Not All Wanderers are Lost?

I haven’t written. I didn’t forget or get lazy. I listened to the doubts and I couldn’t push myself through.

Who cares about the story?

So I stopped.

I stopped writing the story at a point in my journey when I knew I was exactly where I was supposed to be: I was in Kaikoura, New Zealand and it was perfect.

I made friends. I hiked. I painted.

After Kaikoura, Emma and I got a ride from a musician who let me choose the music in the car. Not only did he bring us all the way to Christchurch (our next destination), he let us stay at his house that night. His flat mate was a poet and we cooked dinner and drank and played music and read poetry.

In the morning, he brought us to the train station and we parted ways. We took the train across the mountains to the West Coast.

On the other side, we got a ride with a woman from Ireland who happened to be staying at the same hostel as us. 

You’ll always meet someone on a shorter and safer trip than you. You’ll always meet someone on a longer and more exciting adventure than you.

But rides started getting harder to catch.

Please pick us up. Please pick us up.

But things work out and we made it to Franz Josef where I hiked to the glacier.

And we made it to Wanaka with a great group of strangers.

Looking at Wanaka before leaving again.

We made it to Queenstown where we ate a burger at Fergburger. We got a ride from a pro-hockey player from France. We got stuck in Alexandria and stayed in a really cold hostel.

Emma waiting in Queenstown

We went to Dunedin to climb the steepest street in the world just in time for sunset.

Top of Baldwin Street

We took a bus back to Nelson where we would part ways.

Emma stayed behind with a plan to get back on the Stray Bus to explore the South Island again and I took the ferry back to Wellington to catch my flight the next day.

I was alone again. I flew to San Francisco.

A seagull enjoys the view of the Golden Gate Bridge.

I used Craigslist to make my way north with someone who begins as a stranger and ends a new friend. In Santa Rosa, I tried In-and-Out Burger for the first time.

Utilizing Craigslist again, I found a 63-year-old Vietnam Vet looking for someone to go cross-country and I was looking to get to Colorado. We spent 4 days on the roads less traveled, camping our way east.

I spent three more weeks in Colorado debating if I should just stay.

Full moon over the mountains in Nederland, Colorado.

At the top of Loveland Pass with Ollie.

On Craigslist again, I found a nice guy from Atlanta looking to drive to DC. He was taking a break from hiking the Appalachian Trail. He had already completed the southern portion and went to Colorado for a friend’s wedding.

I spent a couple more days in Annapolis riding bikes and boats until I finally took a bus back to Philly and then a train to Atlantic City where I called my brother to see if he happened to be nearby and could give me a ride home – I didn’t tell anyone I would be arriving.

He picked me up from the train station and we drove home.

I spent about six weeks at the beach and riding my bike and picking up odd-jobs before flying to Vegas for a wedding.

I flew to Guatemala where I decided I would study Spanish for a few weeks. 

Then back to Colorado for another wedding.

As serendipity would have it, I was asked to drive a car from Colorado to Massachusetts under the condition I could take as long as I needed. I drove alone across the country, visiting states.

I drove into Arkansas, which was the 50^th state that I needed to visit – I have now been to all 50 states. The lady at the Visitor’s Center gave me a book and took my picture.

My experience in Fayetteville, Arkansas was one of the nicest I’ve had and will be another story of its own – oh, the people I met were so wonderful.

One night at a time going through Missouri, Kentucky, West Virginia, Pennsylvania, Massachusetts, New York, and eventually to New Jersey.

A few weeks later: Iceland with my mom!

But, what next? I would wait and see.

A friend proposed I move to Telluride, Colorado... so I end up spending three months there.

Sure.

And then back to New Jersey because maybe working at a bike shop and hanging out at the beach would be a really fun time but things can never just be that easy for my restless soul.

Just over two months later I feel again like I’m suffocating and I wake up in the middle of the night with no sense of home; it feels like panic. My heart pounds and I still need to figure out where I’m supposed to go from here.

Should I just pack my bag and head out on a one-way ticket again? I really want to learn Spanish.

Should I pack my car with my cat and dog and see what it’s like to live on the Oregon Coast?

Should I unpack my boxes and just stay put?

Philadelphia? New York City? Utah? Alaska?

There are so many places to see and people to meet.

I don't know where to begin. It's overwhelming.

We only get one chance.

There was always a constant tug at my heart telling me to live as full a life as I could - whatever that means. It's a push that makes me say "yes" and keep going.

And the opportunity arose last year so I left on a train in hopes that I would figure something out along the way.

But I’m sitting here trying to explain this while my hands shake and my throat feels tight because I am. so. utterly. lost.

Who cares about the story? A story needs an ending. A story needs some lesson learned. An epiphany. Love. Enlightenment.

Or maybe just take some beautiful picture while you look out into the beautiful world from a cliff while the whales swim through the water in the distance and attach some quote that makes everything look like it is perfect, because it is.