Wanderlust

Stuff my pockets full, strap my slick black bike to the back, and into the highway headwind I will press, onward and outward into the new and perpetually lonely. I left a good thing behind, a home, an extended family of friends, collaborators, and teammates, but I have to be willing to sacrifice these comforts to find any sort of meaning and purpose. I'm walking into the cold alone, to the places where no one knows me, cares to, or tries to hold me up. Statue time for Mr. Jack, hungry time, time to choose a war, to face west and watch the sun sink into the ocean. It's that small joy, in between towns, out on the road, that little freedom, what Robert Parker calls " All we have left." It's mine, I'm going to look at the land, ghost through cities and towns, and find that place where I make sense. It may actually lie somewhere along the way, I may have already left it behind, but I'm not afraid of losing it because if it's real, if it exists, we will find each other in time.