I wish every email was just in one place...
The complete collection of emails I sent out while traveling around the U.S., May-July 2025.
see full image collection here
One: New York and New York and More New York (and Cleveland) - sent from Shaker Heights, OH on May 17 at 11:31 a.m.
Dear friends,
After a long two days of driving, Leena and I finally decided to settle down and get married. That’s right, I proposed in a hot air balloon over Niagara, and we’re going to be taking over the Raddock’s house just outside Cleveland, given that it might be the most beautiful house I’ve seen. It’s all dark wood, and deep reds and oranges and greens, and everything feels sort of sunken into place by a gravity that grows stronger over time. Leaf-shadows dance on permitting surfaces; windchimes sing. It seems to have swayed with the years and stood back upright. Raddocks, if you’re reading this, it’s (mostly) a joke: Leena and I don’t have the money for that yet. But watch out.
It took me almost eight hours to get from Boston to Albany on Wednesday, a journey which should have been four or five. I thought of Frances in Frances Ha (2012) saying she has trouble leaving places (can I mention Frances Ha in my very first email? Will you keep reading?), though she says it like it’s an excuse. I kept finding more chores for myself in the apartment, more items I had to pick up, a farmstand in the Berkshires selling fresh rhubarb, more reasons not to leave New England. I’ve never left New England for this long before, or for as long as I plan to be gone. Will it change without me? Will I change without it? Will it stick to me like perfume or sweat? Like grass or gum?
Upstate New York is gorgeous, though, and no matter how big you think it is, you’re wrong. We drove one of the longest possible latitudinal lines across the state, heading from Guilderland to Syracuse, then Rochester and Buffalo (including Niagara Falls) and finally across the PA and OH borders. Going against the westerlies, we avoided any significant precipitation—notable because the air conditioning in my car is so terrible.
There is something about upstate that always makes me a bit uneasy, though. I’m not sure if it’s the size adjustment from my home states—everything is much further apart when you’re not in NE—or some other deeply haunting presence. I kept thinking I was seeing things, driving at night, like eyes or hooded figures. (I’ve really got to get my headlight fixed). I have a long history with the Capitol Region; many generations of my family have lived and died in the area, especially in Martin Van Buren’s home town of Old Kinderhook (debatably said to have popularized the term OK). So it makes sense to me that that area might bring a familiar pang. But further west, around the burned-over district, the pang feels more like an unnamed cryptid that wanders the lakes. Reports of sea monsters have cropped up from time to time, but seemingly too sparsely to have created a cohesive image of the sinister. I might be feeling the Wendigo, or faint calls from glaciers. Stay with me…
Cleveland has been lovely. It’s a real city’s city. With some real suburb’s suburbs. I think a younger me would be more cynical about the Mid-sized American City Micro-brewery Car Culture Novelty Dessert Axe-Throwing phenomenon, but I know enough now to at least have a hunch that there’s more to any place than where you get beers. Boston can look like that if you’re not careful. I’m trying to be careful. Plus, Cleveland has trains and buses and what seems like a thriving arts scene. What I will say: the sky feels further away out here. The people are friendlier, the squirrels are redder. Leena and I visited the Cleveland Museum of Art—huge and illuminating and a lot like the MFA but it’s FREE—and we talked about art and values and whether you can just put things on a blue shelf together and call it a piece. (I don’t really think so. But hey, it’s in the museum, and I’m not anymore. It’s past midnight. I’m in a bed. I hope the Wild Things are working out what they want to say now).
Off to Chicago!
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Please feel free to reply! Ask questions! Give thoughts!
Also: I have a lot of time to think while driving. If you have anything you really want to think about, but haven’t found the time, let me know and I’ll think about it for you. For free!
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Two: Gorillas, Bongs, Cream - sent from Milwaukee on May 20 at 11:48 p.m.
Dear friends,
First, I’d like to clear up any confusion caused by my first attempt at a joke—Leena and I, unfortunately, are not getting married. Though you could call spending a couple weeks in the car together a mini-marriage, at the end of which we’ll sign mini-divorce papers with our mini-pens from mini-lawyers… I’d also like to say thank you to everyone who responded to email #1, and apologize for not responding back; it’s a little hard to write these while driving. Leena’s good with steering and shifting gears, but she can’t quite reach the pedals from the passenger’s seat while also DJ-ing and grabbing me snacks. (This is a joke too, Mom, don’t worry).
Yesterday we spent a few hours in the Harold Washington Public Library to squeeze in as much screen time as possible between travel. Kidding, Leena had a job interview, but I was excited for the opportunity to recount my experience of the wonderful CHICAGOLAND for you all. Before I fell asleep in the cubicle.
Here are some disjointed things I found interesting about CHICAGOLAND:
This place is really huge. And really flat. I think its flatness makes it feel huger. It was easy (more than easy—pleasant) to bike around all afternoon yesterday thanks to my tour guide, Ruby. I’m not sure the drivers are any more pleasant than in Boston, but the streets are laid out to make them easier to work with.
The streets smell like pizza here way more often than in Boston. It smells like flowers just as often. Maybe there’s some kind of smell amplification going on.
The city’s motto, “Urbs in Horto,” adopted in the 1830s, translates from Latin to “City in a Garden.” A century later, the Chicago Parks Department adopted the motto “Hortus in Urbe,” or “Garden in a City.” So, which is it? Some arguments for each:
City in a Garden: The name of the city is supposedly derived from an Algonquin word describing a type of allium (relative of wild garlic) that used to run rampant in the area.
Garden in a City: At the Lincoln Park Zoo, I ate a piece of Moroccan Mint, which tasted exactly like a hardware store for some reason.
Notable alumni include Barack and Michelle Obama, Pope Leo, Gwendolyn Brooks, Shel Silverstein, Gillian Anderson, Steve Carell, Bill Murray, and Oprah Winfrey.
When doing karaoke in Chicago, or anywhere really, it’s better not to know how you sound. That’s not the point.
Here are some words I’ve associated with CHICAGOLAND, by part of speech:
I do not appreciate adverbs. I also did not appreciate the traffic heading out from the city yesterday, but in Chicago’s defense, we left around 4:45. I forgot Boston isn’t the only place with traffic.
We set up camp last night at Richard Bong State Recreation Area, apparently a frequent target of sign theft for reasons I don’t understand. We warmed canned soup to eat with cold bread and 50-cent LaCroixs from the local, worker-owned Woodman’s grocery, and we were lucky to attract only one curious (but unassertive) raccoon to the table. I thought, as I always do while camping, that I should just live outside forever… The unfortunate reality check came tapping on the tent roof in the early morning hours. Rain has made itself at home here in eastern Wisconsin for a total of 48 hours or so, with its friends Fog and Cold and Us (circumstantially). Not to worry. Cream City, baby! Sometimes I think it’s better to see a new place in bad weather, so you can imagine it would just be so much greater on a different day and you’ll just have to come back sometime. I’ll bet the most gorgeous building in America is just behind some fog—safe in my imagination.
Leena and I are cozy as can be, now, in my mom’s old roommate’s apartment in Milwaukee (Cricket—not calling you old, just the friendship). We had a lovely dinner with a “cast of characters” including sesame chicken, crab rangoon, and the best eggplant I’ve ever had—not to mention some really interesting people. I’m picturing my college friends’ progeny crashing at my future home, thinking they’re figuring everything out (and I’m sure they won’t). Tomorrow we’re going to try to hit some Milwaukee locations featured in S2E11 of the hit show Joe Pera Talks With You, such as the Mitchell Park Domes Horticulture Conservatory and the Milwaukee Art Museum. Anyone else know anything to do on a rainy day in Milwaukee?
Sending love!
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Please feel free to reply! Ask questions! Give thoughts!
Plus: I have a lot of time to smile while driving. If you have anything you really want to smile about, but haven’t found the time, let me know and I’ll smile about it for you. For free!
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Three: Little Car on the Prairie Which is Maybe a Plain? No I Think It's a Prairie - sent from Bismarck, ND on May 26 at 1:09 p.m.
Dear friends,
After a whirlwind few days in Minneapolis, I’m now Leena-less, writing to you from a McDonald’s in Bismarck, North Dakota. I slept in the car in the tiny town of Steele about 40 miles east, in a parking lot next to the train tracks and the playground and the sheriff’s station. I had a lot of trouble falling asleep, but surprisingly not because of the freight train sounding its warning through town every two hours, or the streetlight shining through the passenger side window—I just feel so far from home out here. Especially without Leena; especially next to the ferris wheel in the Fargo Scheel’s. Finding familiarity in a large iced McCafe and the Insomnia Cookies across the street. Hoping nobody in a Blue Lives Matter shirt looks too closely at the stickers on my laptop.
I really owe a lot to America’s gas station infrastructure—where else can you use the bathroom, brush your teeth, apply sunscreen, organize the trunk of your car, fill up on cheaper-than-usual regular gas, and take your pick of a variety of hot and cold refreshments? It’s crazy that they don’t charge for coffee. Some of them even have Subways or Pizza Huts or the local Caribou Coffee, across the room from the lottery tickets and Geek bars. I’ve been listening to Siddartha while driving, a 1922 German novel by Herman Hesse about the spiritual journey of a Buddhist man whose name translates to something like “he who has achieved what was searched for.” And so far, he’s learned firsthand about the danger of possessions, wealth, earthly pleasures… I listen to Siddartha while drinking a large Diet Coke from the Love’s, annoyed that my hand doesn’t fit into the container of honey-roasted peanuts in the cupholder, emitting probably 20 pounds of carbon dioxide per gallon of gas. (Siddartha was pretty old when he achieved what was searched for).
Nine in ten cars that pass me now are trucks. Half the trucks are twice my height. My bright green Vermont plates stand out against ND/MT blue. I’ve never felt more like an urbanite. Soft!
The land out here is really gorgeous. We drove up along the Mississippi river to get to Minneapolis, which reminded me of driving along the Hudson south of Albany—train tracks between the road and the blue, red-winged blackbirds swooping over tall grass. West of Minneapolis, now, the horizon is even further away, and the fallow soil looks almost purple when partially soaked and partially shaded by clouds. Highway 94 cuts through wetlands and through the herds of cattle eutrophying them. I haven’t seen any bison yet, and I won’t see any buffalo unless I trade my Subaru in for a 747, but I won’t semanticize… Bear spray was expensive, though, so I’d better have to use it.
Trying to get to Yellowstone in a few days. Hoping to figure out something about how to live the rest of my life. Any ideas? To start, I’ve decided never to be afraid of anyone or anything, and to only get better with age, and to be a better listener.
Talk soon!
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Please feel free to reply! Ask questions! Give thoughts!
Plus: I have a lot of time to learn while driving. If you have anything you really want to learn about, but haven’t found the time, let me know and I’ll learn about it for you. For free!
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Four: FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS - sent from Missoula, MT on May 30 at 4:52 p.m.
☆Where are you?
Missoula, Montana (elev. 978 m).
☆How big is Yellowstone National Park?
It’s enormous. It turns out you can’t just saunter in through the northeast entrance, find a map, and plan a day hike from there. There’s no visitor center at the northeast entrance—which itself took a couple hours of white-knuckling mountain passes to get to—and you’ll end up driving about two more hours, asking someone to take a picture of their park map, and seeing a grizzly bear before you get to a park store, where you can buy a map and a little extra food. It’ll be another hour or so before you can find an appropriate-length hike, but once you do, it’ll be three of the most peaceful hours of your life. You can swim in the little glacial lake at the end even though “swimming in Yellowstone’s lakes and ponds is discouraged” according to your map because of the low average temperatures (you’ve experienced colder water, I’m sure). And you can keep driving after that until you get to a picnic spot by the lake, heat up your chili, and call your dad (because you finally have service) to ask if he thinks you’ll get banned from the National Park System if you sleep in your car without a designated campsite. And if you’re both not really sure what would happen, and you’re a little scared to get a hefty fine, you might just want to keep driving until after sunset to get out the west side of the park. But don’t forget to sort of begrudgingly visit Old Faithful, because when might you get another chance to see it, even though you saw a bunch of cool geysers in Iceland a couple years ago. Don’t think too much about what it would feel like if the caldera were to erupt right then. (TL;DR: 3,472 square miles (about ⅓ of Vermont)).
☆Can bison and cattle be friends?
It seems like they’re usually pretty neutral toward each other. They can breed—creating the questionable Beefalo species, featured in the survival game Don’t Starve Together—but bison can also spread diseases like brucellosis to cattle, worrying ranchers. For those reasons, ranchers seem to like to keep them separate, though some argue they can “coexist just fine.” Bison are native to North America, so some believe they are better for the prairie ecosystem, but both species can be herded sustainably with careful attention to grazing patterns. I’d like to think they could be unlikely friends, but my brief research has only led me to this heart-wrenching story about a cow named Buffalo.
☆Where did you leave your bathing suit?
I think it’s in a changing room at Norris Hot Springs (“Water of the Gods”) in Norris, MT.
☆What kind of wildlife can you see in Yellowstone?
There are some types of wildlife they don’t describe in official park education materials, for some reason. Here’s what I observed:
Photographers (Homo camerae): can be easily recognized by their large, flared, removable beaks. Often found in groups near other wildlife. Harmless, but not always friendly.
Dungheaps (Feces struem): they don’t move, but they’re always about to. A diverse microbiome, engaging in frequent parasitism with flies and other insects. Do not interact.
Seatdogs (Sedes benchia): can be found alone, in small groups, or in large herds (pictured here). Many varieties, but can usually be identified based on proximity to a scenic overlook or important geyser.
Tailgaters (Proximus vehiculum): Found all over the U.S., but somehow particularly aggressive in Yellowstone. Typically large creatures resembling trucks, but occasionally can be smaller and rounder. Not extremely dangerous, but if you’re thinking to yourself, come on man, we’re in Yellowstone, can’t you slow down and enjoy the view? It’s best to get off your high horse and just pull over. No one’s learning any lessons here.
☆What does a bison burger taste like?
It’s a little tougher than a cow burger, but overall pretty similar. The bison burger might upset your stomach a little bit though, so it might be best to sit in the Billings public library for a couple of hours and apply for jobs.
☆We know you miss Leena, but are there any advantages to being by yourself in the car?
Sure, it’s nice sometimes. I can sing really loud and be really inaccurate lyrically. I can make faces at nothing and no one. I can listen to really weird and boring podcasts. And if I do eat the aforementioned can of chilli, full of beans, before a long drive, well…
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Please feel free to reply! Ask questions! Give thoughts!
Plus: I have a lot of time to wonder while driving. If you have anything you really want to wonder about, but haven’t found the time, let me know and I’ll wonder about it for you. For free!
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Five: The PNW and its Consequences - sent from Red Bluff, CA on June 7 at 12:27 p.m.
Dear friends,
Missoula and Portland both chewed me up and spat me out and now I’m at a Days Inn in Red Bluff, California with a lot more freckles than I had in Yellowstone. I don’t think I could’ve gone one more day without doing laundry. I went down to the motel pool last night, thinking I had it to myself; so did a large family with kids, so I sort of awkwardly swam a few laps in the deep end before sitting poolside to air dry (in the dark) (I had put my towel in the drier). To paint you a picture.
I wasn’t planning on staying in Missoula for more than a few hours, but I ended up staying a couple of days because I met some people playing music on the street and they invited me to play with them. They were van-lifers and train-hoppers and other sort of wandering types such that I would’ve been embarrassed to produce my borrowed copy of Dharma Bums at any point. One had a real, live tattoo of a compass rose on his forearm. We played bluegrass on the street and at the farmer’s market the next day; we floated down the river and drank whiskey from the bottle; we ate raw radishes on the grass outside the van. I got a real glimpse of the drifter life—by the time I left, I felt I had to fight my way back into my old dimension. It’s a different world in Missoula; one with no responsibilities, nothing urgent, although I’m sure my new friends would say differently.
I don’t think van life is for me. I like the idea of ruggedness and physical freedom, but I think you’d always have to depend on people who do stay put—laundromat employees, mechanics, Planet Fitness attendants, farmers. And I do like putting down roots. There’s a different type of freedom than comes with knowing your neighbors, your city, really well. You can watch places change around you, you can direct that change if you so choose. You can ask for favors and return them. Boston, I miss you! I think people are taller in the Mid- and Northwest.
The drive from Missoula to the west coast had me coasting in a comfortable 5th-gear along the train tracks, first through mountainous Idaho and the picturesque Ceour d’Alene, then along the Columbia River Gorge(ous). That really blew me away—the dark volcanic rock, the rushing tributaries, the dams and bridges. I stopped in The Dalles—one of the longest permanently occupied places in Oregon—to walk up and get a good view of the whole thing. I cooked dinner (heated soup) at a viewpoint overlooking the town before sleeping at a rest stop a few miles downstream. Serendipitously, in the morning, I met a man who designs farms for a living; he also directed me toward a little-known Buddhist abbey, which I visited before heading to Portland. A man named Hermes (“But what’s a name, it’s just a sound, you can call me anything”) showed me around and talked to me about being a wave.
I directed the wave of my earthly body toward the city of Portland, crawling with bridges and baristas. I saw friends and family I hadn’t seen in a long time, which was lovely, and I saw the Friendship movie alone, which felt a little sad in a way that would’ve bothered me more earlier in my life. I don’t really mind doing things alone anymore, but I do want to know what other people thought of that movie. Does anyone have any thoughts? I’m conflicted.
I like Portland’s unapologetic weirdness, but I dislike the amount of time between city buses. You can’t have everything I guess. It's a cozy place; it feels like the city’s been squished gently between a giant’s hands. It was nice to sleep in a room with walls, and to have a shower and a kitchen and a toilet. It was honestly a bit difficult to convince myself to get out and explore Portland. But I did what I could: Powell's, various coffee shops, the Japanese gardens, some hot springs a short drive away, and a Very Portland (Safari Themed) Dance Party in Cathedral Park. I wore lion ears. I didn't think it would be necessary to bring bubbles but I was wrong.
This is getting long, so I’ll just say: Route 101 down the Oregon/NorCal coast was incredible, and I’ve listened to Seed of a Seed by Haley Heynderickx at least once a day this whole week. I cut in over the mountains yesterday, putting me back in the hot desert, waiting to be relieved of my loneliness by Archie’s arrival tomorrow. Thankfully, a new friend in Portland got my AC into slightly better shape—I’m sure, if it gets too hot, I’ll find plenty of swimming holes in Death Valley. Right? Right??
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Please feel free to reply! Ask questions! Give thoughts!
Plus: I have a lot of time to care while driving. If you have anything you really want to care about, but haven’t found the time, let me know and I’ll care about it for you. For free!
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Six: Deep Springs: Mirage or Oasis? - sent from Las Vegas, NV on June 13 at 2:21 p.m.
Dear friends,
Looking around Deep Springs, you might think you’ve found yourself in some kind of mechanic’s oasis, what with the hood of every hot car popped open in a big yawn. But upon further observation you’d notice: these cars aren’t yawning at all; they’re actually engaged in a thrilling conversation about Hegel, water rights, and who’s in charge of WiFi for the term… no, it couldn’t be… are these cars… governing themselves?
Sorry, no—the students are governing themselves. The hoods are just open so that mice don’t make homes in the cozy crannies of the engine (see p4). Or the students, for that matter, who I hear like to sleep in strange places. There are 26 students at Deep Springs, a college founded in 1917 on three principles: academics, student self-governance, and manual labor. Some might liken it to a commune, and wouldn’t be too far off; the students work the farm, cook and clean, and take classes they refer to as “chair” and “church,” in which they build chairs and a church respectively. It’s in the middle of the desert, not far from Death Valley, the snow-capped Sierra Nevada range just peeking out into eyesight to the southwest. There’s a lake nearby, which is mostly salt with a little water in the middle—though allegedly, the last time someone walked to the water, their skin oils saponified. There are more books than I could read in a lifetime.
I’m here with Archie, visiting his (our?) friend Kel, taking advantage of the students’ hard work—eating their food, swimming in their reservoirs, applying for jobs on their couches. Although, that’s not entirely true; I did help milk the cows and work in the garden a bit. And Archie did put together the best damn Sweetums concert that the commune's ever seen. There’s only WiFi/cell service in one building on campus, and it felt nice to be a bit unplugged from the outside world. I know I waste a lot of time on my phone, but it seems like I can waste a lot of time in other ways, too. Yesterday morning, before we left, I took a short hike (scramble) up the nearest mountains, past cow skulls and lizards and the invasive tumbleweeds, and I basked in the deepest silence I’ve experienced in a long time. A hawk spiraled upward nearby. I still had some stupid song stuck in my head. Hiking is a little less satisfying in the desert, I think, because there’s not much more you can see from up high than you can see from the ground.
Vegas is beautiful at night. I didn’t expect to like it, really—the total opposite of Deep Springs, the epitome of American Consumerism—but we rolled in through the Great Basin right at sunset, got a very efficient oil change in which they actually found a live field mouse in the hood believe it or not, and the lights from the highway were enchanting. We saw the famous sphere, the Vegas version of Encore, and countless advertisements for liquor and slot machines. It seems like the top activities in Vegas are: gambling, washing your car, cleaning your car, and drinking/smoking/etc. I won’t tell you which of these Archie and I ended up doing (what happens in Vegas and so on...).
I’m going to the Grand Canyon today, and I think I’m going to keep my phone off for the most part, so I’ll check in with you all when I’m back. Don’t worry about me! Looking at you, parents! It’s hot as hell here (writing this from the laundromat), and I can’t take the heat, and I’m going to an even hotter kitchen. Sharing a poem I wrote a long time ago, before I really knew what the Grand Canyon was. Hoping the lightning wasn’t predictive.
All the best,
Vincent
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Please feel free to reply! Ask questions! Give thoughts!
Plus: I have a lot of time to love while driving. If you have anything you really want to love, but haven’t found the time, let me know and I’ll love it for you. For free!
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Seven: Poem and Pictures, Grand Canyon - sent from Mancos, CO on June 17 at 4:06 p.m.
Dear friends,
Poem attached. Photos here. That's all I have to say about the Grand Canyon.
Going to Durango today! Finally below 90 degrees!
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Please feel free to reply! Ask questions! Give thoughts!
Plus: I have a lot of time to realize while driving. If you have anything you really want to realize, but haven’t found the time, let me know and I’ll realize it for you. For free!
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Eight: Colorado, After Losing a Lot of Money to the Very Nice Mechanic - sent from Trinidad, CO on June 23 at 3:48 p.m.
Dear friends,
It’s becoming increasingly clear to me that most places around the country are essentially the same. Maybe even around the world. There are people everywhere. They go to work, go home, have families, make art, entertain themselves. Or don't. Their choices might be somewhat affected by municipal decisions or larger-scale policy. They live in their hometowns, or they don't. What’s the difference? What can we control about where we live? I had a hunch it might come down to this...
Here’s what I think you might be able to choose, given you can afford to choose:
Proximity to family/hometown/old friends
Size and grandeur of living space (but can sometimes be a trade-off with proximity to work or a desirable area)
A climate you can tolerate more than the others
Includes elevation, humidity, average temperatures, precipitation, wind
Abundance of convenience/services such as restaurants, food delivery, 24-hour stores, transportation, communication (internet and cell service), cafes, dentists
Whether you will have space for a garden or even chickens
Whether there is a lot of “nature” nearby, or if you’re happy with the path along the river
Which kinds of creatures will get in your house—lizards, bats, mice, rats, roaches, flies, bears, or birds
Whether the place has flat roofs or a slanted roofs; chimneys or no chimneys
Whether the coffee shops tend to have pride flags or American flags in the windows
Restrictions on access to certain sensitive types of medical care
A good public library (or public school, if you have kids)
A go-go-go place or a slow-slow-slow place (though I think you could do either in any place if you’re okay with being different) (maybe you could really do anything in any place if you’re okay with being different)
[What did I miss?]
This is why I loved reading Italo Calvino’s Invisible Cities last year (and why, in addition to Gil’s enthusiastic recommendation, I recently began his better-known If on a Winter’s Night a Traveler). He, from the perspective of explorer Marco Polo, recounts fantastical cities he’s seen on his travels to the Emperor Kublai Khan. I wish I had the book with me so I might utilize it more fully. But there’s a certain point at which the Emperor asks Marco Polo why he never describes his home city, Venice. To which Polo responds: “Every time I describe a city I am saying something about Venice.” With this, all the cities sort of brilliantly meld together and end up feeling more like a lot of lenses through which one may look at a singular place, likely "home."
There are thousands of lenses through which I may look at each city, but the most interesting and most fruitful have to do with me (not that I’m the most interesting person in the world, but in the sense that if you were to visit these places they would have everything to do with you). They have to do with how the city remembers itself, what it abuts, how people interact with each other there, how they compare to where I’ve lived before, whether I would’ve lived there in an alternate timeline, had I made one decision differently. Whether I could decide differently now.
Rather than to see the places themselves, or even to describe them ornately like Calvino, I went on this trip primarily to think about what I'm always thinking about: How do people spend their time? And how should I be spending my time? This is, I believe, the most important choice you have, regardless of where you choose to live. (You can pretty much do anything, anywhere, at any time, if you want to). And because I don’t anticipate answering this question definitively, now or maybe ever, here’s an incomplete list of ways you can choose to spend your time:
Drive the car a lot every day
Know a lot about one thing
Know a little bit about a lot of things
Keep up with popular TV shows
Read the news
Buy Stuff
Love a partner, child, animal, or set of friends
Get really good at cooking
Get really into eating or drinking
Remember everything
Bring a novel on vacation, or to the park
Volunteer
Keep in close touch with your family/old friends
Like your coworkers enough
Hate your job and leave
Hate your job but not enough to leave
Grill
Invite everybody to everything
Be invited to everything
Love your job a lot
Grow up
Make some kind of art, for work
Make some kind of art, for personal enjoyment, once or twice
Make some kind of art, try to “do something” with it
[There are probably more nuanced options for making art...]
Go to fitness classes
Make new friends all the time
Surf the web
Do Something Meaningful
Get really into different drugs and alcohols
Go out dancing a lot
Stay home and dance a lot
Live a lot of different places
Be present
Plant a garden or have houseplants
Get dressed
Have a lot of fun at everyone’s expense
Pick up bugs with your hands
Make chore charts/to-do lists
Sit at a desk
Go to school forever
Consume a lot of art/music/movies/books. Tell everyone how much art/music/movies/books you consume.
Join a club or organization
Train for athletic events
Set boundaries
Make signs, or put them in the window/yard
Go outside, just for fun
Think, or don't
Walk, walk, walk, walk, walk
[What else? How do you want to spend your time? Let me know!]
In practical news: writing from Mutiny Cafe in Trinidad, CO, which is a surprisingly very cool town. Known historically for having the first female sports editor of a newspaper, and to me for having four dispensaries in a row as soon as I pulled in. Stayed at a BLM campsite last night; before that, near Denver with Madison and Harry; before that, in Durango with Sydney and Dalaney and Frankie. Did stand-up comedy for the first time in Durango. There are so many grasshoppers here and there are animals I've never seen and can’t name. I have until Saturday to get to New Orleans; thank goodness I got my A/C fixed! Few links in this email because I think my car has been in a two-hour parking spot for four hours and I’ve gotta go. Reply (or call me) if you want more details on anything :)
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Please feel free to reply! Ask questions! Give thoughts!
Plus: I have a lot of time to hope while driving. If you have anything you really want to hope for, but haven’t found the time, let me know and I’ll hope for it for you. For free!
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Nine: Most Everything's Blahhh in Texas - sent from Laplace, LA on June 28 at 1:59 p.m.
Dear friends,
If I thought New York was huge, you can imagine my surprise this week, four days of which it’s taken for me to get from northwest Texas to Louisiana. The Lone Star State has about 12 regions, depending on how you cut it, meaning it can fit almost thirty New Hampshires. I started in Denver and spent a night in southeastern Colorado, where I saw a marmot (I think) and some mule deer and a lot of grasshoppers. After that: not much. Texas isn’t huge because it’s filled with bustling cities or breathtaking natural views. It’s huge because a lot of it is just not much. It's fracking fields, wind farms, cattle farms, oil refineries, injury lawyer billboards, and really cheap gas. (I almost didn’t mind that you could smell the pipelines near my campsite when it was $2.50/gallon. I haven’t seen that since high school!). I'm sure there are cool parts of Texas, but it's hard to find them without a local guide.
It’s a good thing I got my air conditioning fixed, because driving through all that open space with the windows open would’ve driven me even crazier. I was relieved to have a couch to stay on in Dallas, with a friend of a friend of a friend, but the real relief was Austin—finally, somewhere to watch mediocre live music and comedy in dive bars with a couple of beers. It almost felt like I was back in Boston. More relief came when I reached the coast; I skipped Houston to lounge around Galveston beaches with the black-headed gulls of the gulf. Without a shower, though, I left covered in sand, changed into pants in a local coffee shop, and continued to shake sand out of my scalp for about 24 hours.
The sediment found its final resting place in a hotel outside of Baton Rouge, where I luxuriously showered twice last night. I’m thinking about staying in my car every once in a while when I get back to Boston, just to make both car-owning and apartment-renting feel more worth it. It’s nice to feel excited about a shower and laundry. And the re-boot of Phineas and Ferb on cable TV (it’s not bad). I cleaned the car out pretty well, too, so that it won’t smell too bad when George meets up with me, but I tried to keep at least 5 soil particles from each state lodged in nooks and crannies—my free souvenirs.
There are some cool town names in Texas, at least. I guess, when you have so many towns, some of them are bound to have funny names. Borger, Goodnight, and the heartbreaking Notrees, which I didn’t see but allegedly got its name when the only tree in the area was cut down to build a Shell station. Maybe it shouldn’t be so cheap after all…
Going to New Orleans today. It’s nice to be driving east, the sun to the south, beating less incessantly on my left arm. The swamp is much cooler than the plains, in my opinion, even though I’m a little scared to swim anywhere because of the ‘gators. Already, driving through the bayou, I want to sit on the porch in a rocking chair. The Dunkins are sparse, but the seafood is plentiful and delicious. I’m sweating more than I’ve ever sweat before. I’m putting Cajun seasoning on everything. I'm close to the sky again. I'm thankful for the rain, even in my tent. I’m going to do New Orleans right! I’m determined!
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Please feel free to reply! Ask questions! Give thoughts!
Plus: I have a lot of time to laugh while driving. If you have anything you really want to laugh about, but haven’t found the time, let me know and I’ll laugh about it for you. For free!
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Ten: New Orleans, Almost There… - sent from Blue Ridge, GA on July 2, 2:36 p.m.
Dear friends,
After M-A-G, I’m delighted to be back in the mountains, in the more temperate climate of northern Georgia, almost in Tennessee. I’m itching to get back and may cut the trip short by a few days. I’ve been gone for almost two months now; Boston is a beacon of hope in my mind, a place to settle down in my own room with the windows open. My beautiful city-wife, my apartment and my friends, the path along the Charles, they’re calling me back North now…
Though I still believe, as I described in my last email, the repetition of place as a reflection of the constants in our lives, New Orleans proper felt like a vastly different place than the rest of the country. The outskirts are sort of the same as everywhere else—strip malls, fast-casual, housing developments—but the city itself is another country. The blend of cultures and gorgeous historical architecture make for a rich and deeply rooted city, with fresh seafood and boutique art galleries on every corner. On top of that, they really know how to party! We walked down Bourbon street on Saturday night, drinking frozen cocktails and drifting through clouds of EDM and jazz, and it felt like everyone in the world was doing the same thing. It did make Boston feel like a very conservative place—why can’t we have clubs that open their windows so that the [dancers] can be seen from the street?
After a while, though, I got too full of food and tired of drinking. We took a jazz tour boat along the Mississippi, in view of large navy ships and some baseline industry operations like the Domino’s sugar factory. I wanted to see some ’gators but all I saw were their preserved heads on display at souvenir shops. It was muggy and buggy and I sought out air conditioning at every opportunity. It’s great to visit the South, but I don’t think my body can handle the heat. The swamp is really cool and full of life.
We camped for a night in Alabama, in some kind of fantasy place with literal rainbows and a herd of kittens and no rain despite the forecast. I dropped George off at the airport in Atlanta yesterday, then kept going North to stay with yet another cousin; now I’m in Blue Ridge Public Library, looking longingly at the curves of the mountains ahead. I’m excited to be home.
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Please feel free to reply! Ask questions! Give thoughts!
But I’m all done thinking, sorry. Send music or open job postings if anything.
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Eleven: Home at Last - sent from Boston, MA on July 11 at 12:20 p.m.
Dear friends,
It was a fitting end to a great American traverse: I watched the first Independence Day parade of the year at midnight in Gatlinburg “Redneck Disney” Tennessee, hiked the steepest trail east of the Mississippi, and witnessed the effects of the Philadelphia sanitation workers strike before finally resting at my parents’ new home in Connecticut. Now I write from my good old apartment in Boston, where I stayed for a night before heading up to my real hometown in New Hampshire for the weekend. My room smells a little different—apparently my subletter was a fan of scented cleaning sprays—but it mostly feels the same. There’s still some alarm that’s been going off for hours, a Mission Hill staple, and my keys still open both doors. Last night I got the best slice of pizza on the hill (buffalo chicken from Il Mondos, no argument) with Leena and everything was like it used to be.
It’s hard to believe it’s over, but it’s good to be back. I’m not sure I have anything to say that wouldn’t be profoundly cliche—the best part of going on a trip is coming home, the adventure continues, etc… it’s true though, that I look at my old city with new eyes now. I touched 36 states in the past two months, now having seen 43 in my lifetime, and still I don’t feel any strong urge to leave the Northeast. Boston, maybe, eventually, but I’d rather not go too far for too long. My bed is comfortable enough. My friends are minutes away. Now all I have to do is write a short stream-of-consciousness novel about my experience in the next two weeks and change the names; thinking I’ll be Sal or Smith…
Anyway, the last thing I wanted to do for the nerds reading this was share some data from the trip. It’s not completely comprehensive or accurate, but gives a little more information than I could include in the emails. I kept track of what I ate every day, where I slept, and what I listened to in the car. Here are the results:
Nights of different sleeping situations:
Tent: 7
Car: 15
Someone’s house: 25 - THANK YOU EVERYONE!!!!!
Hotel or hostel: 6
(Total nights: 53)
This was an interesting experiment in How to Be a Good Guest... a whole other topic... I welcome feedback :)
Food:
(A lot of these “burritos” consisted of a can of beans and corn spread on a tortilla with gas-station hot sauce)
Music listened to:
Plus: various podcasts, Siddartha audiobook, CDs that topster didn't have (shoutout Matthew Gurlitz and Kinship!) and some local radio stations. Thank you everyone for your recommendations!
Best coffee award: Orange mocha from Sawada in Chicago
Best egg sandwich award: Dunkin, of course
Best drivers award: Cleveland!!!
Worst drivers (in my opinion): West coast--they get too close to you but they're too scared to pass... at least in Texas they know what they want.
And thank you so much to all of you for following along with my travels. Writing these emails was honestly one of the most fun and interesting parts of this whole thing. I've been thinking a lot about the balance between experiences and taking time to write and make art about those experiences, and realizing the reflection is just as important if not more so. It's been so awesome hearing back from you occasionally. There's a lot more to tell than I've put in the emails, though, so I hope I can talk about it without becoming "the person who goes on a trip and doesn't shut up about it." There are a lot of things I wish I kept a better record of, too--variation in different states' gas stations and rest stops, maybe--but I guess those will live in my mind and heart for a while.
America is huge and beautiful. We are still in Eden.
Lots of love to you all,
｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ｡ ﾟ。 vincent ﾟ･｡･ﾟ