Road Ramblings
On the road man. To describe the feeling of hitchhiking across the country is nearly impossible. It’s a visceral experience, one that can only be lived, not captured through words, art or music. It’s the closest I’ve ever gotten to freedom in this country: freedom to decide whether you’re headed to Portland Oregon or Portland Maine; freedom to wander through some podunk town in Bumfuck, Nowhere just for the hell of it; freedom to sleep under the stars on top of a Ralph’s in Willits, California, where you’ve just shoplifted your dinner because you don’t got a dime to your name.
But it has its risks, especially traveling alone. I’ve gotten picked up by speed freak truckers who wouldn’t let me out of the cab until I pulled my knife out and threatened them. I’ve gotten picked up by crazy rednecks who decide to start shooting their pistol out the window while we’re driving down the highway. I’ve been literally kicked out of a car for stating my political views.
So why do I do this? Why do I live this way, take these risks, sitting on the side of the road with my thumb out, sunburned and dirty, stomach empty, head full of possibilities, lonely as all hell?
Maybe it’s a masochistic streak I haven’t let go of yet. Maybe it’s for the experience, something to draw from as a writer. Or maybe I’ve done the 9 to 5 bullshit and realize that it’s killing my soul and every dollar I make has taxes taken out of it that go to a government that perpetuates everything I’ve stood up and fought against, protested against, screamed myself hoarse about to anyone who will listen.
But who knows? Tomorrow I may meet the love of my life, settle down, have kids, get a job and forget about trying to change the world, forget about my dreams as a writer, forget about all the crazy things I’ve done and times I’ve had. The world we live in and the lives we live are constantly in flux, and if you can’t take every moment and spend it doing something that fulfills you as a person, why the fuck are you living at all?
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