Today, I was gobsmacked with a wave of nostalgia. I went to a new restaurant for my office’s lunch run, Belcampo, on 3rd Street in LA, and it was there (in the Verve coffee shop next door) where I spent many a day typing away at my creative endeavors. Whether the focus was My Cancer Story, a screenplay, or the then-numerous blog posts (yeah, sorry about that), I spent my free time (of which I had ample supply then) ticking away at my form of expression. On November 8th, it will have been three years since I moved into my first apartment here, the temporary room rental on Blackburn Ave.
“The Wayward Traveler Chronicles” will be a series of journal entries recording my trip across the country from Maine to California. I put this name up there as a tentative placeholder until I could come up with a cooler name, but there isn’t a more apt title to describe my journey. When everything in my life told me I couldn’t, I simply refused to listen. And so, I begin my chronicle of the excursion across the United States.
Wow, the United States. I’ve been to only a handful of them, and I find my number unsettling, like a low number of sexual partners in your early 20s, for the number doesn’t really mean anything, but man, sometimes you wish it was higher. “If I could only live more!”