Tireless, my windshield wipers fought against relentless splattering sheets of rain parading in the blustering front of the first storm of the season. Middle America had already been hit hard by the massive, “once in a generation,” atmospheric event galloping my way. i still had a short window to make it south enough to miss the freezing flakes, and icy roads.
As the skies blackened, and heavens poured, it was hard not to regret volunteering for the reckless errand. Delivering a car from New Haven, Connecticut, to Dallas, Texas, on behalf of a sweet soul going through a difficult time. Trying to save them from fighting the inevitable elements following the Christmas holidays when they intended to move the vehicle themselves.
Stunning blue skies welcomed my arrival in New York City a few days prior. A nice reprieve from the gauntlet of obstacles i’d encountered from before i’d even left my front door. Countless issues at work, fighting the flu, had problems flying, a late take off, grumpy gate agents, unnecessary scrutiny at security, lost luggage- still, i wore a smile. Hosted by my best friend, in my favourite city, try as they might, the fates could do little to throw my mood. Good company, and great laughs squashed wrong addresses, cancelled events, and exurbanite prices.
Despite my efforts to plan a safe trek across the country, the weather had hit hard, and early. Divine intervention interjected a warning from a new acquaintance the evening ahead of the storm. i was facing dangerous conditions i’d made every attempt to try and avoid on unknown, mountainous roads. For the first time in a long time, i felt a little concerned about my own safety. The shame of quitting intimidated me more than the highways ahead. There was little choice in the matter going forth. Buckets of snow were forecasted throughout the week to come. Even if the roads cleared, a bit of melt would cause a lot of ice. The longer i waited the worse things would get.
i made my first mistake spending all night scouring weather reports. Little sleep, ahead of one thousand, six hundred and thirty miles of winding highway. An estimated twenty five hours of driving, not including stopping for gas, food, or traffic. i’d given myself a great disadvantage before i’d even begun. It was in the process of rising bright and early to tackle the gauntlet with as much space as possible before the thick of the snow fell, that i made my biggest mistake, minutes after leaving my friend’s apartment.
It had seemed like in the face of the turn of events, things were starting to go my way. My first steps were seamless and easy. i’d made it to each train with minutes to spare, sprinted through Penn station, caught the correct commuter ahead of schedule, and even found a window seat for my two hour journey to New Haven. Under circumstances where every minute mattered, i’d bought myself an hour of time. Better still, aligned myself to miss the weekday morning traffic right as it was expected to peter off. Easing in my seat, i leaned into the last bit of leisure time i had for the next couple of days. When i reached for my book i had the shock of a lifetime. My bag was gone.
Somehow, while adjusting my things on the subway, i lost my satchel. Gifts, house keys, sunglasses, charger, gloves, notebook, and most important, my laptop. An uncountable amount of first drafts, novel ideas, outlines for the chapters of Emerald Archivist,1 a few travel stories, and sketches of another new series. My notebook was filled with even more draft ideas, notes on the Haés, the Archivist, schedules, jokes for comics, and other aspirations. My worst nightmare brought to life.
Disoriented, and on the verge of hyperventilating, i stepped off at the next stop, stumbling through in the Bronx in a panic, trying to retrace my steps. Aside from filing a police report and a claim with the MTA lost and found, there was nothing i could do. Everything was gone. Including hours of wasted time on the subway wandering the same empty platforms over and over.
The devastation made collecting myself next to impossible. Every attempt at the task at hand helped me discover another essential, or at least helpful, item lost. No phone charger for the car. No sunglasses when the weather broke. No toothbrush. No cough drops, or tissues. No gloves to keep the chill off and the drowsing heat down driving through the night. Of course none of that compared to the work forfeited. i was completely crushed. Summoning the amount of focus and attention i’d need to drive through any storm with such emotional distress was inconceivable.
It was well past noon when i arrived in New Haven. Of course, i couldn’t get a hold of my ride to the car. The bus i decided to take was twenty minutes late in the pouring rain and near freezing temperatures. With yet another hour lost, now cold and soaked, i scooped up the car.
It wasn’t until i was on the road that i realized the car had no internal mapping system. Nothing but a foreign phone and limited data. There was no stand, and i refused to look down while driving, especially in rain and snow. A fortune in roaming charges would be inevitable.
With everything against me i set forth to what had become a Herculean task. The gigantic burden of my own anxious grief dwarfed the impending blizzard. Lost in a sullen haze my internal problem solver took the wheel, and drove my next steps. i’d been in far more chaotic situations before, and while things were unideal i knew what to do. Sticking to my original plan i stopped at a grocer to grab things to munch on the road, limiting stops and the difficult task of finding vegan food. Water, fruit, nuts, protein bars, cold brew coffee, and some unhealthy treats to crunch on. Providence placed a cheap electronic big box store next door where i grabbed a phone charger, and like that i had my basic necessities set.
Five and a half hours later than i’d intended, i immediately got caught in early evening traffic. Following a parade of red brake lights, i made it back to New York in time for the thick of the Jersey commuters, with the weather only getting worse. Confidence had deflated to a whimper, and for the first time in a long time, i was nervous. Afraid even.
As i watched the freezing downpour drown my windshield, i was reminded of the terrifying storms in the Pacific. Throttling through towering waves in a small, broken sailboat, thousands of miles from even a speck of land or aid. At the helm in the dead of night above the crest of an enormous wave i remember seeing a never ending horizon of chaos. It’d felt like i was facing off with God herself. i remember smiling, and leaning in.
The road ahead, while similar, was far more placid. On the ocean, there had been nothing to do but press onwards. With a deep breath, a great playlist, i kept the course, dancing through brutal traffic, getting lost in the hectic New York highway system. An hour into the city’s bumper to bumper rush hour the weather was still intensifying. Sleety rain chopped my signal and my maps began to cut in and out, losing their place and as i mazed through the twisting exits on the outskirts of the city, seeking the right bridge to cross through to Jersey.
Night was falling, i was completely fatigued. Less than five percent of the way into the trip, and it took every effort to stave off a complete nervous breakdown. Losing the laptop was the pinnacle of what had been a hellish last few years. In the midst of the gridlock, forty five minutes away from my best friend’s lavish apartment, the options were obvious. Quit, return to the city, solve my own problems, leave the car to the rightful owners.
Ideas of dissolving Mr. Write tempted. Foregoing this huge project right as i reached the halfway mark toyed. It would be such a relief to end. Uncountable hours regained, the stress of the deadlines alleviated, and juggling any semblance of a life beyond the desk calmed. Paying off bills, finding a job that provided actual financial gains possible. The prospect comforted a part of the grief, and inspired an unexpected wave of guilt. It wasn’t so much that i’d sunk such a tremendous amount of time in, more that i’d made a commitment. i believe in the mission, in the path. i believe in art. Not only do i believe in the power of the word, i had given mine.
And word is bond.
Forward, forward, forward. Whether i liked it or not, that’s the way life rolled. With or without me. i could quit. Return the car, pass the task back, return home with my tail between my legs to lick my wounds. To what end? The pen would rise again, it was inevitable. This time against the tides of embarrassment. Gridlock on the freeway gave room for perspective, to rally. i must go forth. On the road, on the page. Faith had started this journey. In myself, my abilities, what these efforts could do for others. The ideas and stories i’d lost, they’d all come from somewhere, they’d be found again.
Perhaps they won’t be as good, but my intentions are. The goal is the same. To try and write a singular sentence that might move someone else, or evoke something within them. Then repeat. Over and over again. Until the pages are teeming. Who knows which line, which word may spark change. Some may find it in a poem, a lyric, others a passage, or character, one may even find it within one of these paragraphs. It doesn’t have to be the best thing, only the right turn of phrase at the right time. (For me it was Tom Robbin’s sentence: In the haunted house of life, art is the only stair that doesn’t creek, from Another RoadSide Attraction). Art has saved me many times over. i’ve received so much from other artists, it’s my only duty to try pass it on. To do my best so strangers may stumble upon something that makes their day a little easier, a puff of warm wind that helps them sail through whatever their ordeals may be.
My pulse settled, attitude regulated, as values aligned. Like clockwork, a call came from my friend in the city. Unnecessary sympathies were gifted, and we had a deep conversation about my new plan, and new attitude. Of course, not without a healthy dose of complaints and wild whinging- i’m not above it. It’s part of the process towards peace. Telling the truth, letting the poison out, hitting the brakes, feeling your feelings then moving forward. The flu would end, the road may be long and hard, but i would arrive. The words would follow. Compared to other trials i’d faced since the project had started, these obstacles were on the low level. Far, far, far lower than many other people have had to endure.
It was there, on the Jersey Turnpike, bathing in brakelights as the first snowflakes hit, and bad drivers skirted along the freezing roads, that the rubber hit the road. Talk without action is nothing. My phone connected to the bluetooth allowed me to start dictating my ideas from behind the wheel. As much as i strive to not write pieces that resemble blog posts2 this endeavour felt like a story worth telling. The rough draft brought ease. My lost words hadn’t returned, they’d never left. i knew the path and i had a plan. The maps may fail me, the roads may be slick, but i was confident in myself behind the wheel. i may not make it there as fast as i’d like, but i would arrive safe.
As if ordained, once the words had passed my lips, the traffic parted. This is where the words matter most, i thought to myself. Every moment of our life is another starting point. Even when we’re only choosing to continue forth, or follow the same routine. The choice to fall to pieces, fail my goal in the midst of mourning the lost pages, and works was one. Or i could see this moment, in the car driving though mountains during a chaotic storm with what felt like biblical walls crashing against me, my psyche, my health, as another starting point. It was another story. The same as always. Dust yourself off, stand up, start over. i turned up my music, and drove onwards( listening to Iridescent FM3).
Despite the challenges, all i had to do was merely work harder. The moment i surrendered the road became easier. While i may not have moved along the hours of my choosing, i did find the conditions i sought, and beat the storm (one far more sensationalized by the media than i needed to worry about). In the process i weathered a far worse one within. Things could be better, but they also could be a hell of a lot worse. i accepted the ideas lost, knowing they still exist in the ether waiting to return to my pen. The goal has always been to mean every word, no hardship could ever stop that. What better story is there than facing a seemingly impossible task, while experiencing crippling loss at the worst possible time, surrendering, working harder than before, heading it off, and riding away wearing a smile all with nothing more than unwavering faith in oneself? What better time than here? What better time than now? The road ahead is irrelevant when you’ll stop at nothing.
Thanks, as always, for joining the journey.
What many authors know all too well is that miracles start arriving whenever the first draft is completed. My bag was found, laptop recovered, and everything restored as it was. On top of that, my return to New York garnished an incredible opportunity to catch a transcendent performance by Eryakah Badu. At times my drive was hectic, but over all, the snow light, i arrived safe, and back to the arms of the one i love, faster than i expected. Odds are but an opportunity. Never lose faith in yourself. Follow the steps. Repeat the process.
-Mr. Write
A new, experimental project that i’ve embarked on. Written chapter by chapter, each one based after corresponding tarot cards, which were of course packed and lost in the bag. i’d been staring at each individual card and letting them lead the narrative… Start here!
Not that there’s anything wrong with that, it just isn’t what this publication is meant for.
Which i still cannot encourage you to check out enough, sixty-nine episodes all created with specific hours, moods and themes for moments, especially long drives and commutes. It may be my own hubris and ego, but there are few programs that will give you a better driving experience. Especially the tailored these hours around the twenty four hour clock, and moods.