Wait, I've left my handkerchief!

And as with every compelling story, I, your simple adventuring protagonist began with a false start.

Plans change and swirl around me, but I seem to be returning to the eye of the storm.

Teaching myself to play guitar has been a precious experience these last few months. With new music flowing through me, I find myself drawn to instruments at every turn. As the sun set today, I sat at the upright piano in my good friend's living room, the purple orange twilight stole in through the curtains, setting the scene for my first recital since childhood. I don't play piano. Or so I thought.

Tunes long ago drilled mercilessly into memory by stifling piano lessons, now flowed out easily and naturally. I felt a shift. Breathing more deeply, remembering old songs, feelings, and anecdotes from a compartmentalized childhood labeled 'fragile, handle with care,' I feel a shift.

I'm coming back to conscious breath, feeling the volume of my monkey brain's chatter receding ever so slightly.

The road calls and I feel more ready than ever to answer.

Departing with the Dawn

My bedside clock lazily rolled over to 1:40 am on a tranquil summer night here in LA.

In my chest however, waves churn and crash as they have my entire life. Time for change.

I threw my charted courses from weeks of brainstorms to the wind as my instinct excitedly tugs at my consciousness like an eager child, ready to explore.

Making checklists usually feels helpful. I fill a page of unlined notepaper with the necessities I know will give this trip a proper tone. Tent, folding chair, guitar, yoga mat, bathing suit, etc. etc.

It has been a rough few weeks. My clinical depression comes in waves and this current bout has felt like a tsunami. Combined with the practical issues I face, specifically searching for my calling, juggling perhaps too many girlfriends, and nearing the end of my savings, something's gotta give.

So I'm setting off on a U.S. road trip. No destinations, no plans.

Let's see where this journey goes.