This is kind of the way I envisioned it;
I have indeed decided to make a trip to see people up north.
I certainly could travel by bus, rather than hopping trains and putting my thumb out, if I were to play my cards right (quit smoking and start saving the $7 a day immediately) or if things were to go my way (the 100 dollar tip).
I will have to beware, in the second instance, of the tendency to see the 100 dollar tip as a sign that I should stay here because there will be more such tips; rather than see it as having caught lightning in a bottle and been afforded a golden opportunity to get out and travel. Before something really goes wrong in this desperate slow season.
I envisioned months ago that, when the time arrived that I was truly serious about travelling, the money for the bus fare would elude me.
I would harbor a creeping paranoia that the city of New Orleans and its spirit, was trying to keep me prisoner here; the way Leslie Thompson used to lock his friends in his house behind a barbed wire topped gate before he went out.
The thought of making the trip sober (180 days coming up) causes my heart to sink a bit.
I envision random things happening along the way, like myself winding up sitting out a thunderstorm under an underpass somewhere in Tennessee, or having to walk miles to the next Megabus location, without a pint of whiskey by my side.
That is the one aspect of sobriety that I haven't tested yet; travelling sober.
Without a bottle of "no matter what life throws at me, I've got this" on me.
I have indeed decided to make a trip to see people up north.
I certainly could travel by bus, rather than hopping trains and putting my thumb out, if I were to play my cards right (quit smoking and start saving the $7 a day immediately) or if things were to go my way (the 100 dollar tip).
I will have to beware, in the second instance, of the tendency to see the 100 dollar tip as a sign that I should stay here because there will be more such tips; rather than see it as having caught lightning in a bottle and been afforded a golden opportunity to get out and travel. Before something really goes wrong in this desperate slow season.
I envisioned months ago that, when the time arrived that I was truly serious about travelling, the money for the bus fare would elude me.
I would harbor a creeping paranoia that the city of New Orleans and its spirit, was trying to keep me prisoner here; the way Leslie Thompson used to lock his friends in his house behind a barbed wire topped gate before he went out.
The thought of making the trip sober (180 days coming up) causes my heart to sink a bit.
I envision random things happening along the way, like myself winding up sitting out a thunderstorm under an underpass somewhere in Tennessee, or having to walk miles to the next Megabus location, without a pint of whiskey by my side.
That is the one aspect of sobriety that I haven't tested yet; travelling sober.
Without a bottle of "no matter what life throws at me, I've got this" on me.
It might be the most fun to make a nice sign to hang on your guitar case with your destination on it, and be a "traveler" I've had a guy hand me a $20 bill just because I was traveling (on a motorcycle) and in general, travelers are "cool" and well, you've seen this when you were spare-changing at a freeway onramp and got boocoo bucks.
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