The next chapter of my adVANturous life is in full swing

Let me introduce you to Shasta, the big blue 11-year-old 158-inch wheelbase Dodge Sprinter. I bought her in New Jersey after a job in D.C. and drove her diagonally South West to San Diego. She was a hot metal box with two aftermarket captains chairs and a bench seat that folded out into a "bed" (for four-foot tall people... way to help out the creepy stereotype) in the back. Her floor was an ugly brown composite wood with oil stains. She still had "East Coast Jet Pack" in big white stickers on the outside from her past life as a jet ski/water sport hauler and a half-painted white roof with a few more rust spots than is comfortable. Oh, and her check engine light came on in Ohio. I found coolant dripping out the bottom of the engine, it was every new-owner-of-23-hours dream.

Blast off with me. First stop in pennslyvania to get some blankets to sleep with on the journey across the USA!

First thing after getting her, I fixed the coolant situation (a water pump that needed replacing) as well as replacing all the glow plugs and glow plug module. Also, Shasta's back end is a bit big, and (right before the coolant situation in Ohio) I couldn't resist but back up into a nice new Jeep scraping a half-dollar sized area of paint from the bumper and popping a couple rivets. So, for $250 I had a backup camera installed (just 15% of what it cost in body work on the Jeep... Still kicking myself).

So to start, things were going swimmingly, but not all adventures start with smooth seas. Part of this was about taking a risk and sometimes when you take risks, things don't go as planned. I started to pour my heart, dreams, and bank account into renovating Shasta. now, the captains chairs along with the old companies branding are gone. I reinstalled one of the captains chairs, so the van rides three with seatbelts, so my married friends can bring their spouse on trips, or I can simply bring two single people. The ugly brown composite wood is covered with a moisture wicking base under bamboo flooring. The bench/bed has been ditched and upgraded to a full sized memory foam mattress on a bed raised 30 inches above the ground. My road bike fits snuggly underneath with my snowboard/camera/hiking/camping/fun gear. She's got two vent fans on her roof (if you want to feel super great about your questionable contracting skills, just cut two fourteen square inch holes in the ceiling of your vehicle) to circulate air through. On top of the vent fans, she's now fully insulated too, so you can no longer cook a pizza inside in the summer desert and stand a chance at keeping some heat in on chilly mountain nights.

Just finished up the Pine Paneling installation. Electrical Still needing some work.

I didn't want the inside to look like a 1960's sci-fi space ship, so I covered the silver insulation with pine paneling stained in a "candle light" with "Jacumba" stained trim. It's dark brown on light brown... I wanted dark brown on light brown. The initial idea of this tiny home was the thought that, in an ideal world, I would have a tiny beach house in San Diego with tiny cabins in Tahoe and Colorado. Shasta's design is both beachy and mountain-y.

about 60% done with the buildout but it's already paying off.

Being a good Van dad... took shasta to Joshua tree after installing the insulation.

it's a tight-loose lifestyle.

More than anything, I've designed Shasta to be used. She's a mobile office, a place to write from and dream from and nervous-pace in. Mostly the nervous pacing, to be real. She's there for meals and friends and million dollar views. She's being built for people who need to go on a break and for people who can't, but need to see some beauty in our world they might otherwise miss. She's got an inverter, and I dream of giving men who are homeless haircuts or women who are homeless men's haircuts... I can really only do a fade. She's being made so I can film weddings in national parks, take more pictures at night, so I can visit all fifty states, bike the coast, become a distance athlete again, own something I take pride in, use something for what it's worth rather than in a way that keeps it shiny, read more books - so I can see and fall in love with the world over and over and over again.

If this sounds a bit dreamy, it's because it is. It's also anxiety inducing and makes me feel like a weird human, but the anxiety is just something new and the feeling of being a weird human is just being a little different, like anyone else is, except with less indoor plumbing.

All in front of us

"Oh, the fear I've known, that I might reap the praise of strangers and end up on my own. All I've sung was a song. Maybe I was wrong"

- Indigo Girls, "Language of the Kiss"

The nature of our interests, of a persona that comes with ease after stepping out into adventure, future goals, and even the opportunities our jobs present often make up the identity that everyone sees. My work entails making quick connections - there one week and gone another. We connect and let go, can start up a conversation with anyone, get dinner and drinks and those light conversations lead to meaningful ones, and the "road family" forms, but we still go back to our hotel rooms to pack our bags and take our flights. Onwards to the next city, the next event, the flurry of planning and frequent flyer miles, finding a ride, booking a hotel, connecting with that friend in town.

It feels vital to have a high motor and a heavy foot on the pedal. When a week of work ends, it is always followed by endless strings of yes'. Yes, I'll meet up with you. Yes, I'll go on that trip. Yes to dinner and lunch and coffee and a walk. Yes to that talk and catching up. Yes to drawing that logo and editing that video and taking those pictures. Yes to trying to get the books published and putting more photos out and to trying to take time for myself. Yes, to burning the candle at both ends.

I didn't used to be such a yes person. Sure, it was yes to volunteering or helping, sports and fraternities, adventures and jobs, but it was no to attention. No to meeting up. No to dates or new friends. Definitely no to conversations. I was called out on this by my brother who noticed I never talked about the things I did, specifically about adventures that people were curious about and I wanted to make an impact with. Frankly, I've never enjoyed a spotlight of any kind. I love the action; the life lived out in movement and purpose, but it bores me to death talking about it. More so what bothers me is the common theme of doing things to get attention. I see how it could be easy to get obsessed to solve other people's problems to look good, to write as an addict to blog comments and shares on Facebook, to take photos for the number next to the little heart instead of the beauty of the art itself and the process I love so much of creating.

Due to Instagram, a lot of people don't even know or remember my last name, and I can't say that I mind it. It's a degree of separation and also a degree of "I'm doing it!". It's easier, isn't it, to impress people in these little moments. So many of us, if we're honest, flock to this network of likes that trickle across social feeds into a lifestyle representation which becomes us. I struggle with this, with the attention, with putting out this post or sending books into editors because putting out work feels like connecting the world with a persona rather than a person. I'm not diving into full disclosure or creating some fictional character; I'm just saying I don't know or have forgotten how to navigate this.

The struggle especially comes from the moments where professional meets personal. Where the stage turns into the sidewalk, and you meet an old friend or a new stranger. It happens at home when I'm with anyone but my closest friends or when someone asks "So, what do you do?". Truthfully, I've lied before about what I do and how I live my life because, at that moment, I don't want them to see me for what I do but for who I am in front of them. In these same breath's I'm wondering if this is an injustice. Maybe they need the me who does do things. Maybe it'll help.

These product-meets-personal moments often come in the form of messages or conversations out of the blue from people who've been paying attention. They're wake up calls to what is going on in the world around me. Not all messages or conversations have been nice. I've been told I'm wasting my life, it's futile to try and help the homeless, it's dangerous to live life on the edge or even to kindly buck the authority of conventional life. They are, however, usually flattering, and sometimes extremely humbling.

She wrote me about being brave and inspiring and knowing what to say and when to say it. She said my adventurous life gave her hope. She told me how watching me made her feel empowered which helped her with leaving a physically abusive relationship. I was immediately happy because domestic abuse holds a close place in my heart and she has kids and knowing they were no longer in that situation relieved me. And then I was struck with guilt because I'm coming off a week where I didn't feel brave, I didn't feel tough, I didn't feel empowering or special or like I was giving hope.

A long time ago I started asking for more out of life, for adventure, for justice, for hope, and along the way it became normal. I moved, a lot, and people liked me everywhere, but I've usually moved on again before they have the chance not to like me. Giving off that glowing persona is easy. I'm good at the fast and quick life. Cancer catalyzed my "leave a quick impact" attitude where I roll through to create moments and become memorable. It is one of my attributes I'm proud of. Living life like this is special, leads to stories, and instigates people to suck the marrow out of life rather than only ask for the meat on the bone. Tattooed on my left ankle is an image of a lightening bolt, a reminder I got when going through cancer treatment that you need not be somewhere long to leave a memorable impact. Be kind to the stranger in the waiting room while you wait to get blood drawn. Talk with the campsite next to you and drive them up the road to the bakery where there are the best almond croissants, write the note, fly across the country to sit in the room with your friend going through chemo, bike across the state, give the money, take the trip... the yes' come fast and heavy.

I'm good at the fast pace, but what I struggle with is when life asks me to say yes to ONE person rather than the crowd, or how to be confident when a person isn't looking to be impressed, and when to stay and when to go. How to be intimate with yourself and how to sit across the table from someone without getting too worried about what they are thinking or being tempted to ask "Why don't you like me as much as everyone else likes me?", that's brave to me.

We have a hard time with the real. With braveness when it comes in the form of being looked at in the eye. I struggle to move on and let go. I struggle with the most with my history, and with the exhaustive and resentful traits about my personality. That's where I look up to those around me.

So, to the beautiful soul in the girl who walked out of that abuse and took her kids with her, to the wife who found out her husband has cancer, to the kid who has no family and is afraid to but wants to his hometown and asks for a better life, I look up to you. I look up to those who are brave right where they already are. I admire you who are strong when life isn't canyons and snow and lakes and mountains.

This life often leads to the wake-up calls I need, forcing me to go nose to nose with struggles it becomes easy to avoid and challenges me to move away from the pressure to entertain and towards the fight to live genuinely. This is a bear trap around the spoils of quick love, of being admired, of hugs and coffees, travel and art. In a world where it's easy to start a conversation, I want to learn how to stay in it, move through it, not have to always communicate lest I get uncomfortable. Life is better among a small tribe of people who truly know you. Fast love and art are for the masses. Heart and soul are for the intimate, slow going, and deeply connected but deeply complicated relationships that cut and weave their way through us like a river through canyons.

It's all right in front of us.