How's your trip bud? Are you doing any kind of blog where people can stay up to date on your whereabouts/adventures?
My friend Matt Hausauer dropped me this message today.The message contained two questions.
The second one was easier to answer: No. I haven't used my blog in months, and I have posted very few photos. Here are a few.
The first question is much more difficult to answer, but I will try:
My trip has felt rich.
My trip has felt empty.
My trip has felt rewarding.
My trip has felt lonely.
The world contains so much.
The world contains too much.
I have lost things.
I have found things.
I appreciate made new friends.
I miss my old friends.
I have hated it bitterly.
I have loved it passionately.
"The Trip" could otherwise be defined as "My existence for the last three months." Asking "how is the trip" is the same as asking "how are you doing, given the last three months of your life?" and that is just such a damn hard thing to answer because of the unfailing symmetry I tried to describe in the list above. I'm reminded of the opening paragraph of Charles Dickens' "A Tale of Two Cities":
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to heaven, we were all going direct the other way - in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.
So then I ask myself: how does one maintain form while equivalent forces pull him apart?
How does one breathe while matching forces squelch his breath from all angles?
I can't answer his damn question. I can't say anything without also saying nothing.
C'mon Trevor, just write "The trip's good" already. Maybe dodge the question and answer with a joke.
How long can I wait before I actually have to answer this message? Maybe I can do it tommorrow.
Maybe I can put this thing off for as long as I've put off writing a blog post.
NO. Answer it. Finish this.
...And then suddenly, like so many times before, Google steps in to help:
The image from the Google Homepage today, celebrating Douglas Adams' 61st Birthday. The author of "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy," a seminal work for any goofball Adventurer.
I remember how to keep from imploding and exploding simultaneously. I can answer the question:
When I don't panic the trip is wonderful and glorious and more than anything I could have ever hoped for. When I shilly-shally and overthink and panic the whole day passes in a flash of nausea and uncomfortability.
I'm working on it. Cheers from some small town in Michoacán, Mexico.
