Suggested Listening: “Pure Moments of Time” - Dom Storrs
December 2003. I had quit my job at Discovery Networks and bought a new black Dodge Ram pickup and driven south and west into the country with no plan and no return date.
My parents were dead. Both of them inside of two years. I had turned thirty and I had a journal and a digital camera. The Dodge Ram felt indestructible because I was anything but.
I told people I was a writer. I did not feel like a writer.
I slept in the truck at rest stops between semis. I woke at three in the morning and could not go back to sleep. I smelled like diesel fuel. I woke up in hotel rooms in cities where no one knew my name. I had no email to check in the morning. No upfront presentations to prepare for. No suit and tie to pick up at the dry cleaners. No reason to shave.