June 13, 2018
The big numbers – and the little numbers – got to me a little last night.
Lying in bed, thinking about my finances: the little numbers that is.
I don’t owe that much. I am, if not in the black, in a kind of dark, dried-blood, scabby red.
I have a car payment, a few loans to pay back, rent, and then an absurdly long list of little monthly obligations that are slowly draining my bank account.
I pay for the cloud. It’s a big cardboard box in the sky. In my case a few hundred cardboard boxes filled with pictures and videos, unpublished novels, and the like.
It goes with the job. That is, as a writer I have more words than I have basement. So I pay for the cloud.
A variety of apps, again mostly for the job.
All told though it adds up.
I am going to have to shed most of those to be able to walk.
I’m not worried.
I may have to sell my car – when I get to California.
I won’t be paying rent.
But I think I can get my debts down low enough to free me to walk a little lighter.
I won’t need much money, once I am on the road.
I’ll be staying in my tent.
I’ll be eating out every day, out of my backpack (trail mix, power bars, water.)
I’ll be depending on the kindness of strangers.
Then again there are some big numbers out there. Some long stretches where there are no towns, no kind strangers, lions and tigers and bears oh my.
The desert is one thing. The plains are another. What got to me last night, lying in my bed imagining the road ahead, was the idea of upstate New York, west to east.
I once drove to Cooperstown, from southern Vermont. It had its own kind of desolation. There were very long stretches of nothing but woods and heaving hills and wide, empty highway.
Part of the cure may be finding a route, a road, the old way before the highway that knits small towns and farms and such together.
In those places I’ll become a familiar sight to those who live in the area: they’ll see me every day for a week or so as I slowly walk through their county.
7, 392,000 steps.
Can’t wait to get started.