Oh, the places you’ll go.
It’s the proverbial Dr. Seuss quote, a book that has become the standard gift for every American high school graduate for decades. Someone gave it to me—more than once. It’s about embarking on a new journey, sailing toward an unseen horizon. It’s about taking the leap, jumping the moon, having faith in the universe, and believing in oneself.
It also summarizes my life.
I graduated college in 2009 with a full head of steam and immediately met a job market that had ceased to exist. My dreams of securing a high-paying, respectable job as a freelance political science writer went up in smoke. When I shifted toward more concrete avenues, such as political advocacy, non-profit administration, and general bureaucracy, I found myself in packed rooms with career government servants and people with Master’s degrees in specialties I couldn’t pronounce. Soon enough, I was working three jobs: one as a cook, another as a music writer, and the last as an intern for a political advocacy group.
I found myself working non-stop, barely making rent, constantly exhausted, and utterly alone. One day, while lying on my couch, wondering how it had gotten this hard, I saw an ad for a busser at a national park. It was a watershed moment. Sunlight cast across my lap through a rare parting in the gloomy skies above. Joy returned. I thought, If I’m going to live poor while working hard, it might as well be in a beautiful place. I applied on the spot and received a callback hours later.
A traveler was born.
Since that day, I have worked and lived in over thirty different states and a dozen foreign countries. I put together a résumé once but stopped at forty-five pages. Simply put, I’ve done more jobs, in more places, than I can possibly count. I’ve worked in the fields of an illegal marijuana farm for a gun-toting, acid-riddled hippie. I’ve sold corndogs, apple pies, flowers, vegetables, construction supplies, furniture, cars, and hope. I’ve chopped down and processed massive trees with men who had maybe three or four teeth between them. I’ve bartended on islands, beaches, mountains, canyons, lakes, and rivers—all more beautiful than the last. I’ve run several successful small businesses, including a massive hostel with multiple buildings. And I’ve been broken, destitute, and hopeless at various times along the way.
This has given me the unique perspective of having had monumental highs and unimaginable lows. It’s been a rollercoaster of experience—a made-for-TV movie I refuse to write (movies ruin everything). Instead, I’ve churned my experience into the butter of wisdom, parsing it into bite-sized morsels for you to chew on, free of charge. There are books too now, if you want to pay for something.
The point, though, is to make it easier for the next person who comes along. I know you’re out there—feet itching, hands sweating, craning your neck toward the next horizon. I know you’ve been lied to your entire life and can feel those lies eating at your soul. I know you’re out there because I was “out there” too, begging myself to take the chance—to go and see if the grass is greener. I had to know. I bet you do too.
A lot of these stories are gritty. Uncomfortable. Real. This is your official trigger warning because I haven’t lived an easy life. Rather, I’ve lived a life that would kill most people. Honestly, I wouldn’t recommend the luck I’ve had. But life isn’t about the cards you’re dealt. Life is about how you play those cards. I decided to go all-in a long time ago. These stories reflect that mentality.
I promise you one thing: I won’t hold back. A lot of this will stir something in you—judgment, understanding, vitriol, grief. All these emotions are components of your experience, not mine. Like a stand-up comedian, writers are supposed to bring these things out in you so you can face them. This world is merely a mirror we all have to confront. I write these pages in the hope that my journey holds up a mirror to your face, your life, your experience.
This is not a travel guide. Rather, it’s a spiritual guide for fellow seekers—to see what happened and where. To see what adversity can teach and what obstacles can be overcome. If that’s something you’re interested in, these pages are for you.
