There I laid. Alone in my thoughts. I had acquired the habit of laying down to sleep only to feel my heart racing once I went down. My brain began to work in overdrive in these times. Why did it have to be now? I never used to have this problem. My mind seemed to pick now. Late at night when I can be way too honest with myself. I was no longer numb. Seemingly every night I would play my life’s failures over and over in my head. How did I get here? I laid my head on a futon pressed in the corner of the living room. A curtain hung on each side of the futon to masquerade the corner of the living room as a bedroom. I moved to North Hollywood to get away from my failures. I said the same thing when I moved to Austin the year before. “This time it will be different” I said to myself. I was slowly beginning to realize that it didn’t matter where I was if I keep ending up here. My head on a pillow, drowning myself in shame. How do I escape this? I was twenty four. It had been three years since I felt the slightest sense of confidence or pride. Twenty four years old. Living like my story had already been told.
I used to want to be a baseball player. That is all I ever wanted since I was a kid. Confidence was never a problem for me on the diamond. My mom had told me about when I was six years old. It was the first day of practice for my team. The White Sox. I remember being so excited to play on a team that shared a name with a big league team. Once practice was over our coach held the annual meeting for all of the parents about the upcoming season. She told me I walked off the field and right into the middle of all the gathered parents. Once I saw her I yelled “MOM! I am the best player on this team!” I wished I could go back and remember what it felt like to be so confident, so strong. I would have given anything to get back to how I felt that day. I had no strength left. I was simply existing without purpose. I had beaten myself to the point where I didn’t even feel like I deserved purpose anymore. Everyone around me seemed to live so effortlessly. All of my peers were finishing school, getting jobs, and getting married like adults tend to do. I didn’t want that for myself, at least not yet, but I couldn’t help but feel like I was falling behind. It was like I had this secret. Something in the back of my mind that I couldn’t let go of.
I always loved baseball. I was good at it. I began to define myself by it. It was all I had to be good at if it was all I wanted to do. I guess I was naïve to think that was all I needed. I never really cared about school and often didn’t show up as often as I did. I still managed to be able to continue playing into college. In my third year I suffered three separate concussions in the span of eight months. I had gone through more than my fair share of injuries throughout the years. Surgeries to my shoulder and wrist. A constant battle with injuries to my knees. These injuries were difficult to come back from but nothing like the injuries I had sustained to my head. I had heard about concussions. I thought “yeah I’ll have a headache for a few days.” I couldn’t have been more wrong. They had taken over my body as well as my mind. I felt sick to my stomach all of the time. I didn’t want to go outside while the sun was out. Some days I would just sleep for up to thirty hours at a time. Any doubts I had about myself seemed to be magnified. I saw the dream of playing baseball falling apart right in front of me.
I went in to a specialist in Santa Barbara to see if this was all normal. There I was diagnosed with having post-concussion syndrome. It was explained to me as feeling the effects of having a concussion on and off for up to the next year. Any further head injuries could possibly lead to permanent brain damage. Baseball was no longer going to be a part of my life. The dream was dead. I could still see it. Sprinting out to right field. I always loved sprinting out to my position. My dad had taught me to do that. He was also my coach throughout little league and my biggest fan. I used to feel so alive running on to the field with the anticipation of another game. In this dream I took the field as a big league player, looked up to my dad in the stands, we both nodded to each other. He was so proud. I wanted that moment so badly for myself and for my dad.
My life completely changed the day I knew I would no longer be able to play baseball. I cried that day. It was the first time I could remember crying in years. This became a theme. I was constantly emotional. I guess it was a combination of the latest series of events as well as the injuries to my brain. I dropped out of school the very next day. I had to distance myself from everything. I felt like a failure. This last concussion had me feeling more emotional and confused than any of the others I had experienced. I remember walking out my apartment door to a bench near my apartment complex. I would sit there and cry every night. This was very shocking to me. I didn't go outside every night for a week knowing I would, it just happened. Up until it happened each night I don't even remember being particularly upset, but I would just continue to break down emotionally without warning. I wasn’t sure why I was doing it. I had no control of any of the emotions I was feeling. My head was so full of thoughts but so incapable at the same time. I knew I felt like a failure but I wasn't sure why exactly that was. I didn't know that my head injuries were causing me to feel this way, I just thought this is how I would feel from here on out. I felt like I was so exposed, like everyone could see inside of me and I was empty. I didn't want to see another person because of the shame I didn’t see any reason to get out of bed most days, to look at the shining sun, or even look somebody in the eyes. I couldn’t help but feeling like a burden to everyone I knew. The support I had been given over the course of my life was for what? I couldn’t even do the one thing I wanted.
On one of these particular nights I thought I should get a gun and just simply kill myself. I couldn’t stand feeling this way any longer. I would feel better and I would no longer be a burden. It was normal for me to have suicidal thoughts. I think everyone has them somewhere deep in their minds. The trick is to never take them seriously. They would pop up when the smallest things would go wrong. It was always the small things that would set me off and trigger these thoughts, they were never serious. This time it felt different. It felt real this time. I was so young I thought, although I no longer felt young. I felt like I had been beaten down mentally and physically, and how free I wanted to feel. This is really how my life is going to end. The ideas I’ve had, the person I had shaped myself into. It won’t matter anymore. Everything will be erased tonight. “Why doesn’t it feel like I have a choice in anything I do anymore?” “How do I even get a gun?” I asked myself. I am not even capable of such action. A seemingly simple task. I didn’t even have the mental capacity to acquire a gun to kill myself on this night. I was lucky that I felt so incapable and hopeless that night, or else I may have carried out that order. The idea was shut down before any action was taken. Just like any other Idea I had ever pondered.
My mind was at work. There I was. Still lying on a futon in the corner of the living room, thinking. I’m not where I want to be but I know I’m not where I was that night on the bench thinking of ending my life. I had been moving around from place to place to avoid the perceived look disappointment in the faces of those in my hometown. The way I felt like I looked at those who grew up around me and were still stuck in that town. I now thought “How am I any different from them”? Other than the proximity of me to my hometown how am I any different. I could feel it inside of me. I was different, or at least I thought I was. I think it is normal to grow up and fantasize about how special your life will be and all of the amazing things you will accomplish along the way. Never did I think I couldn’t handle the pressure of facing my hometown. Unable to look past my failures. There had to be more to this life. I just needed to shake this feeling of self-doubt. I asked myself “what if there were no rules”? I cannot accept the way things are. I must create my own outcome. I needed to put actions to all of my thoughts. I needed to prove to myself that I could do anything I wanted with this life.
What could I do to prove it to myself? I always liked to travel. I never really had enough money to pull off any of the plans I had in the past. I was so dependent on others to do anything. I could walk. That has to be cheap right? OK. I can walk somewhere. What about the Pacific Crest Trail? It was a trail from Mexico to Canada. No, that won’t work. I need to be able to talk to people. I had completely shut myself off to everyone other than those few close to me. I need to challenge myself to speak to people I don’t know. It has to be a long walk. I needed time to think. Why don’t I just walk across America? From coast to coast. Is that even a thing? I’ll probably get lost.
Somewhere around this point of deep thought I would finally fall asleep. Washing away all of the thoughts I had the night before. I could no longer relate to the person I was the night before. I was just tired now. I didn’t want to wake up. Everything seemed difficult once again. It is like I had been drunk the night before and everything I thought was complete nonsense. Only, on this morning it was all still clear. How did I expect anything to change in my life if I never did anything challenging. At this point I didn’t hate the idea of walking across America and that was about as optimistic as it got for me. I began to research online. As it turned out, others had done this before. It was possible.
One of those who had done it was Nate Damm. I immediately ordered and read his book called “Life on Foot”. It completely inspired me. It was so important for me to see somebody else had desired this same journey, and accomplished this amazing feat. I become obsessed with this book. I wanted his life. I constantly wondered how it would feel to accomplish something that great. What if I did this? I can do this. It was now settled in my mind. I would walk across America. I didn’t know any of the details or if I even had what it took, but I was going to do it. I knew that.
I set a goal. Now all I had to do was walk across America. Easy enough. I selected a target date. March 1st, 2015. I would start on the east coast and walk west. That was about all I knew. The longest hike I had been on in my entire life up until this point was about 10 miles to go see the Hollywood sign. It was only that long because I had gotten lost along the way.
Over the next several months I tried to prepare for this journey knowing I couldn’t fully prepare never having done anything like this before. The only way to prepare for walking three thousand miles is to well… walk 3,000 miles. I tried my hardest to not put any expectations on this walk. All I knew was that I knew nothing. I basked in the opportunity to finally look forward to something again. In the past three years I had gone out of my way to avoid learning things. I tried to keep things simple and not be a problem for anybody. Just keep out of the way. This is what led to all of my negative thoughts piling up at 2 am every night.
I had to figure out a reason why I felt like I had to do this. Why I felt like I had to walk three thousand miles to finally feel ok again. I also needed something to tell my family. I had told my parents about this plan of mine but they didn’t seem to believe me. This was just another idea of mine that I would forget about in a few days after realizing how hard it would be. I needed them to believe me. I needed a clear cut reason. I think I also needed to re- affirm my feelings about this journey.
I had lost the feeling of invincibility we all grow up with. At some point in the past three years I had lost it. I had to get it back to proceed. However much I prepared, visualized or expected, this walk would not be what I thought it would be. That was kind of the point. To distance myself from my comfort zone and start to learn again. Think for myself and not have anyone to rely on anyone other than myself. I’m was hoping, begging to feel something new. The biggest fear I had was not completing the walk and say "It just isn't what I expected." I know deep down that would really mean. It would mean I just wasn't expected. I felt proud to know that this little idea I had running through my head one night was closer to becoming a reality There would be no way of knowing what will be racing through my mind as I walk my first mile.
“The voyage could no longer be bogged down by expectations, regrets, and escape plans. Fuck the past. Just walk, breathe, see, feel, and not even try to make sense of it all. It was time to let things simply be what they were.""
Nate Damm “Life on Foot”
On March 1st 2015 I drove to the airport. I said goodbyes to my family. I guess they had to finally believe that I was going to try this now. That this wasn’t just another story I had made up to sound like I had a plan. Time had come to leave my family and head toward the gate. As I hugged my dad I could hear the emotion in his voice as he said “I love you son.” He was trying to hold back from showing his emotions. It wasn’t normal for him to be emotional. I didn’t like to see it initially. He knew I was about to embark on a journey that neither of us knew anything about. Deep down his vulnerable state gave me confidence. I now knew that this was right. I had been numb for so long. This sparked emotion in me as I walked away from them. I also had trouble expressing my feelings to others. Even those close to me. Why would it matter? Nobody wants to hear why I’m not happy. I’m not special. The prospect of being able to feel something new was upon me. If somebody else could cry this must be important, right? It sure felt like it was. I took my seat on the plane. I told myself I could never come back home until I found a way to feel alive again.
I never really liked flying. I liked the idea of it, the idea of being in the air is intriguing. It always ends up being no different that riding a bus with a different view out the window. The seats too small. The people too close. The proximity of your body to the ground makes you feel further and further away from comfort. These thoughts made it impossible to even attempt to sleep as I flew overnight from Los Angeles to Newark. I arrived around 5 am and it was time for my first adventure. Finding sleep. I nestled up to the closest wall I could find in the airport. I finally had gotten a little rest despite being asked to move multiple times by the man who washes the windows. I had made it to the next day.
The next step was taking a greyhound bus from Newark to Myrtle Beach, SC. Originally I had planned on beginning my journey in Delaware. In the days leading up to my departure it became clear that winter was far from over in the northeast. I felt it more than ever as the frigid air slapped me in the face as I walked out of Newark Liberty International Airport. A foot of snow coated the ground all around me. I immediately emptied out my backpack and threw on every piece of clothing I had. Still groggy from my two hours of sleep on the airport floor, I boarded a greyhound in route to Myrtle Beach. I would soon learn that boarding a greyhound is entirely an adventure in itself. After a ten minute break in Richmond, VA I walked back to take my seat. It had been taken by a man who appeared to be sleeping already. Or at least he wanted me to think he was sleeping so I couldn’t question the fact that he had stolen my seat. I looked towards the front of the bus at the only remaining empty seat on the bus. I took a seat next to a small pile of luggage taking up both seats on the bench. As I began to slide the plastic grocery bags of belongings over an old frail man approached me. The scent of cigarette smoke was deeply entrenched into his faded denim jacket. He informed me in a slightly annoyed tone that I was in his seat. I explained to him that this was the only seat available. “I’m dying” he said. “I must warn you that I am dying”. Not knowing what to say I stood up to let him into his window seat. His name was Sam. He had packed up everything he owned into the plastic bags surrounding us and was moving back home to North Carolina from Idaho. He displayed many characteristics I would have envisioned from a southern man. An extremely casual racism crept into everything he said. His voice carried throughout the entire bus. He spoke very loudly as he told me stories sprinkled with racial slurs. He sipped on his hidden Coors Original as I looked around the bus to see if anyone else could hear what I was hearing. Everyone was asleep. It was 3 am as we rode south through North Carolina. While looking back at the sleeping passengers, it became clear that not only were we the only two still awake on this bus, but we were also the only two white people. Sam continued to tell me story after story about attending Klan meetings as a kid with his father in North Carolina. I can’t say I agreed with much of what he said or did but there was some sort of sweetness about this man. It might have just been the fact that I had someone to talk to once again. He pulled out his flip phone and squinted his eyes as he asked me to help him find the picture of his daughter he wanted to show me. He scrolled through the images including him and his kids. He kept scrolling through three or four more images that were clearly pictures he had taken from some sort of adult magazines. Picture after picture of nude women posing for us. He finally broke the silence by not only acknowledging the fact that we were now just looking at porn on his phone but to comment on each girl that appeared. He went into great detail and the specifics of what he would like to do to each one of them. It was a very uncomfortable scene. I was so relieved to hear the bus driver over the loud speaker inform us we were approaching Raleigh where I would be transferring busses. I helped Sam carry his plastic bags into the station. It felt so good to stand up after sitting the last two hours on about one half of an ass cheek. I walked across the station to try and get some sleep. My next bus wouldn’t arrive for three hours. I quickly realized that bus station furniture prevents anybody from getting any sleep. The thin metal bars that resemble black wicker chairs. The build in arm rests prevent laying down in any fashion. I leaned my head back on to the cold metal in a daze. I was simply too tired to think about what the hell it was that led me here. I knew I couldn’t think about how alone I felt in the south, and I hadn’t even technically begun on my upcoming journey. I once again made eye contact with Sam. He gestured for me to come sit next to him. It was clear that nobody else in the station wanted to settle in anywhere near him. I picked up my backpack and walked over towards him and sat down. He leaned over and said to me with his Coors breath, “will you just sit here and talk to me? I’m all alone out here.” The two of us sat there for the next several hours talking intermittently between his frequent smoke breaks. Two people who couldn’t be more different becoming allies in this bus station. Our only similarity being, neither of us wanted to feel alone. We watched the sun rise over the bus I would soon board to Myrtle Beach. I had survived yet another day. He left me with some advice he said he wish he had used when he was my age, “Never try to grow up too fast.” He was the first of many that I would hope to meet on this journey. Sam from North Carolina.
I had finally arrived in Myrtle Beach. My first time in South Carolina. I stepped off the bus and began walking the seven miles to the UPS store where I had shipped all of my supplies. It still being early March this spring and summer vacation destination felt cold and empty as I navigated through it. This would be my trial run for this walk. Even though I was preparing to walk across America, the walk to retrieve my supplies would be one of the longest of my life to date. The walk was surprisingly easy. I was filled with adrenaline, so excited for what was to come. Upon arrival I was able to assemble my cart that I would be pushing across America. This red cart had 20” tires and one 8” front wheel. A tall orange flag, good for visibility on the road. It’s intended use was a bicycly trailer used for pets. For me, it would be holding my black Jansport backpack, a collapsible 5 gallon water jug as well as many other supplies one would think you would need to walk across the country.
It was another six miles back to where I came from to the nearest motel. I decided I would get some rest before taking on this unfathomable task. During this six mile stretch I was met by what would soon become a frequent visitor, rain. The rain fell as I plodded through the roadside mud. Pushing my shiny new red cart with pride. I felt so strong to be braving the elements on my first day. 13 miles down and I hadn’t even started. I was already sore. I knew I needed to get some sleep before beginning to doubt myself. I couldn’t possibly think I had bitten off more than I could chew, at least not yet.
I rolled my muddy cart into a cheap motel. Organizing all of my supplies, filling my water jug, preparing for a complete unknown. There I was once again. My head down on a pillow. Alone with my thoughts once again. Only this time it felt different. I had a purpose, a mission. I had hope for what was to come. I needed to find out if I really was, what I thought I could be. I was so excited to see if I could accomplish a goal I had set for myself. I was so eager to know, but home was way too far away to even think about. So many other things have to happen before then. I didn’t have to get there tomorrow. I would touch the Atlantic Ocean in the morning and walk west from there.
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