I want to write and tell them that I love them and that I am going off That, to me, to live on the earth is like this, to travel to see and to be In this way, the living is like an eternal day.

In all of my years here trying to fit into a multitude of molds within roles within well intentioned circles, I am now making my own way 100%. There is no script for this save the one that I write and watch unfold at times by the letter and most of the time beyond conception.

I keep thinking of Mary Oliver’s poem Straight talk from a fox when fox says it is music to move my body to feel the soft pelt of the weasel between my teeth, or however it goes exactly As the humans talk about God as if God is an idea

I’ve had a hard time living here up until now, even though life has been good and full of blessings. I have always been filled with an inner disquiet, at times an extraordinary, living dissatisfaction – the more physical comfort I have, the more life is safe and sound, the harder it beats and flips.

Now, I don’t have this inside of me. On the road, I have thrown it into the ocean, or let it release, where it went happily and without effort. With little, and in this way that I am, I am whole, deeply satisfied. Full of adventure, uncertainty, wild, abundant experience and nature and friendly intermittent tribe, I am content for now. You see, there is something else happening in this time. I am becoming satisfied getting to know me and the way that I move. I feel free for the first time in my life and for the first time in my life I prayed for something from the universe with my whole self: Please let me do this for another year.

I love it so much. It touches me so deeply, I cry even now writing it. The universe has been whispering to me lately, do what you love and the money will follow.

I love this and the sharing it through writing. I pray this develops into livelihood. I’ve never been so clear and heart-beaming on what I want. 100%

And what father, when his son asks for a lump of fish would give him a coal?

In writing and revealing this, I feel very vulnerable. Dream big or what is it worth?

As Max at the harbor in Ilwaca said to me a few days ago after I told him I’m a writer,
You could write your story! You are the story! Most writers have to sit in some bar somewhere and steal stories from other people, but you, you’re living it!

On the fortieth day of the trip, I am living it and listening to the whispers of the universe.