Offering a hand: A tribute to the important stuff

A couple mornings ago, I woke naturally -- the best way to begin a day in my opinion. After my eyes adjusted to the sunlight bursting through the window, I checked the time on the unfamiliar clock on the wall across from me -- 8:30. I peeled my skin from a maroon leather sofa, sat up, took a drink of room-temperature water and tried hard to figure out where the hell I was.

It only took five seconds or so, but that's a significant amount of time to be completely oblivious of your whereabouts. I hadn't gone home with a stranger the night before, nor was I hung over. In fact, I had gotten a full 10 hours of quality sleep, snuggling tightly with enough couch pillows to build a pretty solid fort. The reason behind my temporary confusion was the fact that the sunny room with the maroon sofa was the sixteenth different environment I had awoken to in under 30 days.

My memory slowly gathered information, starting with the vague, leading to the specific. California. Los Angeles. Somewhere in the Valley. A very nice house. Here to spend time with Linda.

Linda runs a foundation in her late husband Jim Murray's honor that gives out scholarships to college journalism students. I was lucky enough to meet her three years ago, and I make certain to contact her whenever I'm on the West Coast.

She had invited me to a sports broadcasting awards banquet that afternoon, so to avoid the wrath of LA traffic, I slept over at her friend's place the night before, which was in close proximity to the country club we were to head to as soon as I showered and gathered my things.

I sat in the bright room in silence for a few minutes, collecting my thoughts. Although I'm fairly adjusted to my lifestyle at this point, my situation, if only for a short time, seems like a brand new concept to me with each new day. It's like piecing together details from a dream in order to determine if the events really happened, only this conclusion is the opposite of fiction, and I see that this is, in fact, my life. I have no car. I have not a single bill in my pocket. I have nothing tangible aside from a small backpack that threatens to burst every time I force it shut. I have no permanent address. I have no consistency, no routine, no specific agenda. And yet, for the time being, I feel like I have everything I need.

I quickly attributed this to my willingness to embrace a simple lifestyle. But then I realized something as I walked into the other room. There was Linda, ironing my dress shirt for the banquet, promising she would finish only if I swore to not tell anyone what she was doing. She then asked me how I slept and if I was ready for an exciting day. Oh, and by the way, there was coffee, fruit and cereal in the kitchen.

I realized I was able to handle this lifestyle because I had the most valuable thing in this world -- people. People I called friends. Friends who cared about my wellbeing. Friends I could rely on. I had journeyed across this great country from coast to coast, seeing tall buildings, vast stretches of open road, breathtaking landscapes, yet I had never been alone. At least not for long.

Having people who care about me makes not having material things okay. Conversation is the best form of entertainment to a traveler. Spending time with friends, old and new, makes not knowing how to get from point A to B hardly a concern.

As obsessed as I can get with soul-searching and finding the meaning of life, it's important for me to take the necessary time to show appreciation for those who help me carve my path along the way. I'm certain to feel far less comfortable once I leave the country, which will be valuable as well as intimidating. I suppose being lonely is part of a traveler's life, which makes relationships, including long-distance ones, that much more meaningful.

***

One of the speakers at the banquet was former Major League Baseball pitcher Jim Abbott, a man who overcame the odds by making it to the top of his field despite not being born with a right hand. I went to introduce myself to Jim. As I waited for another guest to finish conversation, I wondered how the handshaking process works with someone without a right hand. I worried I was facing an awkward moment. As I stepped forward, Jim put out his left hand. My left met his firmly for a solid opposite-hand handshake.

Lacking any clue of why a 22-year-old kid from Iowa was in attendance at this banquet, he asked sincere questions about my decision to travel the world. I was amazed that a man with such incredible stories had such an interest in a stranger.

"I'm jealous," he said. "I think you're doing the right thing."

I guess it's important to be curious about your own destiny, but it's equally important to be sincerely interested in the pursuits of people you meet around you on a daily basis. If you are your only teacher, you won't get much learning done.

***

I was recently accused by a good friend for not being myself as we sat at a bar on the Sunset Strip. I explained to him that with the rapid change of environment and the constant questioning of how to get to where I was going next, my mind was divided into thirds. One third still in the past, absorbing what all had happened, and one third in the future, wondering where I would be in a week. This only left one third of my brain capacity to dedicate to the what was right in front of me, which I realized was a couple thirds too short.

The accusation had me feeling guilty and made me a bit defensive at first, but he was right. I had only a few days with him on the West Coast, and here I was, thinking about something else somewhere else in another point in time. I promised myself I would make a conscious effort to dedicate all my energy to the moment. Living for anything else usually equals taking things for granted and forgetting that there's nothing bigger than the little things.

If I worry too much about what I should have done or where I can go, I won't take the time to iron people's clothes or ask questions about their journeys.

I parted ways with Linda at the banquet. After learning I didn't have a dollar in my wallet, she forced a $50 bill into my hand, saying she wanted to help. I said she shouldn't, then thanked her a half dozen times or so after she insisted.

My day yesterday was dedicated to helping her son drive two hours across town to the worst area of LA to drop off an old VW van he was selling. Later that evening, I rushed to catch a cab from the travel agency to Mike's apartment to help the deliverymen move a queen-sized bed into his place.

These are not glamorous adventures. But I've come to realize this journey isn't just about me.

Below is a photo collection of friends, old and new, who have been an important part of my trip.


Tommy and Christina
-central park, manhattan


The Luckerts
-long island


Tommy's niece Brooke
-long island


Denise
-long island


anonymous
-long island


Spencer, Sam, and friends
-chelsea, nyc


Spencer and Melissa
-somewhere between nyc and d.c.


Mary Beth
-d.c.


Cori
-d.c.


Dan and Spencer
-d.c.


Lothar
-somewhere in arizona


Lothar and Andrea
-heber city, utah


Jeff, Lothar and Scott
-park city, utah


Lothar, Jeff, Jeannette, Bob, Trisha, Rocco, Mary, Kirstin, Delores
-deer valley, utah


Uncle Bob
-heber city, utah


Jameson
-heber city, utah


Whitney
-phoenix


Whitney
-somewhere in arizona


sand mermaid
-coronado, california


Scott and Amber
-san diego


Mike, uncle Bob, Rich, Trisha, Brian
-malibu, california


Randon gathering of Iowa boys watching the Super Bowl
-redondo beach, california


Mike and the Pacific
-redondo beach, california


Linda
-encino, california

If you were a part of my cross-country trip, but were not included in the pictures above, think of it this way -- we were probably having too good of a time to worry about taking pictures.

Thanks everyone.