This note goes to all those that have somehow been part of my last three years. To the one that encouraged me to follow my wanderlust without hesitation. To those who have raised me to venture with unending support and without fear. To the gentleman who saw potential in a guy who needed a shave and a haircut and to the woman who took that potential to the next level. To those that I've loved, befriended, or merely coexisted with and to those with whom I have lived, traveled, celebrated, suffered, failed, and succeeded.
Thank you. The tour is over.
There is a sadness that comes when you discover the answer to the question many of our kind have: How do you get off this ride? Well, since the Evel Knievel costume never arrived and I have zero motorcycle experience, the flaming hoop jump was out of the question. Alas, no, the carousel has spun too fast, we rode the scrambler without our harnesses, and – purely through centrifugal force – I have been included in the group thrown from the ride.
I left the “normal” lifestyle in California nearly 3.5 years ago without a clue of into what I was heading. My car was loaded nearly to the ceiling and the suspension was unhappy with me. When sleeping in the car during travels, I had to sit up. I have much less property now, not due to loss, but due to the realization of what is necessary. I'm essentially down to a duffel bag, a backpack, and a bicycle in my car. Look around and ask yourself exactly what is needed.
Property isn't what should be used to evaluate the success of an opportunity. Consider the memories of what I've been through. I originally left because I wanted to live outside of California at some point in my life. I've lived/worked in twenty-one places since then and by the time I make it back to the West coast, I'll have traveled through 48 states. I've lived with four other people in a studio apartment. I've lived with eight others in a house. I've slept on floors next to my friends, my coworkers. We have had our moments of suffering and our chances to support.
This world teaches us a factor to interpersonal relationships that I never found working in offices. Early on, in my second city, I realized the family attitude that touring provides. You can spend years sharing an office with your coworkers and consider them friends, but this was something quicker...something stronger. Some of those I've toured with have become big brothers and little sisters. We have gone through every unforeseeable circumstance together. When one of us was down, someone helped to pick him up. As a follower, I carried everything I owned with me in my car: a legitimate circus turtle. In transiting between Houston and Cincinnati, I was to meet some coworkers in New Orleans for a night of celebration. I was in backcountry Louisiana when a car ricocheted into mine, totaling my vehicle. The tow truck driver, unaware of my living situation, told me to take everything I wanted out of the vehicle before he towed it. I had no response beyond, "I'd like it all, that's my life in there." I posted an update to Facebook to alert my friends that I wouldn't make it to New Orleans. Shortly after, one of my supervisors, someone who had supported me from the beginning, called me to confirm what town I was in. "I've booked the last room in the only hotel in that town so you don't need to worry about where you're sleeping tonight." This was unsolicited and reimbursement was never requested. Others called to offer transportation to the next city for either my belongings or for my body. An immediate outpouring of support demonstrated our family. A coworker's loss of his vehicle soon after would offer another chance for us to help out. We had "Real World"-style houses where we discovered things we didn't want to find and found ways to amuse ourselves during forced days off. We improvised holidays together: Thanksgiving feasts cooked for us at the circus, potluck Christmas with lottery ticket-filled stockings, bowling for Halloween instead of dressing up. This wasn't a job.
So many opportunities to explore, here and abroad. So many friends that I've made across the states and internationally, through Cirque and Couchsurfing, that it's hard to decide where to drive and who to visit. So many good decisions that have helped support the concept of living in the moment and so many regrettable choices to have learned from. So many natural disasters...
I don't know what's next. I don't know where I'm going in ten days. That's fine though. I'll catch you on the next tour.
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