Wayward
In late 1997, I quit my job, sold all my belongings and relocated from Columbus, Ohio to Seattle, Washington. Over a two-week car journey, I zig-zagged somewhat aimlessly over six thousand miles trying to figure out why I would do such a thing. I posted about it (on Blogger) every few days to family, friends, and a growing number of strangers.
In 2026, nearing the 30 year anniversary of that journey, I revisited the writings about my adventure and decided they wanted to be seen again. After some minor and major editing of content and structure, I am happy to give them a new home here.
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Little Ghosts
My mother warned me to be careful playing with fire while lighting incense. I told her that I was 30 years old and, angrily, she told me that she was almost 70. I’m not sure what that meant, but it seemed to settle the argument. I am living with my parents again. I find myself…
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Banshees and Staterooms
I used to imagine that it was a ghost train. It would emerge from the night, a dark shape barreling without destination over the slick rails. It would appear unsummoned, carrying nameless travelers made only of coal and smoke on their shadowy missions or maybe it would house nothing but shapeless spirits bound from purgatory…
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The Valley of the Sun
I walk the breeze of the late Missouri morning as grasshoppers coax out the last drops of summer’s embrace and offer up their final tales – buzzing and clicking like dry grasses rubbing against each other in a hot wind. In fact, I am looking at one now. He has placed himself upon the lower…
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Rain
It was so beautiful and so perfect in Kansas City that I almost considered staying there and ending my journey after just one leap. My long weekend was full of ball games, art fairs, extended top-down journeys in the “Legoland” Jeep (The only truck in the world held together with Velcro and zippers), and scintillating…
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Spirals
I visited the site of Wounded Knee in the early morning South Dakotan sun. It was marked with just a simple plaque in the middle of a roundabout, bordered on both sides with souvenir shops. I had expected a metal and stone monument, or a large sign pointing to it from the road, or some…
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Wheel, Mountain, Truth
I spent three days wandering Wyoming, seeking out a home in the grass and in the wind, driving for miles along endless fenced-in ranch land, accompanied by crows and hawks and the occasional coyote. I met a woman who said she was heading east from Washington without a real destination. She thought Nova Scotia might…
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Pivot
My back hurts from sitting for 10 to 11 hours a day. When I close my eyes, I see maps, routes stretching out in all directions, speed limit signs, distance markers and dotted highway lines endlessly passing under me. When I lick my lips, I taste dust. I smell of wandering. I am always in…
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Southward Soulward
It happened a few days ago in Yellowstone. Night was fast approaching. The park was closing and I was in a hurry to reach the gates before it did. Spectral wisps of fog were settling over the roadway like ethereal spun sugar, delicate dancing tendrils of mist snaking across the asphalt and slipping between the…
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Dust and Fire
Baker, California is the home of the largest thermometer in the world. I saw it as I sped by into the heat and dust bordering Death Valley. There it was, towering over the gift shop and the strip mall behind it. The ridiculous amount of red on the scale throbbed before my vision, weighing in…
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The Embrace of the Infinite
I sped west through the wine country of California, through the almond orchards and the fields of oil riggers that dip and rise like the cheap plastic drinking birds your father used to keep behind the bar. But all I could see in my mind’s eye was her. Her delicate fingers caress sand in intricate…
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Aspects of Unity
If you pick up a globe and hold the world at arms’ length, from that vantage point you will see that there is no Pacific, Indian or Atlantic Ocean. There is just one ocean, one giant pool of water. An enterprising fish could easily swim, if he had the time, bravery and longevity from where…
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Motion and Stilness
The evening rises up from the gray ocean and settles into my eyes, echoes of the hideaway time. As I stare from these windows across the tops of buildings, at the neon and brick, I hear seagulls cry out from their wandering darkness. It reminds me of the train, the ghost train that shuttled through…