“The man who misses the journey misses about all he’s going to get.”
Half turned away from his computer screen, my dad reminded me to have fun on my way out the door.
In front of him I could make out a winding black line across a map on the web page. My dad would go on to explain he was reading up on a railroad that once operated between Solon and Chagrin Falls, two outlaying suburbs of Cleveland, Ohio.
This is a Saturday night mind you. The Chagrin Falls and Southern Railroad, a remarkably short 5 mile line, hasn’t seen a train on its track in my lifetime. But yet my dad can find as much entertainment in that bit of local history as anything considered breaking news today or anything else to do on a Saturday night.
Imprints in time work this way. Actions can be fossilized physically, digitally, or even just in memory. And they filter through the years to be rediscovered by the unsuspecting long after their moment in the Sun.
For example, tonight, as I hit the road once again in my Ford Transit van, virtually all of my worldly possessions in tow, I fired up my latest book recommendation, “Blue Highways” by William Least Heat-Moon.
This book was recommended to me by a full time lawyer/part time judge named Mike. I met Mike, a Patriots fan, at Pancho O’Malleys in Narragansett, Rhode Island of all places. This book left an imprint on him back in high school, at least enough of an imprint for him to pass the recommendation along to me 40 years after it’s publication.
And Mike left an imprint on me by performing a monologue he first learned in high school, a testament to the desires that make us feel alive and stay within us through the decades no matter what path we take in life.
“Blue Highways” is an autobiographical travel book about a 38 year old man who circles 13,000 miles around the U.S. in his Ford Econoline van. I’d say this recommendation was about as relevant to me as it gets.
The real life protagonist in that book would
follow only out of the way roads (Roads that were drawn in blue on the Rand McNally Road Atlas). He’d travel through off the beaten path towns like the one where I met Mike, Narragansett.
Some out East might recognize Narragansett from the beer by the same name.
But Mike would go on to share the tragic local history of the Narragansett Indian Tribe, of which 700 were murdered in the Great Swamp Massacre of 1675.
I wound up in Narragansett because it was the Cleveland Browns Backers Bar in the state of Rhode Island and it just so happened to be an NFL Sunday when I was in the area.
Still early in the book, the author of “Blue Highways” said a line that jumped out to me, “The man who misses the journey misses about all he’s going to get.”
I’m on a journey all right. It’s a full blown mission to give 1 random act of kindness in all 50 states. And I’m living in my van until I finish.
This is my way to see the country in a completable context, connect with the people I meet along the way, and pay forward the acts of kindness strangers have given me when I cycled and walked across the U.S over the past decade.
From the experience of completing my last two adventures, not much happens at the moment you finish. You were successful, sure. Life goes on. By that point you really have gotten about all you’re going to get out of it.
As grandiose as this adventure may seem, I catch myself overlooking the journey at times, particularly today as I complained to my dad about the persistent stress of a shoestring budget.
Most probably assume a man traveling to all 50 states in a van, giving his time and money to strangers, must be a wealthy man. But in fact quite the opposite is true. I make just enough to get by, in the fullest sense of that phrase.
Today marks the second time on my journey to all 50 states that I’ve had to stop for work. I’ve only been on the road two months.
The first time, after delivering acts of kindness in New York City, Boston, and rural Maine, I had to return to Cleveland to remodel a bathroom to make a few thousand dollars to keep the show on the road.
Since then I’ve been able to complete acts of kindness in the remainder of the Northeast (Vermont, New Hampshire, Rhode Island, and Connecticut).
Now, I’m headed 2,400 miles west on I-90 from Cleveland all the way to Seattle to remodel a house for a young guy I met through the magic of YouTube. You might think he watched my video on something home related, but it was actually my videos on car negotiation that caught his attention. Life’s funny like that.
Over the first 7 states I’ve had quite the journey. As I write this in a bar outside of Toledo, Ohio, the Michigan Wolverines are making easy work of the Iowa Hawkeyes for their first Big Ten Conference Championship under Jim Harbaugh. Just last week I was in Ann Arbor, Michigan thanks to my friend Mark who took me along to the Ohio State vs. Michigan game (college football).
Fortunately the snow that plagued that drive is not present at the moment.
Mark, I had last seen in Boston, weeks earlier when we went with my old college roommate Lee to watch the Browns get dismantled by the Patriots.
And in Boston, a month before that, my act of kindness got me an unsolicited radio interview, perhaps because I unwittingly gave a playoff ticket to a guy working the most popular sausage stand outside Fenway Park (The Sausage Guy).
And Lee, I last saw in New York City, where I started this whole grand adventure, first as guest to Lee’s wedding.
The dots I can connect from place to person, and person to place, go on and on and on.
That is the beauty of living in the moment, the current of life has the power to carry you to unexpected places if you make the effort to float.
And in this way, on the edge of the unknown, I regularly encounter the unexpected.
The first major surprise so far has been the amount of people who have been off put by my adventure.
How do I know?
They tell me when I ask them, and they tell me when I don’t.
TikTok has become the platform that provides me the most feedback on my content.
https://vm.tiktok.com/TTPdjFQLXN/
Feedback on this topic seems divided into a few categories:
1. Don’t share your acts of kindness no matter what.
2. You can share your acts of kindness depending on your intent.
3. Share your acts of kindness no matter your intent because you’re helping someone and inspiring others.
The notion that I would film my own acts of kindness draws the ire of a large minority, and potentially unspoken majority.
Most of the dissent carries religious undertones. Some even accompany their feedback with scripture:
Matthew 6:1
“Be careful not to practice your righteousness in front of others to be seen by them. If you do, you will have no reward from your Father in heaven.”
There’s a prevailing sentiment that we should be kind in private, never to utter a word about the happenings.
But what makes anyone say that?
Is there a religious benefit? Perhaps. The book of Matthew says as much in the aforementioned quote.
But what about this conflicting insight from the book of Matthew?
Matthew 5:15-16
“Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.”
Does God want us to share our good deeds with others or not?
God’s alleged opinion aside, I think people should share their acts of kindness, even their own.
Who is harmed by watching me pass out wool socks to people who are homeless?
How is the world a better place without that video? It’s not.
The fact that this is even controversial is this day and age of constant negativity says a lot about humanity. But I’m not sure what yet exactly what to make of it. I’ll probably unpack this topic over the rest of this journey.