(The view over Lake Tahoe from my new home high on the mountain.)

            In life we make choices.  We decide courses of action over time and the resulting combination of experiences becomes our life.  It is a life defined by us, and if you don’t agree, look back on all of the decisions you have made and where you are today.  If you had chosen differently, would you be in the same place?  Would you even be the same person?

            I changed my life dramatically two and a half years ago when I stepped into the van full-time on a mission to start a business, career and most importantly, a new pathway of experiences that would narrow into my defined course of life.  It wasn’t an easy decision but it was the best thing I could have done.  It was the beginning of my mental development to move forward no matter how tough the scenario.

            I don’t really mention the rough spots in this blog because I am an overall positive person.  When the chips are down, I feel it like anyone else but I choose to learn from the situation and move on. 

            I have recently set up a home base back in South Lake Tahoe and with any life altering decision, there is always a time of reflection on one’s experiences.  This post is exactly that, except in this post I want to give some insight into the psychology and reality of living without an address.  I have already written at length about all of the wonderful experiences I have had on the road and now I want to pay homage to the difficulties I have faced and reflect on what I have learned.

From the exterior, my time in the van has appeared to be much like a vacation to almost everyone I have encountered.  I am writing to say, with a positive tone and an “if you only knew” kind of chuckle, that it has been everything but that. 

Starting and running a business from a van while being the new guy every time the engine turns over is demanding, stressful and socially awkward to say the least.  You don’t belong anywhere and as a result you miss out on some of life’s basic necessities, ones that most people take for granted.  Family, meaningful friendships and the one everyone asks about, relationships.  In fact, you inadvertently alienate yourself from everyone you have ever cared for while simultaneously hindering yourself from developing those fundamental aspects of life during your time on the road.

            If you do start to care for someone and you tell that person, that person may (or will) turn you down because there is no sense for your stability.  You live on the road and never know when you will be where.  At first glance the mystery of it all even sounds a bit romantic, but how can someone else plan on that?  If that person really cares for you and knows you well, they may just say they don’t feel the same way because they know how important your mission is and they don’t want to get in the way of your success.  And so it goes, unspoken or unknown and at the same time, understood.

The last paragraph is not an exact reflection of my life, but it is the kind of twist on personal relationships that I have come to understand.

            Your family, as proud as they may be of your accomplishments and your drive for success, would love to see you but are forced to plan all of their get-togethers without you.  Again, you never know when you will be where, so how can someone else plan on that?  You sit on the sidelines and hear about your family’s time together.  You see the evidence on Facebook and no matter how much you enjoy what you are doing and the reasons behind it, you will think, “What am I doing, is this worth it?”

            Your previously solid friends begin to know less and less about you while you know less about them.  You develop a nationwide network of friends but the reality is that you pop in on them only a few times a year.  It is not like you can call them up with your problems or know they will call you if there is an opportunity to go get a beer, go kayaking or even just watch a movie.  It takes a lot more effort to be social and it is almost never with people you know well.  You literally feel like the new kid at school a vast majority of the time.  Your vehicle becomes a time capsule in which nothing changes as you observe time and space passing by.

            This is the first time I have really tried to express these realities and I feel it was best done in type.  When conversations ensue about my thoughts on the road, people immediately hit on the girlfriend topic and they tend to stay there.  As a result, they think that is the only object of concern in all of this when in fact it only takes up its justified space on the pie chart. 

            I have reflected on personal topics because those are less obvious.  I also want to emphasize that there are as many or more business reasons to establish a home base because like any business, one of the main goals at TCP is expanding.  It doesn’t really matter what business you are in, if that is a priority, a home base or office is only logical.  I can still operate like anyone else during my spurts on the road, but this will add to my overall efficiency as well as my basic human needs.

            Even though I have described my time on the road as everything but a vacation, I did start this journey knowing a bit about what I was in for.  I also knew there would be exponentially more to figure out.  If had the chance to go back and change anything, I would not.  I have grown beyond my years and learned more about myself than I could have ever imagined.  I have made my own decisions and am a product of the experiences they yielded. I have learned from the hard times, rejoiced in the good times.  I have started a business and launched a career, defining my course of life.  I have no regrets.

This is not the end of anything; it is the beginning of everything.  My time on the road was always indefinite but never permanent.  My visual story telling and traveling days are just getting started, only now I have somewhere I belong J.

Lastly, to answer my own nagging question during the tougher times “Was it worth it?”

Absolutely.  Sometimes we have to make short-term sacrifices for long-term goals.  Just make sure to never loose sight of what is really important because it is easy to mix things up and make long-term sacrifices for short-term goals.

(Reflection of Ed Cazch grabbing his rain jacket as the rain begins while packrafting on the Kashwitna
River, Alaska.)

            Today is the first day of September.  I am back in Lake Tahoe and the air is cool and breezy with the definitive feel of fall on the way.  I know we are not quite there on the calendar, but I love fall and I couldn’t be more excited.

            It is not that I like one season more than any other, but that I love every season and everything each one has to offer.  I get a new but recognizable feeling each time my environment changes.  My association of time and place allows old memories to resurface and somehow lend to the notion of creating new ones just as meaningful, or perhaps more so.

            This reverence for the season started about a week and a half ago while on my last packrafting trip in Alaska.  A new friend and I set out to cover four mountain passes and two rivers in three days over about 66-miles of backcountry terrain.  It was an ambitious undertaking but most of it was above the tree line so we figured we would give it a shot.  By cautionary procedure, we packed about 4 and a half days worth of food and also decided that if something was wrong or we just didn’t have enough time to complete the plan, we could always paddle the first river all the way out to a road.

            It turned out to be a pretty demanding trip and in the end, we did need one more day.  With my friend’s looming work schedule and my Alaskan exit on the horizon we ended up paddling out of the first river.  I can’t say we weren’t disappointed, but it was still an amazing trip.

            Hiking above tree line for the majority of the endeavor (though we still had our share of bushwacking), I noticed the moss and lichen already transitioning in color.  They were not in their full array of purple, yellow and red yet, but they were well on their way. 

It was cool, sometimes rainy and sometimes sunny.  I thought about crisp mornings and the season’s first fire in the fireplace.  I thought about riding bikes through crunching leaves with my younger brother and about drinking my Mom’s famous Russian Tea.  It felt like fall.

            I have since left Alaska for a quick trip to Mexico to witness the wedding of one of my long-time best friends.  It was a great celebration with most of my core pals from a time and life long gone.  As with the changing of the seasons, old memories resurfaced and we enjoyed them as they were, knowing we would all leave to create new ones, hopefully just as meaningful.

            Congratulations Ryan and Jen.  May your old and new memories flow together as you embark on this new journey.  I love you guys!

(Ed Cazch working his way out of one of the many valleys we crossed to get to the Kashwitna River,
Alaska.)

(Myself and Ed Cazch taking cover under boulders during a storm.)

(Drying gear and cooking breakfast at camp before the next looming storm.)

(Mt. Jefferson at sunset.  This is why I always, always, always reserve a window seat.)

(Classic travel moment.  My flight landed 10 minutes after the last shuttle to South Lake Tahoe.  
Closed Shuttle office behind me.  Spent the night at a Casino.)

(Long-time pal Ryan Harris foregoing the Mayan ruins for some bouldering the day before his wedding.)