Love Letter to the Open Road

I think somewhere in a past life I sold my soul to the smell of gasoline and hot asphalt. I’m convinced it was prophetic. I don’t fly much anymore, I don’t know if we humans are really meant to be up there.

I’ve come to share a great deal of time with the liminal spaces of life. Somewhere between here and there, who I am to who I want to become, one city to another, and the complex space of grief after heartbreak and loss. It’s the space where the grief lingers, like the scent of someone that remains hours after they’ve gone.

There is so much learned in this space, when I am open to the signals and road signs that life presents to me.

I’ve come to know that there is no map to life. No second star to the right and straight off to success. But, there is the hot and humid august wind kissing your face with the windows down. There’s the hidden gulch and the secret hot spring you never would have found if you didn’t take that wrong turn. There’s one hand on the wheel, and the other in the hand of the person you love. There’s the seedy motels you stay in when the mountain pass is closed and there’s no way back until the storm passes. There’s the orange glow of the mountain as the sun is about to set. The stars that light the night sky when you’re parked in the desert and smoking a joint on the roof of your car. There’s the song that comes on that used to mean something, but now just is. The intrusive thoughts that keep you from remembering how you got to where you are. The drifting.

For the quiet moments of clarity, the singing at the top of your lungs to ABBA in the middle of nowhere Nevada, while the sun blazes overhead and the nearest gas station is 150 miles away. For the tears shed with Bonnie Raitt after the person you thought you’d spend the foreseeable future with tells you they can’t do it anymore. For the moment you reach the divide, and you look down on the other side, top of the world. For the overpass or giant tree that provides shelter from the storm. Thank you for holding me.

To the sweet souls that you meet along the way. The Good Samaritan who helps you with your flat, the camp host who takes you to his favorite swimming hole, the woman at the campsite next to you who reads you her favorite passage from the Bible, with emphasis on the importance of our care for the earth. To the backpackers and trail faeries you run into time and time again, who share a meal, an ibuprofen, a fire, or an unknown path with you—Thank you.

There’s an indecisiveness in me that acts a lot like the tides of the ocean. That’s when I know that perhaps it’s time to spend some time taking the scenic route. Perhaps you just need to drive (or walk) into that mountainous horizon, and see what’s on the other side, and discover a part of yourself you didn’t know was there.

To the open road, thank you for being a lover that I can always come back to with arms outstretched, welcoming me back to this wild wild world. Reminding me that nothing is permanent, I am always moving in a direction, which direction is (most of the time) up to me.

2025: Enter the Matrix

25 years go, I was 10 years old. Passing through the living room of a friend’s home, whose sister was watching a new action film that had just been released on DVD, it was called The Matrix.

I didn’t know at that time that Keanu Reeves would be my sexual awakening, nor did I know just how much I would relate to his character who finds himself deeply at odds with the world around him.

Following recent political, environmental and technological evolutions, it sort of feels like the rug is being pulled out from under me. Like the veil of comfort and security lifted, and reality a bit more clear. A reality that feels and looks much darker than I was ready for.

It’s no doubt that when this happens on a personal level, it indicates to me that I am probably right where I need to be. This is when much needed transformation happens. Like it or not, buckle up, or be thrown into the chaos. This is the feeling I get about the larger collective right now. And I ask myself: Which pill am I going to take? Since I can’t “unplug” from the simulation, what course of action do I have to combat the “splinter in my mind”?

I read somewhere recently about profound magic darks. The rock bottoms and the tests of faith that bring us to profound restructuring. What I see in the American political system now I can only describe as profound darkness. I have been admittedly unpolitical in my 20s, but I find myself deeply terrified of a world where we are so complacent that we allow what is already happening to continue to spiral. And while I think that the darkness is a necessary one for awakening, we have to actually be shaken awake. Are you shook yet? How do I comfort those not ready to be unplugged? How do I hold space for those who are realizing that it’s time to wake the fuck up, when waking up is terrifying?

I don’t see a prosperous future for many of us, unless we come to understand and honor our inherent connectivity to the land, and the importance of land and wildlife conservation. It’s clear that the current administration has little respect for the living things on this planet (humans included). The recent funding actions taken by Trump (and by extension JD Vance and Elon Musk) is no less than frighteningly destructive, threatening countless organizations that provide services and safety for millions of people living in this country.

Like many, I am tired and discouraged, feeling like I’m in a dystopian movie. And so, I am reminded of Thomas Anderson, and his quest of becoming Neo. Resisting this system of oppression feels particularly important now. So I ask you, in the spirit of the red pill mindset, what lies are we telling ourselves because they are easier? What truth needs facing to level up? If the current state of affairs is eating at you, what is one step you can take to shake up the system?

It’s important for me to remind myself that I am not here to only fight for my survival, though it does feel like that at times. We are here to inspire and help one another. The Matrix is not a fan of boldness, either are authoritarian fascists, so embrace your inner Neo (or Trinity!). The revolution can’t happen without the help of our community. Rally your people. Help each other out. (Morpheus where you at?)

When the system starts throwing bullets, let us dodge them and change the code by creating more space and kindness for our neighbors and our planet, challenging norms, dreaming big, making art that informs, and start the revolution we so desperately need in order to break free.

Sure the darkness can feel like a tight grip around us, but I must remind myself that dawn comes after the darkest of times, and everything is temporary.

If you’ve gotten this far, thank you for enduring my Matrix puns. Take care of yourself. Signing off. Sending love.