Three Theories of Malcontent

My feet seem pretty content in this photo.

I’ve officially reached the halfway point of my seven-week trip: three and a half weeks. In that time, I’ve passed through 15 states, slept in my tent 8 times, stayed in 8 different hotels or Airbnbs, met up with three friends, spent four Shabbats in four different cities, and ate more Cheezits than I can count.

Two weeks was the sum total of my time on my first major trip, and from those two weeks I sucked the nectar fully. You can read for yourself in my summing-up post how deeply it affected me, how each day I learned something - or several things - new about myself, how I felt my entire being opening up to the world, etc . . .

I guess when I first conceived of this trip, I envisioned something similar but on an even grander scale. The American west! Me, alone, out in the big world of mesas, deserts, mountains, soaring rock formations, massive cacti, that sort of thing. Not just a little taste but a total immersion into newness, wonder, excitement.

I assume that you’re picking up on the fact that my expectations are not meeting the reality out here.

I don’t know what it is that’s making this trip less exciting, less enjoyable, less revelatory. I’m finding myself impatient with these travels, almost uninterested sometimes. I’m finding myself thinking ahead to the next thing in my life. I’m thinking with reluctance of all the weeks ahead, all the states I still have to get through, before I go back to Nashville and then New York and then that next thing.

I have developed several theories to explain why this trip is different.

* * *

Theory #1: All Phil’s Fault

One of my most game-changing realizations from the Florida trip was the value of being alone. In other words, unattached. Single. Of being a complete whole in yourself, of containing your entire consciousness, of giving that consciousness its full voice, without leaving a speck of room for anyone else’s will or desires. The importance of that wholeness, of living with yourself as a complete being, separate from compromise, unburdened by the needs or wants of others. I grasped the beauty of that idea and I lived it, and through that lens, the lens of loving the fact that I was alone, I was able to approach new heights of understanding about myself.

Now I’m not unattached. And while yes, physically, I am going on this journey by myself, emotionally I am very much not alone. Now there’s another consciousness operating upon mine, another set of needs and wants that requires attention, which I’m happy and blessed to be able to give. But yes, it does occupy space that was once taken up by me alone. I’d say about a third of my brain these days is busy with Phil-related subjects: thinking about him, communicating with him, wishing he were here with me, wherever “here” happens to be.

Now those are all good things, but that’s still a lot of brainspace! That entire third was once devoted to exploring my true, inner self, to observing my interactions with the world, to fully living my experience. Now I’ve only got two thirds left and to be honest, those two thirds aren’t pulling their weight. They, too, are distracted. They’re not fully engaged with the mission.

I think wistfully of the photos we’d force passersby to take of us, if he were with me. I think of having someone to talk and joke with over a campfire (I still haven’t lit one). I think of having someone else to help me make decisions or talk out options with when something goes awry. And the things that had seemed so fun to do alone back in February - going to shows, taking walking tours, doing fun touristy activities - it feels really weird and pointless to do them alone now. Like, I’m not going canoeing on my own.

It’s weird. Why is it lonelier when I have a partner who happens not to be around than when I’m actually completely alone?

Theory #2: Self-Discovery Has its Limits

Let’s face it: I’ve been through a lot since I got back from Israel seven months ago. I lost someone dear to me, I traveled, I hiked, I met Phil, I farmed, I traveled some more. I’ve had so many new experiences that opened my horizons, that shifted my paradigm, that changed me in some way.

So maybe . . . maybe I’ve had my fill of brilliant new experiences for now. Maybe I’ve reached some kind of limit on what I can learn about myself at this moment in my life - my crazy, in-between, thirty-year-itch moment. Maybe the adventures are losing their sheen.

My last trip enabled me to find out what I’m capable of, what I can do. But this time, I don’t feel especially empowered, I don’t see myself as strong and independent and competent. I already know all of those things about myself. I don’t need another road trip to prove it.

Is that it? Have I simply run out of things to discover about myself? Have I found out everything I needed to know?

Nah, that’s crazy talk.

Of course there are so many facets of myself that I haven’t uncovered, of course I have so much more to learn and so many directions in which to grow. But . . . I don’t know that this trip is helping me with that. I don’t know that it’s pushing me out of my boundaries. Because I’ve expanded those boundaries already so much this year. And maybe growth now needs to take a different direction.

Theory #3: I’m Doing it Wrong

According to this theory, I’m just not traveling properly. I rarely spend a full day that isn’t Shabbat in one place. I think I may have only done it once so far. Driving five hours a day doesn’t leave a lot of time for sightseeing. Maybe I’m just not allowing myself to fully experience the places I’m visiting. Or, more accurately, passing through.

Maybe I’m not scheduling my time effectively. Maybe instead of driving in the morning and doing activities in the afternoons, I should be switching it up, getting to a new place later in the day so I can wake up and do fun things right away the next morning.

Or maybe it’s just too long. Seven weeks on the road is a LONG time. I’m moving so quickly, going to so many places, I can’t even remember all of them or keep straight where I’ve been. Maybe it would have been smarter to choose four or five places to focus on, rather than jackrabbiting around.

Maybe I didn’t do enough planning. I had felt confident relying on my fly-by-night methods, and I thought I had planned out a good enough chunk before I left to make the rest relatively smooth. But when you’re visiting and stopping at 30 different places/parks/cities/national monuments, you end up needing to do a shitload of research. And it’s so overwhelming. And I didn’t plan anything other than where I’d be sleeping each night. Which, admittedly, was an important part of the plan, but what about the days, Abra? What about the days?!

I’m getting so sick and tired of having to figure out, each night, what I’m going to do the next day. What trails to hike, how to get to the trailhead. What tourist attractions to see, where I can find parking. What crappy motel I’m going to stay in tomorrow. The driving distances between places. Reading reviews of campgrounds. Reading reviews of trails. Reading reviews of hotels.

So. Many. Fucking. Reviews.

It’s exhausting.

Last week, I camped four nights in a row. That means four nights without WiFi. Which means four nights when I couldn’t plan for the next day.

In some cases that lack of planning backfired. Or my scanty planning, combined with unfortunate circumstances (massive wildfires near Yosemite, for example), led to wasted days of running in circles trying to do five different things and actually doing none of them. And not having any internet access meant overloading friends and family with annoying messages during the brief times I had reception while also ensuring that I couldn’t look up any useful information when I didn’t.

It’s too much planning. Maybe that’s it. Maybe this is the answer. Seven weeks of hectic traveling is too much to plan on the fly. It’s stressful! And this week I’m going to Yellowstone and Grand Tetons, and both of those only have first-come, first-serve campsites, so I have no idea where I’ll be sleeping those three nights. My car, maybe.

I know everything will work out, of course, with God’s help. But I can’t say that it’s not slightly nerve-wracking at the moment.

* * *

So those are my three major ideas about why this trip is starting to feel like more like a run-of-the-mill cross-country drive than a journey of self-discovery. I suspect the answer is not really one of them but a mixture of all three.

And of course that’s not to say that I haven’t been enjoying myself, that I haven’t seen many beautiful things and places, that I haven’t loved camping. It's still been an amazing journey, and it's one of the cooler things I've done, for sure. I'm having fun and having adventures. I have definitely had lots of moments of happiness.

But none of them really approached the heights of my last trip. I haven’t managed to transcend myself in a meaningful way.

I don’t know. Maybe it’ll get better, maybe things will change. Despite the possibility of temporary homelessness, I’m excited about Yellowstone and the other parks on my itinerary. I’m excited for Jill to get here.

But most of all I’m excited that I’ve reached my turning point. I mean that literally, I have reached the point where I’m turning my car around. From now on, every mile I drive will bring me closer to home, instead of further away.

What’s going to happen when I get home, when I finish my crazy travels, when real life starts again? God, no idea.

Maybe I should appreciate this while I can.