My Christmas wishes and New Year’s dreams range across fields of intense regrets, painful memories and unrealistic desires.
In order to keep afloat, the first two roads shall be temporarily avoided. Light shed upon them is only swallowed.
Besides, I started this page to appreciate not dwell upon.
So, unrealistic desires.
The ones not hitched to the memory or regret.
For the first time, I would like to consciously rewrite myself. A new me and image of self based on open roads and a pair of boots. Well, a really nice pair of boots.
Oh, and a motorcycle. Yes. That part is probably more important.
Boots, motorcycle, road.
I love America. I love the open roads and open faces of America. I love the West and its small town diners with old men and older coffee. I love the amazingly different shapes and flavors eggs and potatoes will take as one ranges far and wide across the nation’s patchwork of people and geography. I love pulled pork, the pulled pork of Deep South and the Midwest. I love highways through deserts that disappear into far off points and heat shimmers. I love mountain peaks cars struggle to crest. I love roads that run straight into the sea, offering paths maps don’t hold. I love old men selling boiled peanuts, Amish jam, elk jerky, fireworks, bbq and all the other crazy regional roadside concoctions.
I love America.
And as much as I have seen, I can never seem to see enough.
I always need more. The perfect diner slice. The perfect conversation on weather. The perfect photo of a horse in a field. The perfect memory.
I know this is some shortfall of character, or attempt to fix some broken psyche.
I know, and have been told, how I run and move and travel in some bungled attempt to escape myself.
I also feel I move to move. See to see. And experience to live.
With so much America still untouched by my hand, unseen by my lens, how could I ever sit still, settle down, stop?
How could I breathe and leave those places unfelt?
With all I have seen, I have only seen enough to know I’ve seen nothing. With all I have learned, I have only learned enough to know I know nothing.
“For my part, I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel’s sake. The great affair is to move; to feel the needs and hitches of our life more nearly; to come down off this feather-bed of civilisation, and find the globe granite underfoot and strewn with cutting flints.”
—Robert Louis Stevenson