Meander reboot, y’all. See ya in August!

June 24, 2014 by 1 Comment

Meander through Joshua Tree National ParkGreetings from Joshua Tree National Park! I’m on the road again and won’t be back until sometime in August or beyond.

Didn’t expect to hear that. Did you?

Honestly, I didn’t expect to say it. When I woke up last Friday, I thought I had three weeks to kill before flying off to Seattle. But when I unexpectedly closed out my second contract in as many days, it was time to hit the road.

It’s been quite a journey to my second meander.

The seed was planted in March while exploring Walnut Canyon NM in Flagstaff. I waffled as I waited for word on a killer temp gig with Nomadic Agency. When the gig fell through, I began planning a second meander … until changing my mind a few days later.

I’m glad I did.

A trip to Las Vegas and Havasu Falls rekindled my spirit of adventure. And three days at Firefly Gathering let me live again without a smartphone or watch while working through some of the fear that made me cancel my plans in April.

Still, I intended to play out the summer as planned – flying to Seattle on July 11, spending three weeks in the PNW, and returning to the desert in time for Camp Tontozona. Then, on Thursday, I finished a big Infusionsoft project. On Friday, my second biggest client put our contract on hold.

My heart immediately jumped to the road. And my body was just four days behind it.

Meander reboot, y’all. See ya in August!

Silvia's Wash at Joshua Tree

My bodhi tree may be a coastal redwood, but this palo verde at Silvia’s Wash wasn’t bad either.

 

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4 highlights from 3 dusty days at Firefly Gathering

June 16, 2014 by Leave a Comment

Last night I returned dirty and inspired from Firefly Gathering – a three-day festival near Flagstaff built on art, yoga, music, workshops, and community. Basically, it’s Burning Man if Burning Man were contained to just three days and 1,500 dirty hippies.

Firefly was my first “conscious gathering” and I went all in. No smartphone. No bathing. No reservations. Just love. And dust. Lots and lots of dust. Here were the highlights …

1. “This isn’t about paternalism or machoism. We’re not here to talk about our cocks,” Jaymin explained as he kicked off a masculinity workshop which brought timeless lessons from coming-of-age initiations to modern men. Rather than discuss our cocks, we talked about masculine qualities like integrity and courage. We explored classical male archetypes like the warrior, king, wizard, and lover and how each lives within ourselves. And we engaged in man-to-man exercises that let us express ourselves authentically as men among other men. Powerful stuff.

2. A meditative journaling workshop reinforced the power of the written word. Apollo prompted us to meditate on the universe’s lesson for us and then write a poem on the answer. Earlier, I’d journaled about the fear I felt over a social situation. Reflecting again a few hours later, I went deeper. I recognized that the fear stemmed from childhood rather than the current issue. I also saw that the fear had hounded me for months! It was a powerful reminder that a single journal entry is often not enough. We uncover deeper truths by peeling back layers.

3. Firefly wasn’t all serious. It was a lot of fun too! Much of the fun was scheduled. I took two great yoga classes with Boulder’s Alec Rouben and Phoenix’s own Rebecca Lammerson and enjoyed hour after hour of live music ranging in style from hip hop to stoner jams to electronica (sorry, I’m from the 90s). Other highlights were spontaneous. I lounged in Hammockville, watched the sunset reflect off San Francisco Peaks, and stumbled into a 40-person group hug that formed when a guy carrying a FREE HUGS sign wandered through a workshop on loving touch.

4. And finally there was the true purpose of Firelfy – community. I met a few people, but my introversion mostly kept me contained to my group. And that was fine by me. I deepened my relationship with four members of my yoga community plus four likeminded souls who joined us in our camp. I was especially grateful that three of our men made a point to join me in the masculinity workshop. As a small community of our own, we shared deep conversations, killer dance moves, and healthy snacks around our circle of dusty lawn chairs.

After three days of playing in the volcanic soot of Flagstaff, we were all Fireflies.

spiritual people at Firefly Gathering in Flagstaff

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NM. LOL. I’m not meandering this summer.

April 10, 2014 by 1 Comment

I walk outside. It’s hot. Damn hot. I remember the one (count ‘em, one!) triple-digit day of last summer’s Meander in Nevada City.

I wonder if I’ve made a mistake.

Last Thursday, I received the answer to the lingering question that forced me to kill time hiking at South Mountain. I learned that I didn’t get the temporary digital marketing gig that I thought was the only thing that could keep me in Arizona through the summer.

For a few days after the news, I proceeded as though Meander 2.0 was a go. I invited a friend to rent my house. I contacted road trip buddies. I researched campgrounds.

And then I changed my mind.

NM. LOL. Contrary to photos of my bearded face posted to Facebook, there will be no Meander this summer. Sorry for being a tease, y’all. I just don’t feel like it.

No Meander? WTF? Why not?

The Meander was founded on three principles: No girl. No gig. Just the road. That’s fine for one summer. Great, actually. But not two in a row.

The truth is, I want a girl. No, wait, I want the girl. Alas, the road offers up more flannelled forest cougars with one front tooth than, ya know, potential soul mates.

I like my gig. I’m a digital marketing consultant with some amazing clients. I’m socializing a luxury tile manufacturer, email marketing a therapeutic eyewear seller, and just plain gettin’ things done for one amazing entrepreneur who lets me be me (and meander whenever I like).

And, finally, there’s the road.

I’m not afraid to admit that it’s hard out there. And I’m a bit of a chicken about plunging back into the isolation of traveling the way I traveled last summer. For every shirtless hiking selfie I posted to Facebook, there was a tough night in my tent wishing I was home with friends and family.

Again, sorry for being a tease. This summer, I’m chillin’ … figuratively. Not literally.

OK. What you doin’ instead?

Instead, this summer I’ll keep it local. Kinda. My summer travels will commence with a Las Vegas-Havasu Falls trip in late May. I’ll commit some sins in Sin City, then pay for them by carrying a 30-pound pack 10 miles into and out of a canyon. The summer will end with Camp Tontozona and a trip to Arches and Canyonlands in August.

In between, I’ll enjoy our scintillating summer sunsets at Tempe Town Lake. I’ll work on my handstand. I’ll watch Game of Thrones (spoiler free!). I’ll camp and cabin up north, visit the beach in SoCal, and maybe even tuck in a week or two in Seattle.

The quiet of summertime in Tempe has fostered some of the most spiritual times of my life. This summer, I’ll embrace it.

Of course, there’ll be times when I’ll second-guess this decision. I’ll get cabin fever during long weekends at home. I’ll burn my bare feet getting the mail. I’ll grumble as I dash through the oppressive heat from my AC’d house to my AC’d car.

I’ll be left to ponder …

What’s the temperature in Washington right now?

And who do I know with a pool?

summer in az

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One foot in front of the other while I wait for an answer

March 30, 2014 by 4 Comments

I spontaneously decided to hike South Mountain late this afternoon. I did it because there was nothing else left for me to do. I’m ready to commit to plans for the summer, but life is telling me I have to wait.

To meander or not to meander? That is the question.

I researched new routes to Seattle last weekend. I touched based with a few road trip buddies. I put feelers out for someone to watch my house while I’m gone. I even set a return date of early August (though admittedly that was mostly a result of ASU publishing its Camp Tontozona schedule).

And then I discovered a temporary opening for a wannabe digital marketer like me. It’d be an incredible opportunity to learn from some of the best marketers in town. It’s an opportunity I wouldn’t pass up, even if it meant a summer of rush hour traffic and triple-digit temperatures.

I interviewed on Thursday. I was told I’d hear back Friday. My phone never rang.

So, now I wait. If I get the gig, I’ll spend the next three months in Phoenix. In August, I’ll mini-meander with a friend through southeast Utah’s national parks. Then, I’ll follow the ASU football team to Albuquerque and Boulder with art stops in Santa Fe and Taos.

If I don’t get the gig, I’ll leave for Burbank in early May and slowly work my way up the Pacific Coast Highway to Seattle. This year, I intend to zigzag less and sit still more. I’m especially interested in spending more time in small towns where I can work, practice yoga, and get a feel for the community.

Which will it be? I have no idea. And that’s a bit frustrating.

Alas, life doesn’t provide the answers on my timeline. There were times during last summer’s meander that I was confused, or lonely, or just in good ol’ fashioned pain. But I learned that I can always kill a few hours climbing a mountain while I wait for tomorrow. One foot in front of the other …

A saguaro at sunset in South Mountain

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Trading the beauty of the West for the beauty of Home

September 29, 2013 by 1 Comment

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The Meander ended at around 6 p.m. on Sunday, September 15.

At first I resisted, but resistance was futile. I surrendered late on Wednesday. Within 36 hours, I was home after 134 days and 10,000 miles on the road.

What happened at 6 p.m.? I’m not quite sure. In the late afternoon, I watched in awe as a heard of 50 bison crossed the Yellowstone River. Within hours, I was so moody during a long traffic jam that I was unmoved passing within feet of the dozen or so bison that were blocking the road.

On Monday, I was numb to the sights of the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone – one of the most painted vistas in the American West. Back at camp that night, I recognized my funk and resolved to turn it around.

bison traffic jam at YellowstoneAnd then the weather turned. It rained and hailed all night. The echoes of the thunder boomed off the surrounding mountains. Lying awake in my tent, I counted the seconds between lightning flashes and thunder crashes and determined some strikes were within two miles of camp.

Tuesday’s weather report promised snow flurries and subfreezing overnight lows, so I broke camp and headed south to Grand Teton National Park.

I spent most of Wednesday in the warmth of Jackson Lake Lodge before returning to camp that night. I sat in my car as the frigid rain poured down. Facing another night of rough sleep, I threw in the towel.

I was done.

I found a room in Jackson, hastily broke camp, and drove through the pitch black hoping not to hit a moose. The next day, I drove 650 miles over 11 hours to Page, Ariz., where I bought a six pack of Kiltlifter at Safeway. I was home.

The Beauty of the West

I experienced incredible beauty on the Meander. Our government has protected our 59 most beautiful places as National Parks. I visited 10 of them this summer – not to mention numerous state lands, national forests and monuments, and great cities and towns.

What I’ve seen with my own eyes, most only see in photos or on television. Reproductions can’t do the sights justice, but they can move me to tears.

four peaks kiltlifterIn Leavenworth, Wash., it was photographs of the Pacific’s rocky coasts and the Northwest’s glacial lakes. In Bozeman, Mont., it was paintings of beautiful rivers, big mountains, and, of course, bison.

Alas, squeezing so many sights into a single summer comes with a price. Eventually, it’s hard to differentiate. After all, how many different configurations of mountains, water, and trees can you see in one summer – in one lifetime – and still see them through fresh eyes?

The West is beautiful – overwhelmingly so. It’s so beautiful that it’s numbing. And that’s why I had to throw in the towel. Why spoil one’s first experience with a beautiful place by plowing through it cold, exhausted, and homesick?

The Beauty of Home

My return home was surreal. As I passed through Flagstaff onto the familiar freeway to Phoenix, I began to feel as though I was simply returning from a weekend trip. It was as if Yosemite and the Redwoods and Seattle had all been a dream.

A few weeks ago, a friend asked me, “Do you still want to live in Arizona after all the beauty you experienced?” I took the question to imply that Arizona is not beautiful.

I’ll admit it. The Valley is not as beautiful as Mt. Rainier. Or Glacier. Or the Olympics. Anyone who has been to those places would almost certainly agree.

But the Valley is home. And after 134 days and 10,000 miles on the road, home is plenty beautiful to me.

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bison crossing the yellowstone

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Seeking – or creating – an endemic park experience

September 14, 2013 by 1 Comment

The last two weeks were a whirlwind. I left Seattle on August 26, camped seven nights in Olympic National Park, drove 12 hours east to Montana (with a two-night layover in Wenatchee, Wash.), camped six nights in Glacier National Park, then drove six hours to Bozeman, Mont.

Whew!Iceberg Lake with Matt

That’s lot of long drives, rainy days, and sleepless nights on the ground. By the time I arrived in Glacier, I was exhausted. When exhaustion sets in, I get grumpy and jaded. I lose my childlike sense of awe and wonder.

That’s too bad, because I’d heard great things about Glacier.

High in the Rocky Mountains on the U.S.-Canada border, Glacier is one of 59 National Parks in the U.S. and one of 193 natural World Heritage Sites on the entire planet.

Alas, for the first few days of the visit, my eyes were closed to its beauty – quite literally. At one point, I fell asleep while praying on the patio of the Many Glacier Lodge.

I wasn’t miserable. Far from it. I drove the amazing (though densely foggy) Going to the Sun Road and I saw my first black bear. It was only visible for two seconds at least 100 yards away as rangers chased it from our campground. But, hey, a bear!

During a ranger program in the Olympics, I learned the term endemism. A species is endemic to its area if it’s found nowhere else on the planet. The ranger then adapted the term to the experience one can have in a particular park and nowhere else.

For example, you can only behold the Yosemite Valley within Yosemite National Park. You can only hug a Redwood on the Redwood Coast.

Finally, on my sixth day in Glacier, I had my endemic experience.

An 11-mile roundtrip hike led me to the Grinnell Glacier. Grinnell is one of 26 glaciers remaining in the park (in 1850, there were five times as many). It won’t exist beyond 2030.

I’d seen glaciers from afar on The Meander. I was not prepared for the view up close.

The ice sheet was truly massive – difficult for this desert rat to comprehend. Although it was sunny and quite warm on the hike, the ice chilled the entire landscape. I countered the cold by snuggling a backpacker meal filled with boiling water. Grinnell Glacier

Water streamed from the glacier as it melted in the summer sun. Rather than cascading directly off the mountain, the melt-water formed an iceberg-covered, deep-turquoise lake in a bowl atop the mountain. Hiking past the series of waterfall-fed lakes that led to the glacier, one would never have guessed there was yet another lake at the pinnacle of the 1,600-foot climb.

I woke up the next morning sore and exhausted. I was wiped out. But, as it was my final day in the park, I willed myself into a 10-mile roundtrip hike to yet another glacial lake.

The hike was so-so, until I then willed myself into another endemic experience – with a little nudge from my traveling partner.  I plunged buck naked into the frigid waters of Iceberg Lake.

Although the dip lasted only a few seconds, I got an underwater view of icebergs through hazy aqua-colored water. I also received such an adrenaline shot that all threat of falling asleep that afternoon was instantly removed.

Earlier in The Meander, I’d have taken that plunge without a push from a friend. Late in The Meander, I have to remind myself not to pass up once-in-a-lifetime opportunities like swimming with icebergs beneath a glacier that’ll disappear before I reach retirement age.

I have three parks left. Tomorrow, I begin a six-night stay in Yellowstone and Grand Teton. Then, in my final week on the road, I get three nights in Zion.

It’s up to me to keep my eyes fresh and my heart open. It’s up to me to seek – or create – my endemic park experiences.Iceberg Lark swim

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After 100 days on the road, I’m restless in Seattle

August 15, 2013 by 4 Comments

Seattle greeted me with open arms when I arrived on July 5. In my first 48 hours in the city, I reacquainted with my cousin and her family, found a great yoga studio, and saw two concerts including Robert Plant. What a reception!

No city could keep up that pace. Two years ago, I was ready to move to Seattle. Today, I’m ready to go home. I’m very aware of missing things like my Tempe Leadership class’s first reunion, two of my closest friends’ last nights in Arizona, and the start of Camp Tontozona.

Desert rat in snow at Mt Baker

There’s gotta be a desert here somewhere …

Of course, I’m making the most of my time here. I absolutely love this area! I’ve seen the Seattle sights with my mom, camped twice in the North Cascades, and enjoyed quiet time connecting with my cousin’s family and doing a ton of yoga.

I know what some of you are thinking. Boo frickin’ hoo.

Most of you are sweltering in triple-digit temperatures. You’re reading this post while sitting in your cubicle. You quite understandably think that I’m on a hella long vacation.

I totally get that. It’s hard to define this experience in terms I’d have recognized six months ago. I mean, what the hell is a sabbatical anyway? As I approach my 100th day on the road, it’s quite clear that it is not a vacation. It’s a lifestyle – and not one that I’d choose to live long-term.

No girl. No gig. Just the road. That mantra carried me through an action-packed, spiritually-charged, growth-fostering, two-month drive from San Diego to Seattle. But now? Meh.

No gig? Ha! I love my career. Breakfast with a former coworker in Portland reminded me how much I miss wrapping my mind around a good puzzle.

No girl? Well, I really really dug a girl in Phoenix. Goodbye was a prerequisite for this trip and all the benefits it’s delivered. But goodbye was NOT easy.

Now, after nearly 100 days on the road, it’s time to get back to the gig. And the girl. And ASU football. And my favorite city in the world. And my own bed and kitchen. And all of you.

I’m leaving Seattle on August 26 for a week in the Olympics followed by a short layover in Central Washington. I’ll be at Glacier National Park in Montana by September 8 and Yellowstone in Wyoming by September 15. From there, I’m heading straight down the Colorado-Utah border toward Tempe (with short stops at Dinosaur National Monument and Arches).

That means no Denver and Rocky Mountain National Park. No Salt Lake City and Bryce Canyon and Zion.

Estimated date of arrival: September 28. Right in time to watch my Sun Devils trounce Southern Cal. Right in time for Tempe to wake from its summer slumber.

Until then, I’m stuck on sabbatical. But, if you gotta be stuck somewhere, sabbatical is the place to be. After all, the weather and the views are fantastic!

seattle skyline from kerry park

A decent view until I get home …

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After the eruption: From devastation to serene beauty

July 15, 2013 by 3 Comments

In over two months on the road, I’ve heard a lot of questions. One of the most common is, “What is this trip all about?”

Well, on the surface, I think it’s fairly obvious.

My month in California was about eternal things like oceans and redwoods and the Sierra Nevada. My month in and around Oregon was about volcanoes and their impact on the landscape. Devastation, like Mt St Helens. Rebirth, like Mt Lassen. And eventually serene beauty, like Crater Lake.

If you know me, you know that surface-level answers are rarely enough. So, let’s go a little deeper.

 

The Devastation of Mt St Helens

When Mt St Helens erupted on May 18, 1980, the devastation was complete. Whole forests were wiped out. Spirit Lake halved its depth and doubled its surface area. Fifty-seven people lost their lives. Devestation of Mt St Helens

I erupted in the winter of 2008-09. I had just got engaged. I was deeply stressed from grad school and a career change. I was experiencing incredible financial insecurity from the combination of home remodeling debt and the recession.

And then. Boom.

When I exploded, I took forests and lakes with me.

I’ve always liked an analogy from George Clooney’s character in Up in the Air. In discussing his minimalist ways, he said he had to remove everything from his backpack before deciding what to put back in.

Within months of my eruption, a lot had come out of my backpack. Old friends. Fantasy sports. Softball. Meat. Alcohol. My job at Insight. And, eventually, my engagement. The devastation was complete. The landscape of my life was as barren as the wasteland around Mt St Helens in 1980.

 

The Rebirth of Mt Lassen

While not as devastating as Mt St Helens, Mt Lassen did its share of damage to the California countryside when it erupted in 1915. Today, nearly 100 years later, life has returned to the landscape. In fact, it’s beautiful. Waterfalls. Wildflower-covered meadows. Even baby pine forests. Rebirth of Mt Lassen

The rebirth is so complete that my friend and I debated whether Mt Lassen should retain its national park status now that its once-devastated landscape is essentially recovered.

Interestingly, in the rush to repopulate, life overexerts itself. There’s competition as new life floods into the wasteland. It takes time for nature to find the right balance of trees and floor cover, predators and prey.

And so it’s been with me over the last few years. To return to the Up in the Air analogy, I’ve spent the years since my eruption deciding what to put back into my backpack. Unlike Clooney’s character, I’ve tried not to cloud my judgment with alcohol and womanizing.

I’ve tried a bunch of stuff – from church to meetup.com to Tempe Leadership. Some things have stuck with me. For example, I love yoga and hiking and gardening. Some things haven’t. I doubt I’ll return to sand volleyball or soccer or obsessing over HBO.

I’ve decided which friends to keep and which to let go. I’ve found a career path that makes sense for me. I’ve created a spiritual life essentially from scratch. Yup, things are looking pretty good these days.

 

The Serene Beauty of Crater Lake

Mt Mazama erupted 3,000 years ago and left a swath of southern Oregon as barren as that around Mt Lassen 100 years ago and Mt St Helens today. Over the centuries, its crater filled with rain and snow melt. Today, Crater Lake with its still blue water is recognized as one of our most beautiful places.Crater Lake

The eruption of Mt Mazama was over in days, but the transition to the serene beauty of Crater Lake took centuries.

Maybe that’s what this trip is all about. It’s about hitting fast forward on my evolution. It’s about creating space to do little more than think and reflect and journal and grow.

I’ve made tremendous strides recently. One area of focus has been visualizing and setting intentions for my lifestyle back home. Another has been reversing my mistaken belief that there’s a scarcity of suitable partners for me in Phoenix.

Progress has not always been easy. Some breakthroughs have actually been quite painful. But I seem to have hit a point of diminishing returns. In fact, on my most recent hikes, I haven’t thought. I’ve just connected quietly. I’ve walked in peace.

I’ll admit that I’m kinda ready to come home. So, perhaps I’ve done what I set out to do.

Don’t get me wrong. The view from Mt Simpson ain’t perfect. There are still some jagged lava rocks lying around. But that’s OK. As far as I’m concerned, a few lava rocks add character to a landscape.

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Truly aimless: Three days without a smartphone

July 3, 2013 by 2 Comments

On Day 46 of this adventure, I saw two incredible things. First, I hiked to Susan Creek Falls which became one of my favorite waterfalls of the trip. Then, I watched salmon swimming up the rapids of the Umpqua River. How cool is that?!

Alas, I have no photos from Day 46. I was without camera after my smartphone went swimming in Medford.

If you think about it, that last sentence would have made no sense just 10 years ago. Back then, a phone was just a phone. Today, a phone is a camera … and myriad other essentials. It’s the Swiss army knife of consumer electronics, and three days without one revealed just how reliant this traveler is on one.

Salmon at Cabela's

I didn’t have a camera when I saw salmon swimming up the Umpqua. Thankfully, I found these dead ones mounted at Cabela’s.

No camera. The loss of my smartphone compounded the damage done when I drowned my digital camera in Mendocino. Most alarming to me was the threat to my Facebook photo-a-day effort. This caused me more stress than it should have, so Best Buy was one of my first stops in Eugene.

No internet. When I left the Umpqua River bound for Eugene, I realized that my host’s address was in my email. So, I had to stop at the library in Roseburg to look him up. Later, as I played tourist in Eugene, I was rudderless. How do you find a coffee shop with free wi-fi and a vegetarian breakfast burrito without Yelp?!

No phone and SMS. Instead of texting my host with my ETA as requested, I had to email him from the library. Not a big deal, as long as he checks email. Also, I check in daily with my folks so they know where I am and that I’m alive. This’ll come in handy if my arm gets wedged behind a rock in a remote canyon … but only if they’re expecting texts and don’t receive one within 127 hours.

No social media. What’s the point of being this funny if you don’t have Twitter? What’s the point of looking this good shirtless without Facebook?

No music. I’ve been in love with Spotify for over a year now, but didn’t pony up for the subscription-only mobile version until this trip. With Spotify, I didn’t think to bring CDs. Without Spotify, I was listening to myself think … a lot.

A peach in Oregon

No camera? No smarmy pics of me enjoying PNW peaches.

No map and GPS. I wrote directions to my host’s house on a little scrap of paper. With a utensil called a pen. Crazy! Did you know that written directions don’t reroute when you miss a turn? It took me 10 minutes to circle back on the I-5 to start over.

No notepad. Speaking of scraps of paper, I used a lot of them in Eugene. Even on sabbatical, I keep a ton of lists in Evernote. Little tasks and to-dos. Addresses for post cards. Things to journal about. Without a smartphone, I was relegated to weighing myself down with an actual notepad.

No answers to life’s little questions. Here are a few questions left unanswered sans smartphone: What time is it? How far did I just run? Should I get out of bed yet? No smartphone means no watch, no alarm clock, no stopwatch, no odometer, and no answers to some of the more trivial questions of my life.

So, that’s an overview of what I lost in the bathroom that morning. Oh, what, I didn’t mention that I dropped my phone in the toilet?

Well, before you get any unclean ideas about me, I’ve developed a bad habit of carrying expensive electronics in my hoodie pocket. That’s how I lost my digital camera in the tide pool in Mendocino. And that’s how I lost my smartphone in the toilet in Medford.

So, yeah, the phone fell out of my hoodie pocket while I was standing. Not that I’m above toilet tweeting …

Thankfully, I now have a camera and a phone. Check out a new photo every day on Facebook.

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Why is my passenger seat so often empty?

June 23, 2013 by 2 Comments

Twice on this journey, I’ve invited friends to share in the adventure with me. These were people with whom I’m very close, with whom I have a deep connection on multiple levels.

Just me and a 49er in Nevada City

Just me and a wooden ’49er outside Nevada City. As a solo traveler, I take a lot of selfies.

And yet, occasionally, I found myself resisting both visits.

Don’t get me wrong. We had great times. These were positive experiences that I’ll treasure as part of the Meander. However, at times, my heart simply wasn’t open to companionship.

When a friend is in the passenger seat, Me Time becomes We Time. And We Time creates a whole different set of challenges for me.

Me Time and We Time in the past

Believe it or not, I tend to like things my way. (If you’re reading this blog, you probably believe it.)

So, my resistance to We Time is not unique to the road. Since my engagement ended in October 2010, my heart has been mostly closed to real companionship.

This is apparent in my dating life. For a year after the breakup, my heart was closed due to the pain and my desire to rebuild. And in my last nine months in Arizona, it was closed as I wound down my Bulbstorm and Tempe Leadership commitments and prepared for my trip.

During both of these periods, I dated – at times thoughtfully, at times not so much. Regardless of the approach, I always found one reason or another to call it off. In between these periods, I let my guard down for a few months in spring 2012 and had an amazing summer with a great girl.

I treasure Me Time. Paradoxically, I’m awful at creating space for myself. I crowd Me Time out of my schedule with business networking and social engagements and dating for the sake of dating.

At what point upon my return will I clear my schedule to create space for Me Time? And then at what point will I open my heart to create space for We Time?

Me Time and We Time in the future

I’ve already considered ways to structure my life when I return to accommodate Me Time. For example, I want to camp alone once per month and I want to finally commit to another can’t-miss yoga class.

Reading Huck Finn on a cold day at Crater Lake. Now there's a guy who enjoyed travel companions.

Reading Huck Finn on a cold day at Crater Lake. Now there’s a guy who enjoyed travel companions.

As for opening my heart to We Time, I’m not sure. Maybe it’s already happening.

I mentioned that I’ve attempted to date in the years since my breakup. I’ve also tried to forge non-romantic friendships. It wasn’t easy at first. I kept a lot of awesome people at arm’s length.

Slowly but surely, I got better at connecting. I got better picking up the phone (to text or Facebook, certainly not to call!). I got better at asking for help. I got better at being myself and being honest.

I now have a wonderful circle of close friends and I’m tighter with my parents than I’ve ever been. Plus, I have an ever-widening network of people who share common interests, from hiking to business to civic engagement.

I believe that the progress I’ve made with non-romantic relationships will serve me well when I return home and resume dating. And, for the first time since October 2010, perhaps my passenger seat will be open to We Time over the long haul.

Wanna read more? I may not be good at connecting with humans. But I love connecting with Jeffrey pines, coastal redwoods, and ducklings.

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