April 23rd

Ah man, I meant to write this sooner, but I under anticipated just how much van life keeps me busy. I'm working full time, and then when I'm not working, I'm either out exploring or playing resource management. Mostly the latter. It's hard to prioritize writing, even though I'd like to, when I barely have enough electricity stored on my power bank to keep my phone charged for a couple days. I hope it will get easier with time because I'd really like to continue working on this project consistently.

So how has van life been? Honestly, it's hard to say. I have been enjoying getting back out there. I've actually been readapting back to my old van life habits rather quickly; it doesn't feel too difficult or anything. I'm happy to be outside all day, as the mountains watch over me going about my little tasks. However, there have been some difficulties.

The main thing has been THE RATTLING. THE RATTLING started about half way through my drive from Kansas to Colorado. It's nothing mechanical, thank god, but something in my van is rattling so loud, it sounds like a snare drum under a tin roof during a thunder storm. THE RATTLING is driving me absolutely nuts. It's taking away my favorite of life's pleasures: driving down the highway listening to my favorite tunes. I cannot hear any of my favorite tunes over THE RATTLING. I cannot hear anything over THE RATTLING. Even when THE RATTLING isn't happening I can still hear it echoing in my skull. I have spent the past week moving around various objects in the back of my van in an attempt to find the culprit, but alas, I have moved every possible item I can think of and it has yet to cease.

It's possible that it's something on my roof rack. In a previous life, my van was one of those Direct TV installation vans, so it has some sort of ladder rack with various attachments. But after hours of roof top investigation (which was very difficult, I'm barely 5'2" so it took a bit of dangerous scrambling, jumping from my wheel wells, and hanging off the side of my van with one finger) I cannot find anything on the roof possibly making the noise. I even tried using some of my inherited redneck ingenuity by strapping things down with bungee cords and shoving rags in various nooks and crannies, but still, THE RATTLING persists. And so I've decided to live with it until I can precure a passenger who will be my Watson in solving this mystery. Evan, if you are reading this, in a few weeks you will be forced to stow away in the back of my van while I drive at 70 mph until you are able to locate the source of THE RATTLING. You have been warned, assuming you'll actually read this.

Besides THE RATTLING, the drive to Pagosa Springs (my first destination) wasn't the most pleasant for a few other reasons. Firstly, I decapitated a bird. I was enjoying watching the animals (a coyote, a red tail hawk, some deer, a pheasant) as the sun rose over the Kansas plains, but this poor creature was in the wrong place at the wrong time. It failed to fly away as my van barreled towards it, leading to a very unpleasant crunch and me crying out "No! No! I'm so sorry!" over and over for the next half hour. When THE RATTLING began, a few hours later, I pulled over to investigate, and that's when I found the headless corpse of the bird stuck in my van's grill. It was a very bloody and gruesome sight. I was overwhelmed with guilt as I timidly poked at it and scraped it off using a broom, ashamedly shoving it into a ditch. I can only wonder what the Subaru driving by might have thought as they witnessed me do this.

The other unpleasant moment during this initial drive was actually the entirety of the few couple hours. I left around 4 am, so I would arrive in Colorado with enough daylight to set up camp. However, I absolutely despise driving at night. It puts me on edge. And on edge I was. Anxiety overtook me from the moment I pulled on to the highway. These drives always inspire self-reflection, but normally, this comes later after I settle into the drive. My mind was demanding that I began the reflection now, however, the self-reflection quickly became self-depreciating. I cursed myself for staying so long in Kansas (five months?! What was I even doing?). I grilled myself on what I was doing now (you really think this is going to be fulfilling for you?). The most overwhelming feeling of all was a feeling of intense loneliness, and knowing that by driving away, I was driving myself towards further isolation.

The real reason I stayed in Kansas for so long was in fear of that very feeling that hit me the morning I left. While I was living in my van in Arizona, that feeling would often come to haunt me at night. I would lay there, in the eerie stillness of the forest, listening to the coyotes howl, and my chest would pound, knowing that I was all alone, and it was dark, and it was cold, and there was no one around to share my world with, to keep me company or keep me warm.

Here's the thing, though. I like being alone! I'm actually quite comfortable with myself, and I find a lot of fulfillment in doing things on my own. But part of the reason this is the case is because I'm so viscerally uncomfortable whenever I'm within even 200 ft of another human being. Even if they're out of sight, I can feel the presence of others and it causes my body to become stiff and my mind to haze, and I'm filled with an overwhelming urge to get away and hide. Perhaps this is why I enjoy spending time in the wilderness. It's the only place I can feel at peace, unburdened by all the noise and bustle of civilization. When I said I'm borderline agoraphobic in an earlier entry, I did mean it. I can manage to power through this feeling in a variety of circumstances, but it's always there in the back of my mind. It makes me question if keeping relationships or employment are more trouble than they're worth.

But I love people! I'm not antisocial. I'm just constantly afraid. I've met so many amazing people throughout my life, and there is so much I couldn't have learned or experienced without them. Before I left Arizona, I had a bit of an epiphany while watching the anime Frieren. Cringe, I know, but hear me out, alright? The premise of Frieren is that it follows the titular character, an hundreds of years old elf, who has isolated herself for most of her existence. She spends her time studying niche magic, the activity she finds most fulfilling, until she is recruited for a Hero's journey by an adventuring party. This journey spans merely a decade, hardly a fraction of Frieren's life, but on this journey to defeat the Demon King, she makes more memories than she has in centuries. After the journey is over, she goes right back to devoting herself, in solitude once again, to her magical studies. Before she knows it, nearly a century has passed. All of her human (and dwarf) pals are dead, and she's hit with the realization that she took the time she spent with them for granted. She'll never get to see these special people who meant so much to her ever again. And so, she embarks on a new journey with the adopted daughter of one of her human friends, gradually learning to make the most of the time she has with her new companion.

In some ways, I could really relate to Frieren. I have spent the past few years rarely letting myself get too close to others. It just didn't feel worth it to me. Doing seasonal work, people would only be in my life for a couple months at a time. With my social anxiety, was the effort to open up to them really even worth it? Especially if they would only be around me for such a short time? But I've come to realize that those little moments I've had with the people who were just passing through are the moments that I remember the most fondly. I look back on my months in Colorado, California, and Arizona, and what sticks out to me isn't what I accomplished on my own, but rather the experiences I had with the various characters that took me out my comfort zone and shared a small piece of themselves with me. I hope they remember me fondly, too, even if it's as the weird guy who would constantly steer the conversation into philosophical tangents.

And so, when I returned to Kansas, I resolved to make the most of my time with my old friends there. The friends I have in Kansas are some of my most cherished. We've been buddies since high school, and we spent a few years living with each other. Honestly, I'm not sure if anything is more bonding than the most harrowing years of young adulthood. But in my time spent away, my group of friends had grown apart, and I apart from them. Sometimes I felt like a stranger in their world. I still love them more than anyone, but I feel guilt in constantly stepping in and out of their lives, presenting myself as this changed man from the pathetic soul they formerly knew. Instead of seeking them out, I isolated. I didn't want to bother them, I told myself, and besides, they have their own lives now, and I mine.

I tried reaching out to other people during my time back in Kansas, but I found it increasingly difficult as these moments grew increasingly farther apart. I would go out, meet with someone, and I'd have a lovely time! But for however long I was with them, my hands would violently shake, my mouth would twitch, and I would be sweating through my clothes. In some cases, I can hide these unpleasant behaviors, but they were becoming harder and harder to suppress. Then, when I would leave an interaction, sitting down in my vehicle to drive back home, I would start hitting my head against the seat and the steering wheel, or my fist on the arm rest, letting out all the discomfort I was so desperately trying to mask. I would often talk to myself (mostly gibberish), or randomly laugh, or repeat phrases over and over- unfortunately, rather negative ones, such as "I want to die." Even though I don't really feel that way anymore, it remains a compulsive phrase of mine when attempting to silence my racing thoughts. Then, I would be unable to sleep when I got home, or even to function at all. I would sit there for hours, opening and closing tabs on my computer, rocking back and forth, trying to smother myself with a blanket. The next day I'd feel too exhausted to work, or to eat, or to do hardly anything.

I don't have any sort of official diagnosis, but I'm aware that there is something a little wrong with me. I think most people can handle going out to dinner with friends for a couple hours without losing their sanity for the rest of the evening (and waking up with a social hangover the following day). Hell, in times in my life where I'm more regularly social, this is rarely a problem for me. But if I neglect to practice socializing on a somewhat frequent basis, it soon becomes exhausting and maddening to me. As I said, I enjoyed my time out of the house, but my body seems to reject this notion and elects to torture me for daring to try to interact with other human beings.

These habits of mine seem so contradictory when I look back on my previous selves. There have been several times in my life where I've played the role of a confident leader. I was the president of clubs in high school. I've been the head chef at restaurants. I've been a bartender. I've been an organizer of protests. I've led DND campaigns and hosted a variety of social events from trivia nights to raging parties. People have told me repeatedly that I'm a natural leader and that they have felt included socially because of my efforts. So how can it be the case that I am able to be this person, this extroverted chameleon, and at other times I can barely go to the grocery store without breaking out in tears? I do not understand it, and I somewhat resent myself for being in this phase where I've fallen so far from my former glory. That other man is somewhere inside me, but I am currently too fearful to try to draw him back out. But like all things in my life, I recognize that these shifting personalities of mine follow a cycle. I have experienced this change in myself many times before. I will return to that version of myself once again, and I will lose him once more. The real question is if I should currently make any effort to effect this, or if I should let things naturally take their course.

So, once again I ask myself, how has van life been? Honestly, even though I recognize that there is this painful loneliness inside of me, I don't mind it too much. I know the solution for my loneliness, and that is to do social things, regardless of how uncomfortable they are, until they start to feel bearable again. While in Kansas, I told myself I would put the effort in, but I didn't do so. I was unable to push through these uncomfortable feelings, and I grew more isolated than ever. So now I've figured, if I'm going to isolate anyways, I should be doing something that's fulfilling to me instead of hiding in my room every day in depression

I'm back on the road, my internal conflict without resolution, but in a way, it feels like I'm taking a step forward. Van life requires constantly being in public. I have no true home to hide in. To meet the essential needs of survival, I must regularly venture into civilization. Do I talk to people? No, I don't, but at the very least I'm around them. I'll be visiting Evan in a few weeks, and once I slow down my pace upon arriving in the Pacific Northwest, maybe I can try to put myself out there on the various apps and whatnot. Honestly, though, I'm not too bothered. I do want to make more memories with others, but I'm still happy by myself. I'm very adaptable. I always pledge to make the most of my circumstances, regardless of what they may be. I've been devoting myself to my work, watching the birds, cooking my nightly can of beans, and letting the excitement build as I venture further and further away from home once again. Despite THE RATTLING killing the vibe a little.

April 10th

I always fail to anticipate just how stressful the week of departure will be. I mean, I'm not that stressed; there have just been inconveniences—many inconveniences.

First inconvenience: Menstruation. I do not have regular menstruation; it arrives only to annoy me when I expect it least. My coping strategy was sleeping for two days straight, as I could not stand to bear the emotional or physical state I was in. As a result, I delayed my departure to this Saturday, April 12th (my deadline), and now I'm on a crunch to balance the work days I missed with the work I need to do to prepare.

Second inconvenience: The van. My Chevy (I have not given it a name yet) is very upset that I neglected it this winter, and so, it is throwing a fit. A suicidal fit. I can sympathize. The battery needed a jump- no big deal- and so I attempted to do so. However, I failed to take into account my tendency to be a self-destructive idiot. I misconnected the cables, leading to quite the dramatic scene with smoking and popping to match. The cables are now a deformed black puddle in my garbage bin, and I had no choice but to attain a new battery. Whoops. Secondly, one of my tires may very well have a leak. Easy fix, I can change a tire if need be, but I will get it inspected for my peace of mind, adding yet another Thing I Must Do this week.

Third inconvenience: Financial anxiety. I do not like buying things. It just might be my least favorite thing in the world. I declared a path of radical minimalism a few years ago, actively reprogramming my brain to perceive even the mildest swipe of my debit card as a pain akin to stepping on a red-hot nail. But there are many little things I must buy before leaving, and so I've devoted myself to working tirelessly every day this week to make up for them. This is largely unnecessary. It's fine. I can afford these little objects, even with a couple of days off to devote to other concerns. Yet, my conscious is telling me to prepare for a scenario in which I will be stranded and left financially barren, cursing myself for daring to purchase a tarp for camp and a book to read. Of course, I'm spending my time worrying about these small purchases rather than the more realistic concern of how the van greedily guzzles gas and how I'm undoubtedly going to need to be cautious during the recession. Either way, I've determined that it is essential I get my shit together and put my all into both freelancing and making preparations this week.

Luckily for me, this anxious week will be soothed by the delectably hot waters of a Colorado spring once I arrive at my destination. I must dangle the tantalizing view of the Rockies from a luxurious spa pool above my head to keep me sane as I shake the dust off all the responsibilities I neglected for months in my depression. I must imagine myself sighing ahhh and washing away this week, if not this entire winter, and rekindling my love affair with life once more.

To build my excitement further, I shed off the wild mane of hair I had grown over the course of the past year. Literal weight has been lifted off my shoulders by the nice lady at Great Clips. My hair is one of the many things in my life that follows a cycle. I tend to grow frustrated with it once a year and shave it all off, just to realize that I hate short hair and want to grow out again, only to realize once again, 6-12 months later, that long hair is unpleasant and doesn't suit me. I am rarely ever satisfied with my hair, but I am relieved to currently be in the short period in which I'm comfortable with it. A new haircut is a wonderful method for regaining one's confidence.

I also gained a new camera this week! A camera was one of the little objects I've been stressing over procuring, but luckily for me, I happened upon one while helping my dad clean out our storage. I am now the owner of a rather finicky Canon PowerShot SX120, and I fully intend to indulge myself in this new hobby of mine. Anticipate a potential photography section on this website, if I am brave enough to overcome the social anxiety of using a camera in public spaces. It was essential that I found something to use for this purpose, as I smashed my phone's camera with a rock a couple of years ago, and have not been able to share any photos of my travels since. Now, when my words inevitably fail to capture the essence of the moments I intend to document, I will have the benefit of whatever shaky shots of the landscape I may be able to produce to support me.

And with that, my newest venture is finally about to begin. Frankly, I'm terrified. Maybe not terrified, but cautiously apprehensive. I know that what I'm about to do will be much better for me than the period of avoidance I've been subjecting myself to, yet my anxiety is ever present. As fun as this journey is about to be, it's going to be uncomfortable as well. Living in a van means never being exactly sure where I'll be sleeping at night, constantly surrounding myself with the unfamiliar, and balancing my desire for constant exploration with the responsibilities of maintaining such a lifestyle. There's no doubt that I'm up for it. It's what I've yearned for, and what I have been doing with different methods, over the past few years. Excitement and anxiety are one and the same. As the distinctions between both take their turns in my mind, all I can do is prepare and anticipate. I'll take things in and out of boxes, watch my bank account from the corner of my eye, and take a deep breathe knowing that next week, I'm going to be somewhere else, and the feelings of being somewhere else- the discomfort and the excitement- are my favorite feelings in the world.

April 1st

March has ended and I'm finally about to leave this place.

Much of my life is spent in what I like to call "waiting periods". When my executive dysfunction manifests not just in procrastination of my daily tasks, but procrastination of whatever thing in life I'm currently most motivated to do. These are awkward times where I find myself stuck in the in-between, where I find myself exactly where I was a year ago, and no meaningful progress is made. I never intend for them to happen. It's always, well, one chapter in my life has ended, I'll go back home, visit my friends, and move on to the next thing. And then I get trapped. I sit down, take a breath, and suddenly it's three months later and I haven't stood back up. This repeats every year, around this time of year, November to March, roughly, usually at its most concentrated in January. Perhaps I follow the same seasonal cycle as a bear, and this is my natural hibernation.

I wouldn't say I particularly regret the past few months. I would have much rather been out there living my life rather than hiding from it, but it's not as if I didn't accomplish anything. Okay, that's a lie. I've barely left my bed since December. I've regressed to avoiding even the bare minimum of social interactions. I've been consisting off microwave dinners, putting in only enough effort at freelancing to not get my van repo-ed, and completely destroyed my formerly strict sleep schedule. Frankly, I haven't been doing great. I've been telling myself I'm not depressed, because depression requires sadness, self-resentment, hopelessness. I haven't felt any of those things. On an emotional level, I've been fine. I'm as positive as ever. I'm completely aware of how temporary this state of mine is, so I don't feel too bothered by it. I wake up every day and say "Eh, it'll be better tomorrow." What an ironic, useless form of optimism.

I guess what matters is that these periods always eventually come to an end. I'm not sure how I do it, but I wake up from my fugue state one day, pack my bags and leave. It's very arbitrary when this decision happens. I'd like to say it happens whenever I'm finally fed up with myself enough, at some great emotional climax in which I recognize my personal failings and take action full of desperate inspiration. Sometimes that is the case. It was initially. But honestly, I usually leave on just as much of a whim as I chose to stay. I stay because I'm lazy, I leave because I'm bored. Sometimes it can be as simple as that.

That isn't to say I haven't been feeling more excited or motivated recently. I have! I've had some sort of breakthrough where I suddenly feel comfortable with writing again. I'm allowing myself for the first time in years to be creative, and it's brought me a lot of joy. I don't think this in spite of my self-inflicted isolation, but rather because of it. A lot of great things come from boredom. Boredom breeds restlessness, and so I start talking to myself and wondering around. That's most of what I do, really, even at my best, I'm just talking to myself and wondering around. It's fun! You should try it sometime.

Recently, I've been reading Out of Sheer Rage by Geoff Dyer, and I think he described the in-between phenomenon I so often get stuck in better than I ever could:

"And so, lacking any of the trappings of permanence, I was perpetually on the brink of potential departure. That was the only way I could remain anywhere: to be constantly on the brink not of actual but of potential departure. If I felt settled I would want to leave, but if I was on the brink of leaving then I could stay, indefinitely, even though staying would fill me with still further anxiety because, since I appeared to be staying, what was the point in living as though I were not staying but merely passing through"

This is definitely the trouble with the kind of nomadic life I lead. I don't live anywhere, so when I do stay awhile, it's always with the mindset that I won't be there long. I mark these in-between periods as distinct from my travels, but really, I'm always in a state of in-between. There is nothing else besides in-between. I don't think this is the case because I'm nomadic, I think it would apply even if I remained sedentary. I'm much too restless.

So how should I define the distinction between my depressing winters and adventurous summers, then? I think it's a matter of whether I'm doing something new or not. When I increase the amount of novelty in my life, I feel neither trapped or restless. It feels like making progress. Stagnation only happens when one fails to challenge themselves, discards the desire to learn, and gets stuck in the comfortable things that bring them stability, but lack any sort of wonder or exploration to them. Personally, I find exploration to be essential to my spirit, as I don't really have any other reason for being. I make progress for the sake of making progress, because the alternative is giving up and letting my soul wither away.

My method of challenging myself is travel because my default state of being is borderline agoraphobic. As much as I'm fascinated by the world, I'm equally as terrified of it. The only way I see myself moving forward is to strip away any comforts I may have, as I find it much too easy to relish in my misery. If I have a bed to sleep on, I will never get out of it. And so I throw myself head first into the world with as little resources as possible and try to survive. Maybe it's just another form of relishing in my suffering, but I have a lot more fun doing it this way than the alternative.

Anyway, this was meant to be a more casual entry/life update, so I won't spend too long waxing philosophical. I'm excited to move on soon, to start a new chapter in my life, and that's all that really matters. I'll be receiving a Japanese futon in the mail on Friday for my van, and if all goes well, I should be able to leave this weekend or the next. I intend to spend a week in Colorado as my first destination. It's a very sentimental place to me. It's familiar enough to not be too intimidating before I throw myself into unexplored waters. I have no idea what I'm going to get out of this adventure, but that's what's so enticing to me. I'm more aimless than ever, but I think that opens up a lot of possibilities. It's very likely that the patterns of my life will continue to repeat and a year from now, or maybe two, I'll find myself back in Kansas once again, right back on the edge of a different journey. I think I'm okay with that. I always get moving again, after all, and I don't think that means I haven't made any progress. I come back to this place I different person than I was before, allow myself to remember who I was and still am, and then I leave to discover and reinvent myself again. I think it's possible for a life to be both linear and cyclical. I need the off seasons to remind me why I do this in the first place.

March 27th - Ants

This year I've been having an unusually high variety of strange dreams. I'm not the type to believe there's much merit to dream interpretation. Anything mystical or spiritual I engage with purely through the lens of examining the subconscious, not through belief in signs, messages, or the supernatural. However, I do find the potential symbolism in dreams to be quite fascinating. It can reveal whatever anxieties we may be repressing, and I think there's a very emotionally raw kind of value to that.

Last night, I had thought I had woken up covered in thousands of ants. This is not an unrealistic situation for me to find myself in. During my time living at the camp in California, I had engaged in a war against a colony that had asserted their claim to the territory known as my bed. Honestly, it's kind of on me for daring to eat a croissant in my tent, but I'm not here to speculate on the validity of political motivations. The battles were fought with spray bottles of vinegar, pesticides, sugar traps, and occasionally the frustrated sole of my boot. There must have been casualties nearing the thousands, yet they would send in reinforcements the next morning undeterred. I'm embarrassed to admit: I lost my war against the ants. After a nearly month-long campaign, I had successfully managed an assassination of their queen. This led to a week of ceasefire, only for an eventual return to conflict marked by the morning I awoke covered in bites, running into the forest half naked, wildly flinging the tiny soldiers off my body while crying out for mercy. I ended up packing my bags in shameful defeat and moving into the much more secure employee trailer. They could have whatever crumbs may have remained in that accursed dwelling.

I suppose this has given me some sort of ant-related trauma, as I relived the distress of that experience in my dream last night. Every inch of my body, every limb, every orifice, absolutely covered in the inescapable black swarming mass of insects. I sprang upwards and watched on in terror and in helplessness as they overtook my bedroom. I was overwhelmed by the feeling that there was nothing I could do but let them consume me, and as I awoke once again, for real this time, I clenched my fists in frustration and annoyance at my lack of ability to defeat them.

Ants have a terrifying resilience to them. They care not for their individual survival, only the survival of their colony. Killing an ant is a fruitless endeavor, actually quite counterintuitive at war with them, as their allies will be drawn to the pheromones released by its body, resolving to whisk the corpse away to a location that could either be considered a cemetery or a garbage dump. They do this for purely utilitarian and not sentimental reasons, their primary objective being to maintain the health of the colony. Thus, attempting to fight the ants is futile. They will be all the more motivated to crawl upon the most dangerous areas, including my very flesh.

Ants are generally guided by the smell of their own. As an ant marches forward, it releases a chemical marking a path that the other ants are then compelled to follow. An ant has no awareness of its potential destination. It's guided by the trust in its comrades that there is a mission to complete, a prize of food they will add to the community's stockpile awaiting at the end. Perhaps their collectivist nature is somewhat inspiring, but personally, I find their dogmatic adherence to following one another somewhat alien and disturbing. It's reminiscent of the myth of the suicidal lemmings, who will follow each other to their death off a cliff absentmindedly. Yet ants engage in this behavior with much more intention than the supposed cliff-jumping lemmings. They are happy to sacrifice themselves for the good of their colony if the need arises, as they are just one of tens of thousands blindly marching forward, caring not for who or what they step over, driven by the frenzied, yet systematic pursuit of a shared goal. I must indeed be a true American individualist to find this concept as frightening as I do.

I wonder what caused this reemergence of ant-related anxiety in my subconscious? The simplest answer would be that I spotted one in my kitchen the other day. At the sight of the creature, I instinctively began to question if there was vinegar or cinnamon in my pantry so as to defeat the potential horde coming to collect whatever speck of food waste that may be hiding in the crevices beneath my microwave. Yet, I chose to spare it, in recognition that becoming the aggressor would only likely lead to an escalation of Ant War II (electric BUGaloo?).

But let's take a more abstract approach in examining why bugs were the subject of my recent nightmare. According to Dream Dictionary dot org (surely a credible authority on the matter), an ant dream should make one ask, "What's bugging you?" They are also apparently cited as being representative of cooperation, structure, and completing goals.

I'm tempted to disregard any teamwork-related interpretations, as alas, I have not spoken to another human being (in person) in nearly a month's time. That is to say, I have very little going on socially that could warrant any dreams about the importance of working together with others. But it's possible my recent phase of isolation is precisely the reason I should consider that potential meaning. I am, in fact, rather terrified of the need to incorporate other people into my life, as I'm the type to try to forge my own path and deny any help from those surrounding me. Maybe it's a sign that I should reintegrate myself into society, let myself find belonging in the masses, and follow the advice of others, instead of continuing to distance myself from human connection. That was what I was attempting to do when I returned to Kansas recently. It was one of my major goals for this year, but it's something I've partially given up on. Introversion is much more comfortable than the vulnerabilities associated with communication. I have resolved to implement some level of forced socialization into my upcoming travels, however, in the form of dating apps and meet-up groups. Much like ants, we are a tribal animal, after all, we cannot exist, nor thrive, in solitude.

I think the most pertinent interpretation, in regards to my own life, is that the ants represent a lack of control. As the ants overtook my body, I didn't attempt to fight them. I accepted my fate with internal resignation, all too aware that any victory I could have gained over them would only be met with countless further waves of undeterred ants. Sometimes my philosophy in life can be rather deterministic. There's little meaningful resistance we can put up in regards to the passing of time, the rules of society, or the actions of other people. Sometimes all we can do is accept the way things are, the things that happen to us, and tell ourselves to just let go and let the tides of the river take us along. This doesn't make it any less scary. Quite the contrary. If you've ever been the victim of a form of assault, you may know it's a survival strategy. It's an act of instinctual stoicism to disconnect from one's emotions to relieve the pain of the struggle. Acceptance in the face of hopelessness has its merits; it can bring peace to the soul, but it's undeniably an uncomfortable process. Letting go requires assessing the situation and determining that there are no possible actions to take. The realization can be both distressing and blissful. When control is out of our hands, we bear no responsibility for it. Whether this is a curse or a relief is highly contextual.

My choice to spare the ant in my kitchen was a recognition that the fight would not be worth it. There are many things in life I do choose to rebel against. I'm a highly untraditional individual. I mean, I'm a transgender anarchist who lives in a van by the river. I'm not exactly someone who conforms to society's expectations, as much as I have been pressured by my family, my community, and recent politics. I spent many years as an activist; surely I cannot claim that resistance is not a worthwhile endeavor. And indeed, it is, but on a more psychological or spiritual level, there can be value in choosing to accept things as they are. Being alive is not something we consent to. We're born into this world helpless and without control. We're subjected to the passing of time without any choice in the matter. Existence itself is a constant struggle, a battle to meet our base and existential needs. There is no way to defeat life itself, as death could hardly be called a victory. Most of our inner turmoil is rooted in the discomfort of simply being alive.

For me, the ants represent all the tiny parts of life that make up the bigger picture. We're all lying here helpless to the things in our lives that we can’t control. It's hard not to feel as if these things are consuming us slowly, one minuscule bite at a time. I think it's important to note that in my dream I was not fully consumed. I got up, and I panickily shook the ants off my body. I may have had to surrender my bedroom (my sanctuary and my prison), but before I woke up, I was already planning how to move on from the assault of the ants. I think there is a balance between letting go and fighting back, and that balance is moving on. It requires the same acceptance as letting go, a bitter acceptance, but there is an ironic sweet victory in choosing to walk on regardless. There are plenty of battles I know I will never win. I can never fully eradicate my depression, my trauma, my dysphoria, my anxiety, or even a hill of ants. No individual can solve the discomfort of life, society, or self. At times this becomes overbearing, and one may be crushed by the frightful weight of hopelessness. Moving on, to me, is relieving the pressure by choosing how to engage with it. It's not giving in, it's not struggling against, it's adaptation to the circumstances.

In California, the ants may have taken my tent, but at the end of the day, I was able to move to a much more comfortable cabin. This may have meant I lost the war, but it no longer feels like a defeat to me. Now that I had distanced myself from the battleground, I could laugh at the absurdity of the situation. It didn't take away the sting of the bites, but I did find relief in sleeping somewhere with air conditioning for the first time in months. Mindset can be a very powerful tool. It's our greatest form of agency, as we always possess the power to change our minds. The first night I awoke covered in ants, I was filled with determination to take back my bed from them. As I realized the futility of one man against a hundred thousand ants, this perspective changed. At first, I was angry. I was humiliated and pathetic, and I sat there and let the ants crawl over me in the stubbornness characteristic of any true pity party. The ants took not just my bed, but my agency, my peace of mind, and my sense of control. But I retained the agency of choice. I could choose to die on that ant hill, or I could move on, both in body and mind. This attitude is reflected in my general approach to conflict, both internal and external. By becoming aware of my limitations and the limitations imposed upon me, I can realistically ask myself, What can I do about it? Sometimes, the answer isn't what I want to hear, but there's always an answer. If the ants in my dream do represent the unstoppable forces of life, perhaps my subconscious is telling me to get up, shake them off, and keep moving on.

March 21st

Journaling in the morning because I feel like writing and I haven't journaled in a while.

I awoke with the urge to write down every thought I have as if they're each something deeply profound. Perhaps this is hypomania, if my bipolar theory has any credence to it.

This month has been spent working on my website. I've been spending at least eight hours a day working on it. I've learned a lot about coding using HTML/CSS, and I'm starting to get a basic understanding of JavaScript. I'm really happy I've had such a creative project to work on, but I have been getting a little carried away. I haven't been eating or sleeping on a consistent schedule, and I neglected work for a week. It has been rather exciting, though. I'm not sure what I expect going forward with this project. I hope that once I finish all the coding, it will be something that encourages me to write more often, and come up with other ways to express myself now that I will have a dedicated space to do so. That being said, I have neglected previous blog projects, but I have a good feeling I can stick this to one, considering how much work I already put in. I've backed-up the files, so even if I neglect it, I can always come back and it will be there. And it's mine! Compared to Substack or other platforms I've tried, this one is much more personalized. I feel a sense of ownership.

This has delayed my return to the nomad life, though. Last month I was really resenting the lack of living I've done this year, and now I've remained holed up in my room. Partially this has been due to my financial concerns, but it's mostly procrastination, and wanting to finish this project first. Checking my bank account this morning, I was pleasantly surprised, as meager as it may be to some others. So I should be prepared to depart in the coming month- but that's also what I said a month ago. However, the weather has simply been lovely (as little as I actually experience it), and every time I step outside, I'm struck with the urge to seize upon it while it's here.

I will once again remind myself of the things I need to complete prior to leaving:

1. Buy new bedding and a solar shower

2. Clean the van/put air in the tires

Wow. That's really it. These are the herculean tasks I've been putting off for several months.

Sunday! I will do them on Sunday. Then, I will assess my budget as of the 28th, book a hotel/campsite for my first night in Colorado, and hopefully depart in the first week of April. Perhaps I should give myself something more concrete. I have to leave Kansas by April 12th. April 12th will be my deadline, and I'll finally get out of here.

March 5th

Waking up, snapping out of it for a moment, but I still can't really see. My ears are filled with cotton and I flinch at the movement of the cabinets as they close. I look in the mirror and question "when did my hair get so long?" and run my finger against the stubble on my chin. Everything around me is so familiar it becomes foreign. My eyes can only pass over, but never truly linger and comprehend, it's all a blur. I tell myself "I got to get out of here" and for a moment I am myself two weeks ago and at once myself in another moment not too far away. I clean my room and it offers some relief. I think myself a great man, but I remind myself that he is dead right now. The optimist in me says it's only a slumber, but he also knows that death has its arms around me even when I have reached the peak. If every second is a rebirth, then I will crawl on my hands and knees until I learn to walk once more. I will wait for the day when I laugh when I fall.

March 4th

I'm so restless. I feel the cold air blowing on my face. I don't know where it's coming from. A train whistle in the distance. I barely hear it. I want to dance. I want to move. I want to run down the street and feel everything on my skin. I'm anxious, but I'm laughing. I'm laughing because it's stupid. A car drives by blasting some sort of music. I feel it in my chest. I take a sip of beer. I grin at my own writing. I rock back and forth. I can feel the texture of the metal touching my fingertips when I grab the can of beer and take a swig. It's all vibrating. I need nicotine. My foot presses against my crotch. I look at my childhood photos and I laugh. That isn't me. I continue listening to the cars driving by outside. Is this our world now? The buzzing of a plane. The air conditioner whirring. What comfort. What splendor. I want to get away from it all. There is nothing to satisfy me. I'm so happy. I'll sleep peacefully tonight. I can’t stand it.

February 26th

sometimes I feel like I lack the ability to truly live. I feel like I lack an immersive life. it all feels very artificial to me, I guess. Like, when you're watching a movie and become aware that the people on screen are just actors and everything is special effects. I want to live my life, but I don't really know how sometimes. I think I just need to do things.It's hard to find the will sometimes. everyone probably feels empty when they're lying awake late at night. I think most people are aware that there's something indescribable and a bit morose about the human condition. Like a hunger that can never be satiated. Or like a nicotine craving you have to keep buying packs of cigarettes for. I just wonder if I'll ever find anything that gives me a spark that lasts longer than a few months. I wish I could find something that's deeply special to me. I usually keep on running away. There's a yearning to be understood, not just by others, but maybe even within ourselves.