A Year of Driving; A Driving Year

One year ago today, perhaps one year ago this moment, I looked up from my tea and said, “It sure would be cheaper to live if we didn’t have a house to take care of.” And the other responsible mature adult in the family, rather than laughing at my insanity or rolling her eyes at my immaturity, looked down at her tea and said, “We can’t leave today, but we could go for a nice long drive and talk about it.”

sunny nomad familyOne year later we’ve realized that we’re barely getting started. There’s so much to see and do. We’ve certainly seen and done a lot already. But just counting the predominantly English-speaking portions of North America we have passed through only 21/63 of the states, provinces and territories (which you mathematicians know can be reduced to 1/3; hey, we’re homeschoolers, we’re always teaching.) And that doesn’t even acknowledge the original goal of sharing a meal in each state, province and territory. That probably requires a complete recount which may reduce the number significantly.

Canadian waterfallAnother Year—At Least

One year from now we hope to be 63 for 63.

That’s going to take planning and occasionally pushing just a little. So far we’ve let our travels take us wherever there was a place to go. During the coming year we might make choices instead of drifting on the wind.

It does not yet feel like work. We don’t feel unstable. As the bumper sticker in Taos New Mexico said, ‘all who wander are not lost.’ We wander, but not lost.

Settling In,
Not Settling Down

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We’ve talked about moving our World HQ from Northern California to the frigid wasteland of Wisconsin in order to be close to my mom as much as possible. We’ve taken a few preliminary steps but it’s nothing like settling down.

That process though raised thoughts of settling down. We realized as we drove and talked that we no longer need to travel. Now we want to travel. We’re not sure we’ve seen any change in our finances. What we have seen is a great long list of changes in us.

Canfield familyLessons. Friends. Wealth.

After knowing each other nearly four decades we’ve managed to learn new things about each other during the past year, even during the past month. Sue has developed greater faith that things will work out, that we will sleep indoors, eat regularly and have the things we need for our simple life. I’ve developed greater faith that I can advance confidently in the direction of my dreams. Our little one has learned that not all heights are dangerous and that outside is better than inside.

A caravan of angry camelsWe’ve made dozens of connections and half a dozen lifelong friends. We’ve realized the power of asking and the nearly universal presence of generosity and kindness.

There are still challenges almost every day. Being a nomad doesn’t mean leaving challenges behind. It means doing battle with the challenges on our own terms. We have learned to measure our wealth not in dollars but in time spent doing what we choose.

We are rich beyond belief.

Happy 6 Months

I wrote about how this is the real beginning but didn’t explicitly congratulate myself and my family.

Go, us!

It does feel like we’re barely warming up. We’re just starting to sort out this whole house-sitting thing. I still worry every time I have to pack the van that this time it won’t all fit. I still see 2 weeks as not enough time to settle in and get something done, so I slack off.

I wanna get good at this, and I feel like we’ve barely begun.

Six whole months as nomads. That’s quite an accomplishment, I know. But, only 6 months? Second grade takes 9.

I want to get better at this; I want to be really really good at it.

That’s gonna take years. That’s okay. I’ve got ’em.

Embrace the Unexpected

Tehachipi dusted with snow. A field full of jumbo jets in Mojave. The almost comically hard snow line above the desert. Our first night sleeping in a Walmart parking lot.

If our trip had gone as planned we would have missed all this. We would never have planned a trip which included being stuck in Bakersfield because the freeways were blocked due to snow.

You cannot plan for everything. Indeed, you should plan. But as every nomad knows no plan survives contact with the highway.

Discontent and unhappiness are caused by our refusal to acknowledge and accept what is. Call it serendipity, the universe, God. Embrace the adventures that happen all on their own.

Like most true stories, there’s just no way we could make this stuff up.

No Travel Plan Survives Contact with the Pavement

A few days ago Sue told you about being stuck over night in Bakersfield because the roads going south were closed because of the snow. Yes, in California, you can close the carotid artery of the state with snow, unlike, say, Wisconsin.

Anyway, we had a ball. We never would have planned most of the stuff we did on that drive; sleeping in the car in a WalMart parking lot, f’rinstance. We left early to get here early. Sue finally has contact lenses again instead of her outdated glasses, so she can drive at night and we would have. We’ve driven 25 hours with nothing but naps. I wouldn’t do it often, but we were so antsy to get going that we were ready to leave at 4:30pm Sunday, and drive ’til 7 the next morning. That’s not what happened.

What happened was that we discovered, again, that we can do pretty much anything, and if we can’t do it, we can survive it. We can’t control the weather or road closures, so instead, we controlled our reaction. We enjoyed the silliness of, after making it out of Canada, Wisconsin, South Dakota, and more last November, being snowbound in southern California fer cryin’ out loud.

We saw Tehachapi covered in snow. (Jerry and I are going to organise a business retreat there. Interested in some of the most humanistic, practical, fun business training in existence? Gimme a shout.)

We reminded ourselves that no one was waiting up for us. We had no deadline, only a goal, and a loose one. I drove under the speed limit. We stopped to look at stuff. Fiona trudged through snow in a Walgreen’s parking lot, just because she wanted to. We sat in a StarBUCKs in Bakersfield and just puttered while Fiona ate the free oatmeal one of the baristas gave her (“I’m a mom and I just thought she might like some; is that okay?” Um, yeah, you can give our little girl breakfast; sure!)

You can’t plan trips as great as the ones that happen on their own.

I noticed something as I drove. When I glanced at Sue, there were different lines on her face. For quite a while, they’ve been worry lines; stress lines. We’ve spent some time doing things we needed to do the past couple months; time getting ready for should instead of want. Now, the lines are smiles, peace, thoughts, prayers.

Lines on the map don’t mean much to me anymore; I can go anywhere and be happy. It’s what I read in my wife’s face that tells me whether we’re on the right path.

No Back; Only Forth

Leaving Sacramento after our daughter’s wedding, Sue pointed out that this was the real beginning of our nomadic life.

Up ’til now, everything has either been a dress rehearsal (our month in Vancouver) or a trip (to Montreal) or a temporary holding pattern until we had to go back. We always had to go back.

This time, there’s no back, only forth.

We’re not going somewhere we have to come back from. We don’t have any specific places we have to be, or be back to. Nothing to hold us to any particular spot on the planet. Nothing to do that isn’t exactly what we’ve chosen.

Joel braves 70mph winds at Bray Head, Valentia Island, Co. Kerry, Ireland
Joel braves 70mph winds at Bray Head, Valentia Island, Co. Kerry, Ireland
Forth. Only forth. We go forth to house sit for someone who wasn’t an existing connection. Forth to spend real time near the place I was born but have rarely seen since then. Forth to August in Canada (I got my wish, again.) Forth to the easternmost land on this continent, to balance our standing on the westernmost land in Europe.

Our time here in Phoenix feels all too short, but before it ends in one week, we’ll have passed the 6-month mark in our nomadic life. The past 6 months have been the greatest period of change in my life, and in my head. I didn’t know it was possible to know Sue any better, and I do. I thought I knew where I was going with our business. Turns out that the greatest leap was to something that’s not a business at all, but a reason, so April 19th I’m launching a Great Big Thing that will be our primary business focus, despite the fact that it’s not a business at all.

During the past 6 months, I’ve forgiven myself for a lot of things. I’ve found things in my head that I didn’t even know were there, and found things I thought I’d lost. If we settled down in a little village somewhere tomorrow, I would still be changed irrevocably.

When you travel, the greatest discovery is yourself.

Lessons From the Road #27 – Nomads Go

(The lessons are not in any kind of order. The numbers are just for fun.)

Coming up on six months on the road. The wedding is checked off our list. In preparation for tomorrow’s early morning start from Sashe cramento to Phoenix we started packing what could be left overnight in the van. Before we were halfway through the adrenaline-induced travel itch kicked in and we were talking about leaving today.

We left.

Crafty Lifestyle: Bookbinding

Having more time has made me ponder creative outlets besides my songwriting and business books. Needing a better way to track my projects and day-to-day tasks (my experiment with 3×5 cards was most enlightening) I tried my hand at hand stitching my own little notebook.

I need to work on the gluing techniques, and got myself a smaller drill bit for the stitching holes, but all in all, I’m happy with the result. I believe that I can make these for less than 50 cents each, and it’s very peaceful and relaxing stitching the signatures (groups of pages) inside.

I wanted to make something fast, unfussy, and cheap, so I’d be more inclined to use these things and not wait until I had thoughts worthy of enshrining in some leather-bound tome (for now.)

A single sheet of letter-size paper will yield three strips which, when folded in half, makes a 4 1/4″ x 3 5/8″ page. I laid 16 sheets down, measured the top sheet, then used a straight edge and tore the sheets rather than cutting them. I’ll need to work on the technique, but I don’t mind the raggedy edge; just don’t want it quite that raggedy.

If I could settle for two folded pages from each sheet, and live with a waste strip 1 1/2″ x 11″ from each, I could make journals the same size as a Moleskine, but the waste disturbs me. I might experiment with a tiny 2 3/4″ x 4 1/4″ journal which would require 12 sheets of letter-size paper to make a 192-page journal. Would that be big enough? Guess I need to find out.

The fabric glue I used is flexible even after it dries, but I didn’t get it thin enough. Spreading with a thin card instead of my finger would help.

I made a book press out of two 12″ x 3/4″ x 3/4″ pieces of birch wood and two carriage bolts with wing nuts. During the gluing process I realised I’ll need something wide enough to smash the whole journal, so it looks like I’ll need two more carriage bolts and two pieces of wood big enough to hold the largest journal I’m likely to make, a half-sheet 5 1/2″ x 8 1/2″ so that’s about 7″ x 10″ to leave room for drilling the bolt holes. Have to be careful of size, being nomads and all.

Eventually I’d like to settle on one or two sizes and have someone make a leather cover I can slip over the current journal, and reuse when the journal’s full. I’ll also have to answer the questions in my head about the textured cover I chose, the decorated end sheets, etc. They weren’t cheap, and there’s no reason I can’t do something both economical and beautiful, if I’m willing to invest time and effort into it.

Someday I plan to make a whole book by hand—write it all out on handmade paper and make a single unique book I’ve written; one of a kind.

Ushuaia, the End (FAWM 2011 #14, Dedicated to “Family On Bikes”)

In June of 2008, the Vogel family set out from as far north as you can get on this continent, heading for as far south as you can get on the next continent.

By bicycle.

By the time they arrive in just a few days their twin sons will hold the world record for traveling the length of the Americas by bicycle.

Read their story, starting with the press release they’ve prepared for the big finish, and listen to a little melody that came into my head as I was reading Nancy’s email a couple days ago. Ushuaia is at the southern end of Tierra del Fuego in Argentina . . . down at the end of the world.

Listen to ‘Ushuaia: The End’

If you click the “listen” link above, you’ll see a “Download” link. Help yourself!

Corner of My Eye (FAWM 2011 #13)

The past two FAWMs I’ve tried my hand at some jazz guitar. This year it almost didn’t happen. I didn’t plan it, at least, but my unconscious decided otherwise.

During most of the 14,000 miles we’ve traveled in the past six months, I’ve driven, with Sue in the passenger seat, just visible out of the corner of my eye. It’s one of the emotional mental images I get when I think about our life.

Listen to ‘Corner of My Eye’

Hey Joel (FAWM 2011 #12)

This one is a collaboration with Oddbod, the performing name of one Tim Conway who lives in Kent, England. I’d wanted to write something with him since he came to FAWM. I’m writing as much as I can about our travels this year, but if you listen to Oddbod’s other music you’ll see I couldn’t just give him my usual lyric.

It’s about travel, just not in the usual manner. He tweaked the verses a little, but didn’t like my chorus at all so he wrote his own, which resulted in the song being called what it’s called. (In case you’re interested, yes, it feels odd singing to yourself in a song, but we both wanted my voice in the background so there I am on the chorus, and also whistling behind the kazoo solo.)

Listen to ‘Hey Joel’

Lyrics:

Hey Joel, its time to leave
We got somewhere else to be
So use your imagination
And you’ll soon be far away

I go to work each day on the london train
sit around ‘until I head back home again
they wouldn’t know If I was never there
And I don’t think they’d care

I hate this 9 to 5 like everyone I know
can’t leave the office but I need somewhere to go
and so I drift, off to another place
A blank look on my face

Hey Joel, its time to leave
This aint where we want to be
My mind is on an jetplane
A thousand miles away

those morning meetings they never seem to end
I used to make an effort now I just pretend
Its hard to pay attention anymore
it’s all become a bore

Hey Joel, its time to leave
We got somewhere else to be
So use your imagination
And you’ll soon be far away

And I watch the clock
But the hands are turning slow
I’m counting down
Until its time to go
To anyplace we know but here

I’ve done a whole week’s work by Monday afternoon
leaves me time to dream or write another tune
A so-called job, it ain’t no job at all
Its staring at the wall

Hey Joel, its time to leave
This ain’t where we want to be
My mind is on an jetplane
A thousand miles away