On Average, in one minute, a human heart beats 60 times . . .
71 planes take off, and 4,500 hamburgers are sold by the McDonald’s Corporation worldwide. All in one minute. Every minute, of every day, of every year.
Fast travel is fast food. There might not be as many flights per minute, the rate of traveling by plane, train, or ship might not have a direct correlation with heart disease and high cholesterol, and traveling isn’t food. Duh. But inasmuch as travel is brain food, nourishment for the soul, fast travel is fast food. It’s clogging our social arteries, ultimately slowing our capacity to connect with other cultures, along with understanding ourselves. Continue reading
I work with the band Indigenous Robot…
as their tour manager. A perfect arrangement for a vagrant like myself and a band like them. Since I started helping them at last year’s South by South West, we have traveled through nine states, one Canadian province, four cities in Japan, and I have heard them place at least 80 times in 65 days. That’s an average of one show every five days.
Thursday night they played a great show in Denver at the Marquis Theater with the legendary mr. Gnome. The weekend was supposed to look like; Friday-10am drive to Salt Lake City and spend the night there, Saturday drive to Boise, play a sold out Record Store Day after-party at the Neurolux with mr. Gnome, Sunday the band would leave me in Boise to return to Denver and I would find my way to Seattle for the birth of my nephew.
Obviously, that isn’t anything close to what the weekend looked like, because we wanted to cross the Rockies in spring, and we had plans. Continue reading
I’ve been in Denver for 23 days…
At this point I have worked 13 of those days. Three of them being 10 or more hours. Now, a lot of people might be thinking, 23 days is two days over three weeks, a work week is five days, so who’s this schmuck to get off writing about the difficulties of work?
It’s not work that I have picked up my notebook to write about. It is work with the absence of home, personal space, or stability that is on my mind.
So far, I have slept on three different couches and one bed between four apartments and houses. Continue reading
is the thought of not traveling anymore…
After enough time, it becomes a companion, friend, family. Traveling. So, in a way, to stop traveling would be to lose a loved one. And when you’ve traveled primarily alone, like myself, you’re not only losing a loved one, but the only one that knows what you’ve been through. The only one that has been there through it all. The good and the bad. It loves you unconditionally, never asking too much of you or to be anything other then yourself.
It encourages you. Lifts you up. Teaches you to be strong and carefully nudges you in the direction you should be going. In this relationship you learn who you are. Your needs, wants, and desires. You learn your limits.
People come and go. Live and die of their own accord. But travel only dies when you neglect it. Continue reading
I was a little nervous…
A friend—actually someone I had met through Couchsurfing. Once. Four years ago for maybe two hours. That kind of friend, the ones you meet and know, even though you barely know them. I had a crush on her back then too. So I was a little nervous when she contacted me out of the blue to say she was in Colorado and it would be nice to catch up.
Back in September I attended a 10-day silent meditation retreat. It was for a form of meditation called Vipassana. These are the teachings that Buddha passed down, so I am not going to attempt to teach them to you over 140 characters. Continue reading