Dear Writer
I Live Because of You, Past Me
A letter to my younger self; a young man who took his dreams out onto the road.
Dear Jack,
I’m thirty-seven now, still as wild as those younger days — at least I choose to believe so. I need to tell you something: thanks!
Those early days on the road of adventure paved the way for where we are now. I am endlessly grateful for those former adventures, the formative trips that transpired us and propelled our vision and ambitions of the future. It was wild and exciting back then, and it is still going strong today.
I want to thank you for taking those risks when you were young. You were from a small-town mentality, yet the dreams came yearning, and fortunately, for us, you answered the call. You pushed away from the traditional upbringing that everyone bestowed upon you from every angle. You were able to dream big.
I still remember that first road trip out to California in the summer of forever ago. It was fourteen days of absolute freedom and bliss. You rode those American highways and left nothing behind. The days were bold and risky, and you were stupid enough to take on the world without consequences. Mistakes were made in abundance, and for those even, I am thankful. They helped pave the way for future successes.
Do you remember the ride up the coast in Big Sur, the exhilaration in climbing that winding stretch of tortuous tarmac? At the time, it was the most beautiful and inspiring thing you had ever seen; it might still be. The pictures by the edge of the sea cliffs on that sunny day? The Bixby Bridge? The mansions in Monterrey?
Do you recall that time you slept in the car in that Las Vegas parking garage? One head out of the window to catch some air in the airless desert sands; the policeman on the bicycle knocking on the door at three in the morning, asking if you were a guest or resident of the hotel?
Do you remember nearly running out of petrol in the middle of the desert in Utah, somewhere in the deep darkness of the night?
I remember it all, even today, years away from these gloriously transformative memories. I remember the family trip out West to the Rocky Mountains when you couldn’t keep your head away from the landscape, longing to see whatever existed in the distance ahead. I remember how adamant and pesky you were in the back seat of the car, pleading with dad to keep going even further. It was the start of it all, wasn’t it?
I want you to understand the importance these early adventures played in building the blocks of the present. I rely heavily on the memories of the past to guide me into the open arms of the future. I often look back at them and remember how visceral and real the world of travel had been for you, for us.
I live because of you, past me. I live because of the efforts you put into bridging this new world between home and far away. You opened our lives to an endless supply of invigorating adventures. Home is the world, a mindset I owe to your fabrication and desire to explore and discover places unknown.
And I am forever grateful for that.
I will continue to abide by your wayfaring mindset; live to explore and travel.
Yours sincerely, Jack
Who needs friends when you have your former and future selves to communicate with?