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The American Dream is to have more, make more, do more with as much excess as possible. Often times we are so swept up in the pursuit we completely miss the journey as it unfolds. The single serving friendships and love connections are the greatest miss- for which we plug in, chose the cushiest locale with the least amount of interaction. I am currently endeavoring on an overnight train from Seattle to La to visit a family member in the midst of the Coronavirus outbreak. Most folks have bunkered down and used antibacterial wipes on everything they can see...then there are the ones of us, stricken by wanderlust and constantly needing more. We see the cheap flights and crazy times as an opportunity rather than a detriment. A ban was just set for European travel, which is throwing a monkey wrench in the intention to go abroad and literally wander without a plan. To write and to explore and meet those single serving folks to better experience the world as we know it. People travel for all kinds of reasons, to escape or to find- but I travel to experience and feel. To gain another perspective in a way I can never learn about through books or even stories. I meet folks along the way which help guide the current destination or change the course completely to experience somewhere that was never on my list. Merely existing is no longer an option as it has never been. I seek to feel and understand and explore as much of earth as I can. Finding a career where I have this afforded ability and can share this experience with the world has proven to be more difficult. Creativity in the workspace was never allowed and now it's something I refuse to live without. Here I am, quit my job, taking a train to LA, the start of an undetermined journey- how long will I be gone or how will this impact me. To stay in Seattle and forgo the life path I have been on or move back to New Orleans succumbing to the pressures from family to be closer. I learned long ago of the decay in comfort. The path we chose becomes who we are. I have spent most of my life avoiding any semblance of routine for fear I will wake up at the ripe age of 80 folding my clothes the same way, driving the same way to work, and turned into autopilot through the entire journey of what was my life. Instead, as a behaviorist, I see the patterns and behaviors and after a year or so, I challenge that "comfort" directive we were raised to seek. This train experience was meant to be the opposite of comfort- a coach seat with a bunch of misfits ranging from the raging alcoholic to the mom visiting her daughter to the antsy family moving somewhere more affordable with everything they own on this train- to me, the lost artist who refuses to bite the poisonous apple that threatens independence and the ability to give back in a meaningful way. The alcoholic sporadically shouted profanities and demanded attention from anyone and everyone who would engage, at all hours of the evening. The sweet young man who ventured into North Dakota in search of work, but now trains home to San Diego and invites me to watch the sunset, he has a heart of gold. The chatty Kathy moms sat next to me, having meaningless conversations about the obvious until the wee hours. Mid life crisis guy sits in front of me, agitated by the seats existence and constantly shifting- no doubt the secret Farter. The old gentleman, he is the most interesting to me, he wears a nice blue suit, hair slicked back and combat boots. He paces the aisles consistently, takes a smoke break at every stop, and has a mild case of paranoia when he believes a hippie white woman is following him. I wonder, what is his story...what is everyone's story? I intend to find out.