I choose to live the journey. The quest. The present. The move. The movement. The moment. That is how to live life, and not just tolerate it. I don’t bother over-thinking the past or present. How much is “over”-thinking? Any amount beyond simple consideration. Hindsight is frustrating and foresight is a waste of time; the more I think about the future, the less I’ll ever live it.
I’ve lived out of a backpack (or bike panniers) for the past 8 months.
The value of my outdoor gear exceeds that of my life’s savings.
I drive a 15-year-old vehicle with 173,300 miles on it.
Those who volunteer for causes they feel strongly about inspire me to live virtuously.
I’ve spent 1.5 years, 24 hours a day, sitting on chairlifts.
I have no idea where I’m going to sleep tomorrow evening. And I’m not worried.
I prefer open spaces to malls; shivering to sitting; stars to movie stars.
My body has lovingly endured: broken thumbs (x5 +), class 3 concussions (x2), broken tibias (x2), broken fibulas (x2), fractured back, fractured shins (x2), broken foot, sprained ankles, frostbite, torn MCL, torn meniscus, severed finger, lacerated head, destroyed face, horrible body-covering road rash, bone spurred feet, etc.
Willingly and purposely, I’ve purchased plane tickets with 10+ hour layovers, Christmas morning take-offs, and 15+ hour legs in order to save less than $50.
I’ve slept in a snow cave for weeks. I don’t own a bed, but do own 4 sleeping bags.
Days have passed without a word of English coming from my mouth.
Days have passed without a word coming from my mouth.
Days have passed without me seeing another person.
I’d rather listen to a harmonica beside a campfire in the desert than the Beatles, or Hendrix. Or anyone. In-person. Live. In 1964.
Over-consumption, deforestation, climate change, and cities terrify me.
Hitchhiking is a form of my transportation.
My parents say they’re proud of me.
My time preference is perpetually now.
Watch in HD (please)