It was this time last year that things began to change for me. It's when the shift became palpable and the beauteous hum grew loud.
I've been flirting with transformation my entire life. Trying on my higher self one article at time but being sure to always stay rooted enough in the comfort to feel safe. It was around the end of 2012 when I started to see how absurd the safety was, fear as comfort, safety as sorrow. I began to wedge my fingers between the outer layer of flesh coating my fluorescent lit, drop ceilinged reality and the wild underbelly of my higher self - my true self. Through meditation and yoga and solid honest relationships and creativity and meaningful moments and art and psychedelics and love I slowly started to peel away the impediment of that murky outer layer to reveal the outer space of the inner me. All the glowing cosmic potential of my personal galaxy.
By the spring of 2013 it was as if I was caught between worlds. One foot in the dull thud of homogeny and the other in the glorious hum of infinity. I was getting somewhere.
It was around this time that I climbed into a Subaru with my best friend and charted a course from New York to California. We had just come out of a weird space in our friendship where we hadn't really spoken for a while. Lack of communication leads to lack of communication. It's so unfortunate when you lose gaps of time with good people because of what you weren't able to reconcile within yourself. I was looking forward to being crammed in a car for a week with my homie. We had some lost time to make up for. And boy did we ever. We picked up right where we left off and have never looked back. I'd go to war for him. That's my brother.
That ride across the continent healed our relationship and while that's a very romantic sentiment it wasn't much of a surprise. Our roots ran deeper than our wounds. You can fix most surface beefs by just locking two people in car together for a few days. I kind of hoped for and expected that outcome. But something else happened along I-80 that I didnt expect.
There's all kinds of names for it. Waking up, being reborn, coming into your body, etc. For me it was like being alive for the first time. The open road, no commitments and a wide open and vast land mass I had barely seen until now. This was the juice, man. I was alive. I was reborn...and I wasn't going back.
My dad has been a driver all his life. Tractor trailers and limousines. It wasn't until this journey that I finally understood the attraction. That glorious transient energy. There's magic on the open road. There's every bit and piece of you along that highway. This felt right. This was home out here, man. This was the juice. This is where I needed to be. Open and moving. With no concern for the destination because it was inside the journey that I arrived. It was like riding a lightning bolt. It was like sitting lotus position in the eye of a storm. All the whirling trappings of existence around me and I'm calm in the center of journey.
That was it. That's when I knew I needed to travel. I needed to get up, get out and get moving. I saw all that time behind my desk as time lost. There's too much to look at in Montana alone. And what about all those beauties in NorCal? How'm I ever gonna find meaning in those honest interactions at an intimate open mic night when I'm pushing 70 hours a week through my love filter. I was clogging up. I needed out...quickly.
That drive from NY to Cali in the spring of 2013 was so impactful that it rocked me to my core. It jarred me. It disturbed something in my marrow.
When I got back from that trip and went back to work and back to paying rent for a space (albeit a dope space) that I was just existing in month to month I started to lose my mind. I saw everything for what it was and it drove me mad. I got real depressed and fell into a really dark hole. I needed to get out. I needed back on the road. My heart hurt.
I had been seeing a shrink for about six months before this. An amazing woman. I got real lucky because this was my first attempt to start getting at what was going on inside of me. The darkness that followed my return from Cali wasn't new for me. I'd been wrestling this monster my entire life. But this time I had a silver arrow for his ass. I had an amazing and compassionate therapist that helped me to put somethings into perspective and listen deeper to that hum I mentioned earlier. It wasn't about slaying my monster. It was about holding his hand. And she taught me how to walk with him. And not a minute too soon. I was bad. This was one the darkest places I had ever been. I wanted out. I wanted to kill myself but I didn't want to die. Does that make sense? It's what I told the nurse at St. Catherine's when I checked myself in. " I don't wanna live but I don't wanna die."
It's my opinion that the closer you get to figuring shit out the more chaotic and real the pain is. Darkest before the dawn...that kinda shit. And it served to be true because after a few months of dark muck I pulled the ripcord and bounced. And I've never looked back. Through travel I've gone on to create some of the most stunning and breathtaking dawns following my dark. And it isn't over. The monster is still with me. For me he's a yeti...idk it's just how I see him. But the monster still wants to fuck me up some days. He's also an 8 year old boy so he's not disciplined and lacks focus but he's also a fucking yeti so he can rip my heart out. And I have to keep just trying to hold his hand and not wrestle him when he flares up and attacks. It's a constant practice. It never stops.
Fuck around and try to hold your yeti's hand and wind up on the shore of a tropical island...in a tent...writing about it.