last nights in BC

This blog has gotten off to a bit of a choppy start. Anyone who doesn’t know what’s going on with me will certainly find the first few entries somewhat manic. I suppose that is one of the prices for having a vivid imagination; my thoughts run a strange course sometimes. So as an attempt to reel this in so that it might be at least slightly understandable, I will try to explain what is going on.

It is one of my last nights in Vancouver, BC. I came here nearly three years ago as a work transfer from my long-time home of Brooklyn, NY. My little cedar cabin in the woods is now empty. The toys, props and other sundries of my home turned to boxes and have been carted away. All that remains are my plants, an overwhelming number of unopened envelopes and expired checks, and those items that will be my principle personal effects for who knows how long. The envelopes I’ll open and burn. The checks, I’ll try to get re-issued. My personal effects will need some serious adjustment since I was completely pie-eyed when I packed that part of the house (Steve helped – thanks, Steve). My plants, each will be given to a friend with specific intent, no instructions and a deepness of love they may never realize I have for them (both the plants and the friends - there are brown leaves on both, I guess).

The city I leave without much fuss. Vancouver is a very beautiful city. The standard of living is excellent. The people are very friendly. Some of them have driver’s licenses. None of them can drive. They savor this frustrating combination by driving extra slow.
My Mini and I look forward to that last pokey drive down Granville before we hit the highway for a 1600 mile trip to the southwest U.S., the beginning of a trip I originally planned back in July 2003.

I was supposed to get fired. I was supposed to spend a few months camping in the southwest, then head down the coast through Central and South America, then over to India, up to Nepal, Tibet, maybe Mongolia and then across towards Europe and back home to NYC. I didn’t get fired. I never made it to any of those places. However, I never abandoned the plan over those three years. I simply put it on hold. A month ago, I guess I hit that pause button and put things back into motion.

For several reasons I have decided to do this adventure a little out of order and probably in segments. While I could go south, I think heading to Southeast Asia would be a better training ground for me. It is inexpensive and very different than anything I have ever experienced. A brief stay in Arizona to get some logistics taken care of precedes my departure for Bangkok in April. I plan to travel in Southeast Asia until August and then return to North America. After that, I am heading north back into BC for some camping and visits. From there my plans get a little foggy. If the money is still holding out, which it should, I will head down the west coast through Central and South America, diverting over to Argentina and then possibly all the way to the southern tip.

So the big question: Why am I doing this? My whole life I have dreamed of being a writer. In some ways I have achieved this and in other ways I have only dreamed.
About five years ago I had a conversation that may have been one of the most life changing exchanges I’ve ever had. It really wasn’t much of a big deal, but sometimes a message shows up and it has a tremendous impact. On this particular occasion, an artist friend who I had met only a few times interrupted me as I droned on about some work-related drivel I was spewing. She looked at me with her very dark, stern and piercing eyes and said, “You know, everything you say seems to conflict with your nature.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Well, you go on and on about computers and work and corporate issues,” she spoke with an almost clinical tone. “But, you’re an artist at heart. It may be fine for now to do what you are doing, but someday you are going to wake up very old and find that you have run out of time.”
Her words sank in so deep, so quickly that I don’t think I will ever be able to forget them.

Now, I embark on making sure that if I do ever wake up very old and out of time I will at least be able to say that I tried. I’m not sure what will become of this. Perhaps it will be no more than a really long holiday. Ideally, it will be the start of something more. Or maybe it will just be some mediocre notes from another frustrated idiot trying to find what has been right there in front of him all along.