Twenty-Five Years Of This Shit
So. Tonight, exactly 25 years ago – on Wed, 12 Feb 1997, at 22:26:44 EST – I sent out my very first dispatch:
I was undertaking those two most American of pursuits, ones deeply related heading out west, and looking for my future.
I had shovelled all my Earthly belongings into the ole covered wagon (a 17-foot U-Haul) and headed out over the prairie. And that first night, I flipped open the ole laptop and sent off a quick update by email to a few close friends and family. And I never freaking stopped.
No more than I stopped trying to figure out myself, the world, or my place in it. I wish I could say I'm wiser now, or more settled, or have it all (or any of it) figured out. If anything, I'm more confused now than I was back then. (We know everything in our twenties. We just don't know enough to really enjoy it.) But, in any case, I've now spent very nearly half my life travelling, exploring, screwing up, recovering, resettling, struggling, working and trying to figure it all out. And find my place. Maybe there's no solution. As Tim Ferriss deathlessly noted:
I definitely couldn't claim not to have had some fun along the way seen wonders, known love, and both made and and been moved by art. Maybe the “settled” part (if not the “have it all figured out” part) comes next. Who knows. But as North Face unimprovably has it: