint your eyes they look like the weird, hazy, overexposed paintings I was making of clouds a couple of years ago. I stopped painting, but this makes me want to do it again. 

I’m only here for two nights until I’m back to camping for a couple of days. It feels good to be on the move again.