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The Hardest Part




You might think that after 15 states and 20,000 miles of travel in my tiny 'Rolla, that the hardest parts of the trip might be long hours driving, not knowing where I am going next, or where I am to sleep each night. As you may have guessed, this assumption is completely wrong.


On the contrary, I look forward to long eight hour drives, I enjoy the spontaneity of not knowing my future destinations, and staying with random 
CouchSurfing hosts and at cheap hostels have easily been the best part of the entire journey to date.

The hardest part of the trip has NOT been taking on a homeless lifestyle - and the lack of comfort that comes along with it; nor has it been fear of the unknown while driving aimlessly, and it certainly hasn't been sleeping in the car under the stars in National Forests and along the coastal cliffs of California. Rather, the hardest part of the trip has been struggling with my own internal turmoil deconstructing and re-conceptualizing the career complex I've developed after 26 years of having society tell me what is best for me.

Not that I don't believe in making a contribution to society, especially one as cohesive and supportive as the one here in the United States; however, make a contribution in your own way – you do not owe anyone to become someone you do not wish to be.

This man found that not enough people knew what to do when drowning so he decided to do something about it and start an initiative similar to fire safety to inform the public:






My point is that I've found it immensely difficult to separate what I thought I needed to be happy and what I actually need to be happy. If you have found a way, please tell me how.