Month Seven in Numbers

Month seven was a blend of travel styles for me - with a quick pace through Romania, Bulgaria and Turkey and then a slow travel style through Jordan. All month, I had a rough itinerary in mind but almost nothing booked - leaving me some flexibility to adapt plans as I went (which I did). With some quick trips and several longer ones, I visited an average number of cities and countries relative to my trip so far:

Cities This Month: 13; Total So Far: 92

Countries This Month: 5; Total So Far: 33

Countries I Ate Avocado Toast In This Month: 5; Total So Far: 29

Miles Walked This Month: 328; Total So Far: 2,458.2

A MONTH OF Hollowing Out

Like each of these summaries, I’m going to begin with my emotional journey and then talk about the trip itself. This trip is, after all, more about discovering myself and my place in the world than it is about seeing the world.

This month, I bumped into a great hollowing out - a process that at some points felt liberating and at others felt like a period of mental unrest. I found myself getting less from hedonistic pleasures - things like food, movement, drinking, sex, or even the constant stimulation of travel. It would leave me acutely aware that what I needed was some form of higher-order values, purpose and spiritual meaning.

At the same time, though, I was shedding world views that have filled my life with shoulds and musts - the boilerplate principles that often serve as a thin substitute for inner values adherence. I was losing my compulsion / habit energies that drive behavior to build a false sense of worth or esteem, to uphold a persona of a “good” or “cool” person, to manipulate or control others when I disagree with them, to maintain some level of delusion that everyone is good, or to keep an unreasonably positive view of people. I even, finally, abandoned my thin but insincere tie to Christianity as a root faith. The question beneath that became “Who am I when I don’t believe I should be anything?” Perhaps just as important arose the question “What do I think makes a person good if I hold no prior lessons as sacred?”

In some ways, I felt like I was losing a lot of unhelpful weight - abandoning the ideas and notions that had long been foisted on me of what I need to be and do. I began to see clearly all the near enemies of purposed living that I’d clung to - my forms of spiritual bypassing or avoiding clear looks at reality. The loosening often felt liberating - but then I’d find myself sitting free from it and feeling hollow - seeing more clearly that I haven’t managed yet to build a life or purpose based on my own values and needs.

That’s not to say that I never did things that were spiritually fulfilling; in fact, I think in most areas of my life, I already behave in a values-adherent, purpose-driven way. But, rather, I discovered I’d been doing many of them for the wrong reasons - and that doing even the right things for the wrong reasons isn’t fully soul-satisfying for me. I’d been shoving what I perceived as “righteous” behavior down my throat, almost punitively, instead of letting that behavior arise from within me as a form of honored values and purpose.

Under the surface of this shedding, I feel a fire again starting to burn - a desire to start building, creating, and expressing myself creatively again. I feel less impulsive and reactive - and more certain about what matters to me and how I want to engage in the world. I knew leaving for this journey I was burnt out and run down - with little energy left to put myself out as a force into the world. That burnout is finally starting to fade and, this month, I began to see the embers of how I hope to burn when this journey is done.

I’m entirely booked for December because I’m heading home for Christmas - taking two weeks off with family and friends, letting myself re-pack, and then flying off to my next destination (Morocco). It’s set to be a much needed reprieve from being constantly on the go - and a moment to re-root myself in intimate social connection. As much as I love this journey, it can also be exhausting - and this month’s pause is needed before I start again in January.

To use up my cruise credit, I’m taking a transatlantic cruise home instead of flying, boarding in Barcelona on December 8th and arriving in NYC on December 22nd, hitting seven cities between Spain and Portugal along the way and spending seven days at sea. I’m spending the first week of December in Brussels with a love interest I met there in June - a needed opportunity to sit in place, rest with more private space, and just relax with someone I know. Once I get off the ship in New York City, I’ll fly to North Carolina to spend Christmas with my birth family - then fly to Philadelphia to spend New Year’s Eve with my chosen family. As a result, December will have fewer blog updates - and there won’t be many pictures on Instagram from this period (though scheduled posts of where I’ve been will continue to roll out throughout the month).

A Balanced Travel Style

This month, I started to approach my ideal long travel style. I had a rough itinerary mapped out in my head - and had booked a few flights to keep major costs down. However, I booked nothing else - which allowed me to make small changes here and there - adding or removing a night, changing transportation strategies, etc. I’ve found I really like this semi-free travel structure - which keeps me moving in a reasonably ambitious way but leaves me plenty of room to change plans based on the recommendations of people I meet.

This month, there were two places that truly captured my heart - though one trip to both may be enough for my lifetime:

• Petra was a hiking dream. Over three days, I walked over 50 miles and climbed over 400 flight of stair equivalents in desert heat- and never once thought of it as a physical strain. The area is just that incredible - with architecturally stunning tombs carved into enormous cliffs set against an already remarkable desert backdrop. While the main visitor attractions are the most architecturally noteworthy, what makes Petra truly incredible is the opportunity to hike off the beaten path and explore tombs and caves essentially alone - a real-life adventure where you discover the ancient city on your own.

• Wadi Rum was otherworldly. Its endless red sand desert and imposing granite rock formations are breathtaking - a distinctive backdrop that is commonly used for movies. What I think leaves Wadi Rum specatucular, though, is that the land is still managed my a native Beduoin family - and it’s that family that hosts visitors (in modernized traditional tents) and shows them around.

As I traveled through Romania, Bulgaria, Turkey, Jordan and Israel, I found things to fall in love with in every city I spent time in. I have longer (linked) recaps of each, but I’ll give my biggest takeaways below. I put asterisks next to the ones I will likely find reason to return to, exclamation marks next to the ones I got my fill of but found thoroughly charming and worth the trip, and left the cities that were a bit less remarkable to me without anything.

• Timisoara! was a surprising delight. I wasn’t planning to visit - but had to add it to my schedule to transit between Serbia and Transylvania. The city’s old town is a wonderful exploration of architecture from the Austrian-Hungarian empire - and its many parks leave plenty of space for quiet relaxation. Given that the city is Romania’s hub for budget airlines, it would be a perfect home for someone with wanderlust.

• Brasov! is an ideal base to explore Transylvania. Its Old City is Saxon in origin - leaving it feeling German instead of Romanian. That doesn’t make it any less charming or atmospheric, though, and the city is a great place to stay-put as you hike and take day trips through Dracula’s home territory.

• Bucharest is mostly a party destination - and its old city feels like a British frat party. It does offer a fascinating exploration into the waste of dictator pet projects - with Bucharest having the world’s heaviest, most expensive, and second largest administrative building - the Parliamentary Palace. The building is so excessive that it is still 70% unused and takes the electricity of a small city.

• In some ways, Sofia is a depressing exploration of a country still trying to rebuild after its communist rule. The atmosphere is generally gloomy and the city always feels too big for its population. What it does have, though, is exquisite urban parks that feel like forests in the middle of a city - and a burgeoning culture of artists and creatives making the most of the low cost of living.

• Plovdiv! is an exciting exhibition of Bulgarian Renaissance architecture - with distinctive, colorful, half-timber houses built along hills. Surprisingly, it has Europe’s longest pedestrian street - and it also houses what was probably my favorite museum in Europe - a small exhibit of mosaics with explanation about how they are made and their importance.

• Istanbul* has some truly incredible architecture - especially its mosques. It also offers a deep dive into Ottoman culture - from its grand market to its historic palaces - and plenty of opportunities to relax in a Turkish Bath. Plus, as Europe’s largest city - you can get up to anything in Istanbul.

• To be honest, the only thing I really liked about Amman was its cheap (and amazing) falafel and hummus. For people who thrive in busy environments, though, Amman offers a more liberal urban escape in Arabia - a place where traditional Muslim culture sits alongside clubs. Plus, its an ideal base for day trips to Jerash, one of the best preserved Roman cities in the Middle East, and the Dead Sea.

• For divers, Aqaba has the northernmost coral reefs and deep light penetration - adding one more adventure to an inevitably exciting trip to Jordan. For non-divers like me, Aqaba is mostly a dirty, unremarkable beach resort town along the Red Sea.

• Eilat, Israel’s neighbor to Aqaba, is a much more traditional and enjoyable beach resort town. It also offers diving - though more expensive and without some of the wreck sites offered on the Jordan side.

• No matter your faith, exploring Jerusalem! is a spiritual journey through the beauty and horror of organized religion. Many of the tourists are on pilgrimages for one of the Abrahamic faiths - and their presence adds an atmosphere of reverence to the city’s many holy sites - even for extreme atheists. It’s a memorable place to visit, though, honestly, one that took quite a bit of emotional resource from me.

• Tel Aviv* was a hipster’s paradise. While it won’t make anyone’s list of the most beautiful cities in the world, it’s an indisputably cool place. From its cafe culture to its many vegan restaurants - and from its vibrant gay scene to its diverse graffiti - Tel Aviv is youthful and trendy - with a clear tendency to embrace counter culture movements.

One thing that I’ve been reflecting on this month is how to balance appropriate reverence / respect for local culture while maintaining authenticity and my own values system. Sometimes, I bump into examples of people clearly not striking the balance right by not showing respect for where they are - doing things like taking selfies in concentration camps or holy sites. But I also bump into people on the other side that show too much deference - like vegans or vegetarians who feel extreme guilt for turning down meat from a local. As a gay man, I often feel like I’m threading the needle with being open about my sexuality or feminine expression - trying to balance any local culture of blending in that is applied to people of all groups while not enabling oppressive norms or structures.

But I suppose that balance is something I struggle with at home too. What, if any, obligations do I have to adjust my behavior for the comfort of those around me? What’s the line between showing care and respect versus enabling something I don’t agree with? At what point will I provide insincere deference or quiet myself merely to make my situation more physically safe? These questions are always present - but become more pressing when traveling in places with less established governments, rampant corruption, or with oppressive regimes. I can’t say I’m saying this having reached any clear opinion or conclusion - but I have found it helpful to ask myself the question “Am I enabling anything that runs against my values system, or am I indirectly causing additional marginal harm by any adherence to this social norm?” Sadly, that question rarely has a clear answer. But, like all things in life, all we can do is make the choice that meets us in the moment and then take accountability for what comes of it later.

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LIFE ON the ROAD continues to be A LEARNING PROCESS

Growth in travel often moves so fast that I can’t keep pace. Once I get my hands around some aspect of myself, it becomes obsolete and I’m ready for the next step. The same can be said of travel style - once I master a new form of travel, I’m already itching to modify it a bit. More and more, I feel that being on the road is opening me up - making more more aware and intuitive to the lessons being presented to me. And when you travel with an open heart, those opportunities are near endless. Here are some of the things that have been on my mind:

• I’ve spent a lot of time over the last few months trying to figure out how much to “life-hack” versus how much to move with the opportunities life presents. I think, through example, I’m coming close to an answer. As one role model, I made another stand-in maternal figure in Bucharest, Vora. She was late in life - a widow with an adult daughter, retired - but hadn’t lost any of her energy. She knew what she liked and stayed active in moving toward it. When I met her, she was buying a hostel in Bucharest - because the opportunity just arose naturally and fit her interests and skill sets. Spending a lot of time with her has refined my life purpose philosophy to something like “If I know myself well and work on the skills that I’m passionate about, inspiration and opportunity will naturally strike as I move through the world with an open heart.” I don’t want to design a perfect life and force it into existence; I want to know deeply myself and my gifts - and always be finding ways to make the way life is occurring work for me.

• I’ve also spent a lot of time in the last few months thinking about the Western addiction to avoiding discomfort. This month, though, it felt more visceral to me what I would be missing without life’s hiccups. I had been feeling great for a while - to the point I was potentially harboring some delusion of near-enlightenment status - only to hit a minor financial hiccup (a minor scam, essentially, that threw a wrench in my budget). My mental state exploded; I blew it up; I had woe is me thoughts; I lost composure. It was in that moment, I realized that my perceptions of mental health and growth had been illusory - contextually defined. Often, we only find our true selves when things are going against expectations, when we hit hardship. Without discomfort, it’s easy to lose humility, to overassign luck / good fortune to one’s skill, and to lose sight of what really matters. I never learn or grow more intensely than when I am sitting with myself, openly, when things are going wrong. I really only decay when I’m stuck in consistent comfort - allowing me to become less grateful, less diligent, and less tested.

• In the same moment, I found myself reminded of the harshness of human inner critic - the brutal way we can take down our own worth for minor mistakes. I was shocked to find some of the mean voices in my head - voices that I’ve done significant work with to calm and ally. What became clear to me, perhaps because I lack in in my current context, is how much humans need authentic companionship during struggle. How healing it is to have someone who can relate to that nonsensical inner hatred, to laugh about situations, and help bring you back into the world of what really matters. I think, for some reason, I’d hoped I’d find the ability to handle it all alone in my mental health work; I’m coming to accept that it’s unnatural, perhaps impossible, to go it alone when it comes to loving yourself in moments of error.

• Especially when I was in Jerusalem, I spent a lot of time reflecting on my spirituality this month. In particular, I reevaluated my relationship with Christianity. One thing that kept coming back to my thoughts is how often faith’s grip comes in some form of “just in case hell is real, I’m going to hedge my bets and believe - or at least remain open to belief.” A spiritual prophylactic. That was certainly the case for me. I was never a believer in Jesus as a lord and savior - but I was always hedging my bet with some form of “but I’m not a non-believer.” I always left the door open, just in case.

• I became certain I was a non-believer in Jerusalem. As I was sitting in prayer at the site of Jesus’ arrest, I found myself questioning what the nature of the sacred is - and what the nature of sacrifice is. I realized that, for me, if something is sacred to me, I have to be willing to risk eternal damnation - should such a fate be possible. I can’t hedge my bets and leave the door open to faith in an insincere way. When it comes to faith, I can’t have my cake and eat it too.

• As I reflected on what I hold sacred, it was immediately, and terrifyingly, clear to me that any higher being that speaks with absolute moral authority that I could believe in would speak passionately against the patriarchy and on behalf of animals. They would protect women’s, trans’ and gay rights - and be militant vegans. I see these areas as so morally clear that I can hold them to be sacred. Of course, my scope of sacred extends beyond these - but it was clear to me that these could not be sacrificed - even for a prophylactic against eternal damnation.

• So, I had to hold my sacred against Christianity - a faith has always reinforced certain systems of oppression, in particular the patriarchy and the oppression of animals. With just that contradiction, I knew I needed to stop pretending the gospel or Christ is some beacon of moral authority - but just the stories of men who we sometimes revere for their kindness and irreverence. Ironically, I found myself reflecting on this being particularly Christian - as Christ was willing to give his life and any potential eternal consequences for what he believed was sacred. Each of us must also being willing to hold certain moral values so highly that we will be willing to risk eternal damnation to hold them sacred. Even if I have no belief in Jesus as a lord and savior, as a man or a myth, there are aspects to his story that I will always find admirable and informative.

• At the same time, I found myself questioning what is the nature of sacrifice. We often say in Christianity that Jesus sacrificed his life for us. But, as I sat in prayer, I began to question whether it can ever be a sacrifice to live in one’s truth - holding onto what one holds as sacred. Jesus may have lost his life - but he did so without sacrificing how he was or his values. To me, there’s much more to be lost by sacrificing your truth at the feet of conformity, compliance, or complicity. I was experiencing sadness and fear in acknowledging I was a non-believer - but I would certainly not describe the experience as sacrificial. To hold stead in who one is and what one holds sacred feels like giving up nothing.

• I came to think there are lots of Christians like me - taking Jesus prophylactically. I began to really dig into the nature of taking Jesus for principles while also believing in him as a lord and savior. While, in Christianity, there is a belief that Jesus is fallible in the ways of men - there’s also a belief that he holds some higher knowledge of absolute moral authority. But as the world evolves, many followers claim to believe in Jesus as that moral authority and also that his calling is to fight for rights he didn’t stand firmly for - like women’s rights and animal’s rights. (In the reverse, there are many conservative Christians who use the Bible to defend hateful conduct - even hateful conduct like being unkind to refugees that is strictly anti-biblical.) I have trouble seeing those as not inherently contradictory - as somehow both looking at Christ as just an admirable man but also as a God. I began to wonder if anyone but a strict fundamentalist can be said to truly be a believer - but I’m not sure if anyone is actually that strict. Everyone I’ve ever experienced seems to be running an inner guide of right and wrong against gospel - and trying to find the balance between the two. Everyone seems to be taking moral lessons from gospel piecemeal against their own inner guideposts - and then hedging any deviance with a generalized belief in Jesus as a lord and savior. I think a lot of people are just hedging their bets against eternal damnation.

• At the same time, it’s clear to me why I’ve for so long maintained some belief in Christianity. If we believe that there is anything that is truly right or truly wrong in an absolute moral sense, then we implicitly have some form of faith in a higher moral power. The conscience built into almost everyone inherently calls for belief in something larger than ourselves. I can see why so many other feminists, vegans, or gay activists can also identify as Christian - even if that root faith is quiet or oppressive on many of their core values.

• Even as a non-believer, though, I’m consistently struck by the grossness of taking selfies at other people’s holy sites or places of reverence. In the human struggle for spirituality, I think we should have some level of obligation to give each other grace in trying to find a place to rest those higher order needs. I find it so distasteful for tourists to go into someone else’s holy space to then be so irreverent - to show open disregard. While I do believe nothing should be beyond questioning, I have a deep respect and understanding of the need for safe spaces. I found it particularly repugnant when people enter other groups’ safe or sacred spaces to defile them.

• Along the lines of my thin ties to Christianity, I’ve begun to wonder if my innate positivity has always been a form of spiritual bypassing. It’s been really ingrained in me to see the good in everything and everyone - and to focus on the potential for good. But, in this month, I’ve really had to face how much that sets me up for manipulation and delusion - and how disempowered it leaves me to deal with “evil,” whatever form it takes. Being the person who sees the good in everyone has stopped me from looking at the world honestly or realistically - and, to me, that’s just a form of delusion to bypass having to look at all of life’s grey areas. I’ve been reading more books on sociopathy and personality disorders, on “evil” so-to-say, in an effort to try to counter-balance this tendency - as an effort to prevent myself from skipping over tough questions with naive, Pollyanna trite responses about believing in the good of humanity. I think it’s working.

• In questioning my faith and positive thinking bias, I’ve experienced some form of a dark and cloudy night of the mind. Such an experience is actually quite common for people who meditate a lot - a sense of hollowness when staring plainly at the harms of the world. Some days, it’s been deeply unpleasant and stretched my emotional reserves - but I have faith some higher level of insight and compassion will come from it.

• One part of that dark and stormy night has been anger. I’d come to a place of peace with the suffering of the world - a practice of equanimity in which I could make space to feel the suffering of others without it destroying me. What I hadn’t realized was that I hadn’t found an equanimity process for how I think of people who cause that suffering. I’d been bypassing that - a process that came crashing down this month in the great hollowing. This has been a point of struggle for me recently - figuring out how to handle that anger - especially as I dismantle the idea that everyone is inherently good. As I look at people like Putin or Trump, people who appear to lack conscience, and try to think what the role of compassion is in handling people like that. These questions have been leaving me with lots of anger to resolve.

• On these reflections, it has become clear to me that the phrase “violence is never the answer” is the language of the oppressor. Evil will often use violence - and we must have the strength to confront evil realistically. We can’t risk innocent lives just to uphold the delusion that everyone is good or that everyone can be rehabilitated. Sometimes, we have an obligation to stop the harm when there’s no evidence it will stop. The phrase also draws a false difference between different types of violence - as if physical violence is always a form far worse than verbal, spiritual, emotional, sexual, or neglect violence. It’s a trite way someone evil can say “you can’t physically stop me” after they’ve committed egregious acts of non-physical violence. I truly believe sometimes physical violence is the only answer - but that, for a person of conscience, it will never be an easy answer. I think adherence to the phrase “violence is never the answer” is just a form of spiritual bypassing - a way to not have to confront the hardest of life’s questions.

• As I’ve been reflecting on the nature of evil, in particular sociopathy and personality disorders, I’ve been drawn to the tools of emotional manipulation. Most people, including myself, can easily be wooed by plays on pity, ego, fear, and hope. I’ve found myself thinking that I should always view someone trying to inflame my emotions as a red flag. Emotionally mature people are able to communicate their needs without manipulation - and adherence to values requires balancing emotions with the reality of the situation.

• In the nexus of abandoning my faith and looking plainly at emotional manipulation - I confronted the question of was Jesus a sociopath? (Or did he have some other personality disorder? Or did the writers of the gospel have one of these?) Christianity is certainly emotionally manipulative - constantly pressuring for obedience with pity, fear, guilt, hope, or ego. It uses all of the tools of a sociopath to get its way - and it has behaved with much of the lack of conscience of a sociopath both as a doer of evil (like the crusades) and in the face of evil (like enabling priests to sexually assault children). Like an abusive partner, Christianity often does us spiritual or physical violence, and then lures us back with insincere or false plays of emotional manipulation. To the answer of my question, I know that there is no knowable answer. But in current practice, Christianity is more often an abusive partner than a spiritual companion.

• Reflecting on this has finally helped me come to peace with not giving money to beggars. After reading more about people who lack conscience, it’s become more clear to me that impactful and equitable charity can’t be given out reactively. The people who ask, especially through emotional manipulation, are rarely the people who are most in need or most deserving of the help. A life of charity and compassion is better lived proactively - giving both time and money to the causes and groups you believe need support - not by relieving one’s conscience reactively in one-off requests for support from complete strangers. I’ve asked the question a lot of “what would it take for me to be trying to ply this person’s money through emotional manipulation?” Almost all answers have some form of pathology - something neurally divergent in a concerning way - because there’s a deeply innate piece of human conscience that makes us ashamed of asking for help, let alone from a stranger. Every other answer I’ve found (like fighting for a family member in deep need) clearly supports giving my resources to groups and causes proactively, systemically, instead of waiting to bump into them on the street. Each of us only has so much money, time, and energy to give in support of others; giving in when accosted for help on the street is almost never the best use of that investment. It may delude us into feeling like a good person, which is the nature of the ploy, but it does little actual good.

• The last thing that’s been resting with me is a thought on the meaning of life. Sometimes, atheists or extreme scientists will site survival or reproduction - a pithy and condescending retort to the idea that life may have a higher purpose. But, I’ve been reflecting on why, evolutionarily, we have the emotional capacity for deep joy and peace. Why we have emotional signals to live lives of purpose - and why we have an inherent drawing to the sense of oneness with nature. I can’t stop myself from thinking that that capacity - the tendency toward meaning - is God.

There’s a funny thing happening in this spiritual journey in that I can sense myself becoming both more hard and more soft - more kind and more firm - more open yet less easy to manipulate. I can sense my rose covered glasses finally, fully lifting - as well as my woe-is-me way of exaggerating life’s hardships. I’m feeling more empowered both to sit empathetically and in kindness, but also to set hard boundaries. I’m feeling equipped to deal with the world in a way that is more responsive to what’s actually happening. I feel more assured than ever that the vast majority of people need kindness and compassion - but also more assured than ever that sometimes kindness and compassion in the greater sense is firm, direct, and aggressive with flagrant, unremorseful offenders.

I’m again under budget

If you’re wondering how much this is costing me - so far, for seven months in Europe and the Middle East, I’ve spent $14,581. I wrote about my budget here and this spend is essentially spot-on with that budget. I’m $250 below target now, and I expect that deficit to grow some in December because my 14 day cruise this month is paid for almost entirely with cruise credit. That will help set me up for the second half of my journey - during which I think my first four months of 2023 will stretch my budget again because of trips to the US, New Zealand and Japan - in addition to more expensive flights through that period.

My fixed cost budget pool ($10 a day for things like big flights, SIM cards, insurance, and supplies) is again well under budget because I haven’t had an expensive flight in a while - so I have about $200 now available for one of my upcoming flights.

What I’ve been thinking about this month is the impact of splurges. Sometimes, I can be a bit too austere in sticking to my budget - preventing myself from making minor splurges like a dinner out or a movie. I’ve noticed that that austerity can be more damaging - because I end up doing something more reckless like having an expensive night out. I’m noticing that the extended period under a fixed income is starting to wear around my edges some - with more cravings for convenience or comfort purchases cropping up - and that I need to start loosening the grip a bit here and there. My budget can easily take in an occasional $10 movie. A $200 night of clubbing, though, could seriously set me back (and just did in Brussels).

MY PACKING LIST IS ALSO HOLDING UP . . . ISH

At the beginning of this trip, I published my packing list and wrote about why I included everything; in my month one summary, I gave a pretty detailed breakdown about what I missed, what seems like it was unnecessary, and what has been surprisingly helpful. I continue to track what I use every day so I know what has been used most and what hasn’t been used at all. The trends I noticed after month one have hardly changed - though I’ve begun layering more now that the temperature is starting to drop.

I am feeling tired of my bag, though. For most of Europe, I think my decision to use a roller bag suitcase was the right one. However, as I started traveling to areas with less pedestrian infrastructure, I began to resent not having packed a backpack. I am excited to repack when I get home - to a small backpack - and to dramatically downsize on the amount I’m carrying. While I really appreciated the small luxuries I packed (like workout equipment) for the first four months, after that, I began to find a new on-the-road lifestyle and stopped trying to replicate my life back in the States. I’m excited to pack more nimbly for my lifestyle on the road - so that at all points there is less, literally, dragging me back.

After the repack, I’ll post a bag 2.0 blog about more minimalist packing.

KNOW ANYONE ELSE WHO WOULD LIKE THIS?

I’m going to try to write up one of these summaries every month - though I’ll definitely keep working on my format as I go (so please give me feedback if there’re things you want to hear more or less about). If you think anyone else would enjoy these summaries, have them sign up for the mailing list with the submission box below.