Today was one of those lovely days where I had big thoughts on my mind- big, life altering thoughts. The type of meandering of the mind where I was contemplating all that I am, all that I’ve created and how I intend to maintain my authentic self while entering this next, massive change in my life. A change that is beautiful, lovely, frightening and mystifying all at once.

I wrote a letter to my private email peeps on the TinyLetter, stating why I had been silent for so many weeks and contemplating the type of words that might best fit their needs and the next step in my journey as a nomad.

I left my RV, stepped out into the desert sun and went for a long walk. Across town- and really, I use the word “Town” loosely- there’s a lovely lady with a small bus converted to an espresso producing thing of beauty and I had a craving for that bitter liquid gold. And she truly knows her shit! Finding espresso in this one-horse town that doesn’t come from a packet- or McDonald’s- is not a common occurrence.

I let all the thoughts that I’d just put in my letter run through my brain a I walked through the desert wash that runs under I-10 and ends up at the big swap meet in town. I tried to find the people I encountered on this walk charming. I didn’t find them charming- I found them old, white, very large and consuming mad amounts of cheap shit made in China and shoving deep fried snickers wrapped in bacon into their grills. I tried to remain open- truly, I did- yet the specter of judgement and anger started to creep in.

Why do all these people need to consume all this cheap crap? Why does this town even have giant swap meets that sell all this garbage? When did this town go from selling and trading real gemstones and minerals, filled with miners and prospectors, to buying and selling plastic back-scratchers, twirling iridescent yard art and fried Twinkies?

Why, people, why?

I made it to my espresso oasis and the owner greeted me with her warm smile and invited me into her bus. I then struck up a conversation with a photographer- or ex photographer. He was a paparazzi photographer and photojournalist from the 80s/90s and made alot of money doing so.

“I drove a Lexus. The women, the people, they all looked at me different, because of my car!” Or his exclamation went something like that. He was blown away at the life he used to live, a life filled with Los Angeles’ wild times and high-end luxuries. He had the Beverly Hills home, he had the girlfriend and he rubbed elbows with the stars.

And then he left it all. All of it.

He hopped on a bicycle and headed for a cross-country journey to NYC. He had plans to start a studio out there, continue his work and branch out after a few months of reflection and soul searching. Instead, he ended up taking a drastic left turn in Washington state, literally, and hopped a ferry to Alaska- or something like that.

He then went on to describe his wilderness experiences. He lived off the land, went from riches to nothing, and one day found himself woken up by wolves.

That’s right- wolves.

“I had wolves licking my face and my sleeping bag. And I was too tired to do anything about it. Wolves!” Now, I’m assuming there might have been embellishment in his story a little, but still, his come to Jesus moment involved wolves in Alaska.

That’s kinda cool.

And we talked for quite awhile about living a simple lifestyle. He spoke so warmly about his life now, his bicycling and his big old Buick. He lived in RVs, camped, lived off the land, gardening, whatever he felt like. He had the luxury of time and he walked away from a life in Beverly Hills to do it.

We warmly spoke of living in Airstreams, yurts, campers, tents, tipis and both knew about the adventures of Dick Proenneke. He understood my desire to live in an RV better than I did.

This truly spun my wheels for the rest of the day. Even if the wolf thing was an exaggeration, it’s still an interesting visual. He knew something wasn’t right with his life. He knew that the shiny car he drove and the perception of the people who saw him in the car didn’t belong to him. This did not fit. It wasn’t his true self. Now, even with the struggles and trials that a life off the radar- off the grid- can provide, he had peace. He had laughter. And he was happy.

I contemplated this as I walked back to my RV- aka The Writer’s Cave- and truly put somethings of my own life into a better perspective. While I’ve never had the Beverly Hills lifestyle or salary from my work to reflect that level of external validation- I’ve never needed to escape into the wilderness and have wolves like my cheeks to wake me up to an authentic existence. While I may be about to radically shift gears into a more stationary world- a world I’ve turned away from for most of my adult life- with rather strong vocalizations and beliefs of a different way of living- I can still do this my way.

I know, shocking revelation for a person who, I’d like to think, has a rather high level of self-awareness.

I began to revisit my Airstream Daydreams this evening. In fact, while walking back from my lovely barista, I saw a tiny canned ham trailer for sale. I stuck my head in and glanced at the set up. Now, it’s about one step above living like a nun, but it was cute and had the essentials. It started spinning my wheels even faster.

Maybe I could live on the East Coast, in an Airstream, and live off the land and not be considered the next Ted Kazinsky.

Maybe I can have a vegetable garden and live on the cheap and not have to adhere to the standard urban lifestyle- farm removed from my food and its source.

Maybe I can create a bubble to live within that protects me from the suburban lifestyle I’ve spent my adult life avoiding and still not isolate myself from community and people. I do like people- most of the time- even if I am silently cursing them for not seeing how their actions are enforcing the ills of our society.

Maybe I can live on my own terms, in my own manner- on the East Coast. Well, duh, of course I can.

For those of you who have never lived out West or spent more than the occasional week vacation out there- the difference is strong and it’s distinct. And the East Coast has a very different mentality, one that puts me on edge and shocks my energy in ways that takes me days- or weeks to recover. I’m moving back there for amazing reasons, to start a life with a man I truly love more than anyone I’ve ever been with, so I’m excited about the change. Just apprehensive about a few minor details.

Like geography.

So, anyway, my point being here, do we really need the wolves to kiss our cheeks in order to open our eyes to the life we’re living and how far removed it may be from our true selves? Can we not incorporate a life that reflects our real desires- not the need to fit in to other people’s myths or society’s narratives?

And can I maybe stop trying to fit into the narratives that exist and just be my fine, freaky self if I so desire? Do I need to wait for the wolves to knock on my door before I just accept that I find RVs more charming than homes with foundations? Do I need to have the external validation of others to feel like my desire to figure out how to live totally off-grid is more than a fad or an attempt in rebellion- or total insanity?

Can I finally make peace with the fact that I simply do not have the desire to make a million dollars with my photography and play the game that I know I’m totally capable of- and sometimes get excited about- but know that the things I’ll have to sacrifice to reach that scale are too sacred to leave exposed and unprotected while undertaking such an endeavor?

Maybe my chance meeting with the former photographer was more than coincidence. Maybe he was my message and his story was validation from the Universe that I’m doing just fine.

And no, there will not be wolves kissing my cheeks anytime soon.

A week at the Eugene Whiteaker Hostel in Eugene, Oregon.

Some of these images are available for editorial usage with rights managed licensing. Please click the image to check the availability or to purchase through the Studio. And, as always, I’m available for national & international editorial assignments, NGO projects and commercial documentary projects.

The Traveler hears another conversation.

She sits with a smile on her face as she listens to the daily chit-chat on a bus. She knows this chatter is not hers to judge or to engage in. For her world is not filled with trips to car dealerships, office politics and weekends on the pontoon boat. Her world is filled with boarding passes, security checks and bus itineraries.

The Traveler turns heads.

He sits on a street corner or a park bench, propped up by his backpack.

Resting. Lounging. Plotting. Watching.

People turn to watch him as they drive by on their way to the office. He’s different. He doesn’t belong. His backpack indicates another path in life. He’s not weaving through traffic and inhaling a McMuffin as he frantically plows towards another day just like yesterday.

The traveler sees people watching him. He understands these people are gazing at him and thinking of another time in their own life. People are instantly thrown to a time in their lives when a choice was made. The traveler reminds them of the adventure they’ve been postponing, the dream they’ve delayed and he reminds them of the person they could still become. And sometimes, he reminds them fondly of a time when they were the traveler.

The traveler sees this recognition on the people who pass him by. And he quietly acknowledges this fleeting engagement with a smile of peace- a gesture of understanding.

A smile of simple kindness.

The Traveler lives in the moment.

The traveler is here. She’s present. She’s living in the moment- at its truest sense. She answers the question, “Where do you live?” with this simple reply- “here.”

For the traveler truly does live right here. Right in that moment. Her world is on her back- literally. Wherever she stops is just where she will be. And the next stop, well, hopefully it takes her one step closer to her destination. For that day- or for her life.

The traveler enters an authentic state of being that the non-traveler cannot comprehend. The traveler still has concerns; she also bears the burden of worry. But the act of perpetual movement and complete presence puts her worries into perspective. A perspective not shared by the sedentary soul.

Her worries revolve around her arrival- and her next departure. Does she have a place to sleep tonight- that meets her comfort zone? Will the bus she’s currently riding on take her to the proper destination- and if not- is she prepared to shift gears on the fly? Will her computer last through this next trip- or better yet, will her back? Can she afford a taxi to help her arrive at her resting spot tonight- or will she have to lug her heavy baggage through a city in 100 degree heat?

Will her friends and family understand that her perpetual wandering and desire to commit to no schedule are the things that bring her comfort- elements of her life that bring her joy? Will others understand that this sense of constant motion places her closer to her Flow- allows her to touch the edge of all that is possible- all that is beautiful- and sets her within her true essence of creative being that no other action can provoke? Will she find the person who understands this and chooses to travel through the journey beside her- as an equal- and with as much intensity and passion for the unknown as she harbors?

Will her perpetual travel leave her alone and without the ability to ever enter a “normal” state of living again? Or will her travel show her the pure joy and beauty of a chaotic world- and cause her to willfully celebrate a life of un-convention?

The Traveler has Freedom.

Above all else, the traveler holds his freedom as the essential element of his existence. He holds that freedom close, tightly embracing the ability to go- to leave- at a moment’s notice. Not because he has to leave or because the present makes him unable or unwilling to bear the moment. No, the traveler leaves because he must-it is his calling.

The traveler knows that destinations await him- filled with the smells and sounds of the raw essence of humanity. He knows that somewhere a street vendor is preparing a meal that will shift his definition of ecstasy. The traveler knows that somewhere a dingy, decrepit bus waits to hurtle him deep within a Himalayan village and allow him to glimpse into the distant, dying culture of a people who are invisible and fading amongst the mechanisms of modernity.

The traveler knows that somewhere, someone- in a place he has yet to visit- has a story to share with him. A story that reaches beyond language and cultural disparities- a story that will change his perceptions of the world he walks within.

The traveler protects this freedom at all costs- for he has sat with people whose countries deny them a passport and remove the ability to leave. The traveler knows the value of freedom- for he has walked among those who have none.

The Traveler knows peace.

The traveler understands peace in a way that few politicians or statesmen can comprehend. She has sat amongst a war-torn community who live the ramifications of our military industrial complex every single day. She has listened to the heart-wrenching story of a woman widowed by a callous soldier. The traveler has stood at the Wall between two peoples fighting for the same land. She has walked in the shoes of the displaced. The traveler has broken bread with the rebel soldiers fighting for the opportunity to merely taste what she holds above all else- freedom, self-determination and choice. She has felt the sting of racism, felt the fear of dictatorship, smelled the pain of tear gas.

The traveler has visited places others dared not go- for she must know what a place smells like and she must stand among the people her government has programmed her countrymen to fear and to hate.

The traveler knows there are two sides to every “truth” and “absolute” that her government uses to control a complacent population. For the traveler knows that every person in a distant land and an unknown culture is someone’s lover, someone’s mother or someone’s father.

The traveler sees humanity for what it is and what it could become- because she has chosen to walk within humanity and not hide from it. She stands within the chaos of humanity because someone must bear witness and someone must tell others what they cannot see for themselves.

The traveler embraces the entire world- because that is where she lives.