ryan d. pantz
And now that it's the final day of March, now that I've been living at my destination for ten days or so, I think the road trip has come to an end. I had a truly fantastic journey, and I blew a lot of money, and my car got a little sick, and I didn't get to see every bit of the county. But I am lucky as hell to have all the generous and loving friends that I do, sprinkled across the states in cities, towns, dormitories and apartments. Thanks to everybody who gave me a place to sleep and laughed at my stories, who showed me their favorite parts of America and joined me in conversation. Thanks to everybody who posted to this weblog and shared a bit of themselves, their perspective on me and my visits.
We live in a big ass country. It only takes about 50 hours worth of driving to travel from Boston to LA. It takes about a month to do it right, to see the big spaces, the sad flypaper towns, to zig and zag across straight roads, the tourist attractions and back woods barbeques. All kinds of people and culture that I don't know anything about. Everybody wants the same thing, I think.
Easter? I count my blessings, when I think to call them blessings. I have more friends (close fucking friends) than I can keep in touch with, and it pains me, and it's not fair, and at least I've had a chance to see some of 'em for a few days each. I still want to get to know as many people as possible. I wish I could swarm quantum in multiple places in a single moment, all momentum with no exact location. Memories do that, mostly, sleeping actively in geographical places all over the country, sofas and gas stations.
Travelling is about creating your own present. Living is the same as travelling. Actually, living is mostly about the bling-bling. + 46 passengers.