Midnight, on the road

Hi, my name's Patrick. I'm on a journey. It's really exciting. For the first time in a long time, I see a future. Hope. Real, tangible outcomes. Honestly, I don't know how I've made it this far.

I feel like the universe tests us in unbelievable ways. God damn. It has tested me so many times. The last few years felt like the most unbelievable Sisyphean adventure known to man. I don't even know how to put it into words.

But despite setbacks, despite incredible experiences, learnings, growth — it's a journey. There are ups. There are downs. Two steps back, four steps forward, six steps back, nine steps forward. It's not really a straight line.

Despite that, you push forward, step by step, day by day. You might look back and it looks like a straight line. Other people might see it that way. But you know more than anyone that it isn't.

Sometimes you wake up and realize — wow. Look at where I am. There's a lot of power in that reflection. You have a choice: you can always choose, to a degree, how to interpret it, how to act. One way to look at it is that there's a silver lining in everything. And you don't grow if you don't put yourself into tough situations.

Not looking for trouble — that's not what I'm saying. But uncomfortable situations. Situations that push your boundaries, push your limits. Push the way you think, how you see yourself, how others see you. And it's not even about perception at that point. You can't reduce it to that. It's about how you choose to remember it, or what you take away from it. What new constraints you see, and put yourself toward, and what new affordances you have in life.

Those affordances — that's what you really look forward to. The bright hope. The future. Little glimmers and sparkles: goals, ambitions, dreams, visions, small flickers. But the more powerful concept, the harder pill to swallow, is constraints. What limitations do you discover? What new lenses do you apply that cut out the periphery?

A side quest is valuable. But at some point we really do have to get back to the main quest. It's that yin-yang of constraints and affordances — the closing and the opening, the compressing and the decompressing. That dance. The balance. The straight line in retrospect, but the yin-yang in the now. The connection.

And that's where I find myself now. In Canada. A country I've established roots in and didn't identify with — and, realistically, don't know much about. So I embark on a yearning for a deeper, rooted foundation and understanding. Sponging and soaking in what this land has to offer.

I want to explore what I'd consider — what I'd tell people — my backyard. My country. The country I identify with most in the world, as a home to some degree, but one that hasn't felt like home because it's been unfamiliar. It's been a flag, a destination, a trip. It's interesting. Even when we build our foundations where we feel comfortable, where we gravitate toward home, we decide we haven't figured it out. And that a foreign land is more exotic, relative to what we know.

You get caught up. You find yourself planting roots. And then — what else? Where else could it have been? What else might have been? How could it have been different if I'd taken that left turn instead of that right turn? Instead of pushing for here or there because it was cheaper, or more expensive, or I had an idea of going there and found all the doors closed. But do they have to close? Where is home?

So I look forward to connecting, rooting, learning, growing, meeting beautiful souls along the way — understanding their idea of home in connection to this land. Experiencing this country in a way I could only dream. Feeling what it has to offer. Growing with it. Attributing back.

I plan on moving from where I grew up, what I'm familiar with, and reconnecting with old places — but taking that left turn that is the right turn, or vice versa. Not having a plan, but having a plan. Not feeling as if I have to be in any one place to rush this sense of well-connectedness. That's such a cool feeling.

So far, the plan is a year. I have no idea how I'm going to do that. But I feel like I will. I've got half a gas tank right now. I've got enough money to fill me up to a full tank. I've got an idea for how to get through the next couple days and maybe put a couple bucks together to keep a tank full and a belly full. The plan is to dip my toes in the Atlantic, the Pacific, and the Arctic. And along the way, go to Austria, visit my aunt, connect to my family roots.

It's exciting. It's exciting not knowing how it's going to be done. It's exciting to jump full tilt into what I believe is an extremely creative initiative — a project — but it's not even that. Those aren't great words to describe a human experience. It feels like that, though, because it's like a projection. Project. Project, project. Projection. I'll use that instead.

It feels great to have this projection to shepherd. I feel it moving through me. I look forward to seeing where it goes.

Good night.