Map? Check. Compass? Check. Boots? Check. Inspirational literature? Check. Backpack, water bottles, sensible clothing, hat, sun screen, tent, sleeping bag, notebook to catalog my adventures and deep insights into the human condition? Check, check, check, check, check, check, check; yeah why not, check as well.
I unfurled my paper map onto the dining room table and fixed myself a drink. Just to relax while I looked closely at all the possible trails: where they end and bleed into each other; where they can connect to produce the perfect combination of adventure and self-fulfillment without overly taxing my body. It’s a lot like threading a needle. If you don’t plan for a slow enough pace and maximum stimulation you’ll end up regretting every step of a long, drawn out journey that will end up feeling pointless. I was committed to not making that mistake. I wanted to do it all and see it all in the least strenuous way possible.
I know what you may be thinking. I wasn’t mimicking the character in Eat, Pray, Love. I didn’t want to be some cliche of white privilege. And I don’t have that kind of money anyway. I have seen the movie Wild. It appealed to me like it would anyone wishing to find some deeper truth about themselves, even test themselves in impossible situations. That was the only pop cultural reference I had in mind. Though in truth the idea of hitting the road seemed to permeate the wider culture, or at least my news and social feeds. Everyone was outfitting camper vans and heading west. Some were even channeling their inner Dean Moriarty (This is an On The Road reference), jumping into their jalopies on a wild rejection of everything normal in search of some greater truth that is ultimately an end in itself. All of these people were keeping video logs and journals, cataloging everything on social media, engendering a bit of envy in the process. The NY Times published the best hiking routes across the world. How could I be complacent when everyone else was out finding a deeper truth, whatever that means. They say you only live once, and since I’m not religious I believe it, so why not make the most of the moment. Am I right?
I stayed up the entire night drinking and planning, drinking and planning, until I was completely drunk and had an itinerary for every minute of every day. I had conservatively logged where I would camp every night for thirty days, what sights I would see, what days I would share my profound insights to my imagined audience of fans, and when I would take the time out of my journey to interact with them. I think it’s important to make myself available for fans I don’t have but will surely flock to me when they catch wind of my journey. Without them, the idea of this journey wouldn’t even be tenable.
In the morning I slept and dreamt about the grandeur of my journey. It’s important to manifest good fortune. It sounds very California. That’s how I think of it anyway. Maybe a better term is new age. You know those people who are into crystals and herbal medicines and call themselves “spiritual” with a straight face. Whatever your preferred nomenclature, I was channeling the snake oil salesman who’ve convinced me I could achieve my goals just by wanting them very badly. I’ll try anything that doesn’t sound too crazy. Maybe even the stuff that is a little crazy and low risk.
When I woke up I was refreshed and revitalized by the idea of what was to come. I still needed to take steps in my life to make it the trip possible. I had to quit my job first and foremost. They wouldn’t allow me to take off as long as I needed. I could lie and try to use medical leave. The problem is I don’t know how all of that works and don’t have the desire to find out. Quitting felt like the easiest route. I had to contact my close friends and family to let them know where I was going. I didn’t want them to worry about me and I think I would need some human contact, at least in the beginning before building up a strong following of strangers to motivate me and allay the concerns I was sure to develop. I had to sell my car and many of my possessions. I didn’t really need to sell everything. It feels more authentic to the experience though. You know what I mean? Otherwise it would feel like a long vacation, rather than the life changing event I want it to be. I need to commit to this thing.
I threw a bunch of useless stuff I no longer needed into large trash bags and took them to the local pawn shop. I was hoping to get some money for whatever had value then donate everything else to goodwill. I managed to get a couple hundred dollars and I turned that around into some high end camping gear.
By the end of the day I had everything ready to go. When I looked around my mostly empty apartment and the small pile of camping gear in a corner by the door, a thought crept into my head that I couldn’t get rid of. At first I thought it was just nerves and would pass. I worked hard to think about anything else.
I was coming to the harsh realization that I don’t like to hike, nor camp, nor be outside for extended periods of time. Paralyzed by the paradox of wanting something different that I already knew I didn’t like, I started to develop a plan to unwind everything I’d done that day, and go back to my normal life. Even after all of the work that went into this spur of the moment decision, there was something about the numbing comfort of everything I’ve known that made it feel palatable again.
So what if I won’t be one of those people out there glamorizing the road and limited responsibilities. I can always turn on my feeds and live vicariously through them from the comforts of my little patch of the world. What I really needed was to fully convince myself that the person behind that window shade, bathed in blue light, was doing the best they could and that was enough.
GLAZ 