Author: Dave

Getting there vs. being there.

Leaving from vs. going to.

I have issues with these distinctions.

Most often, I just want to be there, and completely miss the getting there. It’s behavior I find difficult to change even on this trip, which is literally designed to make the getting there the there. Yet I struggle still. In fact even when the there is nowhere near as interesting as the getting there, I’ll still rush and, upon arriving early, wonder why.

Similarly, I tend to think of transitions primarily as endings as opposed to beginnings. I feel, however, that this over-seasons things in terms of loss or setback versus renewal or adventure, and thus tends to make me avoid change. If I could at least be balanced, knowing that all transition is both loss and growth, I think I’d be better for it.

Worse, I have this sneaking suspicion that life is a constant state of transition and is always getting there versus ever being anywhere…

Let’s not squander.

Peace.

More than warm, without the breeze I’d probably even say it’s hot.

The kids and I (Mom is away at a girlfriend’s 40th) took an easy fifteen minute bike ride down to the beach. Without Mom around to help tote beach gear we were undermanned and had to get creative in lading my bike like a pack mule.

We’re all setup though, and I like to think the haze on the horizon is me being able to see the end of Long Island across the Sound. It’s not, and I can’t, but I like trying to understand the geography of the places we go, so much is unfamiliar to me.

Sharaun’s mom is flying out to join us for a week on Monday. She’ll be a part of the road trip through New Hampshire and Vermont, and I’m quite excited for her to see just how we get along day to day. I’ve taken a little extra care to pick scenic routes and fabulous looking stops, hoping she gets a positive experience.

Back to my book then. Kisses.

It’s raining outside.

I’m outside.

Under the RV’s awning. Wearing a sweatshirt and long pants and socks on unshod feet because a chill came up when the clouds decided to loose. It was warm and sunny all morning, I changed from shorts and a t-shirt and un-socked feet. Feel better now, warmer.

Wilco is on.

I love being outside in, but also sheltered from, the rain. Thwarting its designs to get me wet, living my life right out in it. It’s particularly enjoyable tucked up against the RV under the awning. There’s this curtain of rain on three sides, but I’m untouchable. Wasn’t in the forecast, but I’m enjoying it.

Elvis Costello has shuffled up now.

Rhode Island is apparently fiercely anti-alcohol… can’t buy anything anywhere but specialized liquor stores and possession is grounds for eviction from all state parks. It’s on the signage and in the paperwork and stamped in fresh ink on the receipt, in case you somehow missed it twice. I’m drinking a beer.

Grateful Dead now, Fall tour 1980.

We’re making steaks tonight. RV pantry is less stocked than a home so we improvised a marinade I’m quite excited about. Cohen’s going to help cook, also excited about that. Will pair it with fried “Grammy potatoes” and asparagus.

Rain still coming down, Dead still playing.

Peace.

Good morning from a forest.

Yesterday, in the morning after a night of consistent, if not heavy, rain, I walked our full garbage bag down to toss it into the dumpster.

The trees here just a little north of Boston somehow remind me of a couple places we stayed in California on the front end of this trip, when things were still beginning and new. For a moment, I remembered some of the joy I’d felt then when I would stop and contemplate our situation.

You know the special kind of remembering where you’re almost there again? Remembering that comes with feelings and smells and sounds, not just the usual mental diary entries with pictures? It was that kind.

Walking back through the trees, everything wet from rain, I had a flash moment where I recalled, bodily, how free and amazing I felt then, knowing I had a year to explore creation with my family, anticipating.

And here I am, eight months later and a whole United States away from those first places. That inchoate joy now come of age and so full inside me it is simply me. Happy and together and knowing that holding onto this learning come the nearing after is imperative.

Sorry, I know I say the same things over and over. Hugs.

It rained all night last night.

It’s OK, we’ve had some beautiful Spring weather and rain is a gift. In the RV, though, rain is a very noisy gift. Drops like a thousand tiny gunshots pop and snap off the roof. I’ve come to like the sound, but it is sometimes loud enough to distract someone trying to fall asleep.

Keaton has her first musical infatuation. She’s fallen for an edgy young female artist called Billie Eilish. If you’re hip, you’ll likely not be surprised, as seventeen year old Ms. Eilish is everywhere and on every music journalist’s tongue at the moment, and thirteen year old girls are her primary demo. Keaton quite literally listens to her non-stop, owns her merch, reads and watches everything she says and does.

I’ve got to give Keaton credit for being well ahead of the hype bandwagon (must get it from Dad), though. She’s been on Billie this entire trip. It’s been fun seeing this artist my daughter adores also become a scene darling, fun watching Keaton be excited for her growing fame. It’s also given the two of us a lot to talk about.

We discuss the production of each song, the lyrics and instrumentation. She shares video clips with me, interviews and promos, and we talk about her strong sense of identity and her seeming pride in her uniqueness. I praise these positive and empowering traits. She also swears like a sailor, though not in her music, and vocally condemns peer pressure and casual drug use. All excellent fodder for mature father/daughter conversations, honestly.

So, long story short, I scored us two after-market tickets to Billie’s sold-out show in Montreal next month. Because she’s such a rising star (on the cover of Billboard, #1 on iTunes, etc.) I paid a hefty upcharge, more than I’d ever normally pay for a show that’s not Paul McCartney or something, but I’m really excited to go with her. She’s excited too, and I think it will be an awesome time together.

Notch another one for “cool dad,” please. While you’re at it, scratch one in for “cool daughter” too.

Hugs and loves.

Listening to yourself is hard.

My body is doing its best to communicate with me, but there’s so much external input and stimulation that I often don’t listen well. Our conversations aren’t always the most productive…

“You can stop eating now, there’s more than enough food in here already.” But there’s more noodles and sauce and the bread’s still warm…

“We’re sweating and anxious again, why do we keep doing this?” The money is great and they gave me a title…

“Hey, let’s go for a walk, our muscles haven’t been used enough today.” I just got here though, I deserve a little break…

“Let’s not do that again, remember how we felt last time, and literally every other time?” Well, today is today and I know my limits.

“We should just sit here and listen to things. The sun is warm and feels good on our skin.” But this Wikipedia article on the history of fireworks, stock’s down, and what Trump did today…

“It’s nice, right? You can have more of this feeling any time you want, just repeat the same stimuli.” But Walmart has it in a bottle now for only 99¢!

Yeah, not easy.

“Bathe less,” instructed a poem I read.

I’ll grant that clean underwear should be renewed daily, but on this trip I’ve come to know that, other than the hands and maybe face, daily washing is largely unnecessary, at least when the day is hardly physically demanding. Besides, I like the smell of myself when I allow it to develop a bit. Others, I’m not sure… but I like it.

I’m out here with the bugs, so many little flies at this campground, some of them bite, but it’s like their hearts aren’t in it, as they’re slow and mostly they don’t. Today is the first no-op day we’ve had in a forest for a little while, reminding me of the early days of the trip. A trip which now only has two months left.

I’m writing on my phone, as I’ve done this entire trip. Phone’s on silent, as it’s also been this entire trip. No ringing, no dinging, no vibration. Blessedly, the device is, very slowly and with great difficulty, becoming less of a thing to me. Its primary functions now playing music and wasting time – these two functions are distinct from one another.

I’ve given more over to the belief that the convenient invention in my pocket is a real problem. Being ever connected to everywhere and everything is nothing but distraction from this where and this thing. Maybe it’s not the same for you, but it’s definitely this way for me.

Worse, the connected world, in particular social media, has moved far beyond simply trying to influence my buying decisions and now works to influence my worldview, opinions, beliefs, and even voting habits. “They” want you to experience and live in the world they’re crafting, when your world is really all around you, begging to be experienced with the entirety of the senses gifted you at birth.

I’m not going crazy I promise. Hugs.