Gypsy Tailwinds take me Home…
Posted on December 24, 2008
Ahhhh, the gypsy life. A filthy, gorgeous, addicting, enlightening, and above all else interesting lifestyle that has seen me stay in luxury villas, five star hotels, dingy hostels, tents, hammocks strung between palm trees, and friend’s couches as I bounce around the country and the world. I can’t really say what I’ve been looking for, besides experiences…the kind of thick and gooey experiences that stick with you long after the moment is gone, leaving wisdom and perspective laced with laughter in their wake. 
This fall I packed my bags in mid august, loaded up the station wagon, and embarked on my annual pilgrimage of vagrancy. It’s sort of become a tradition of mine…abandoning any sort of physical address for months at a time and ricocheting from place to place in the name of freedom, work (if I can call it that), and the open road and skies of life. It’s been five years since I first loaded up a car in late August and hit the road…that first trip eventually led my brother and I to Panama and set in motion the crazy carousel I still find myself riding. It’s now December 21st and I’ve just unpacked my bags flush from a whirlwind fall that saw me in Mexico, New York City, Cape Cod, Barbados, Aspen, Northern Wisconsin, Idaho, Hawaii, Alaska, and the coast of California, from San Francisco to San Diego.
It’s been a pretty amazing four months. I watched the sun rise and set over the Caribbean, hung on for dear life aboard a Hobie Cat off the coast of Cape Cod, danced my face off in New York City, caught gold medal trout in Aspen’s Roaring Fork river, watched the leaves change colors in Wisconsin, surfed the north shore of Oahu and fell in love in Kauai, felt more aloha in Yakutat, Alaska then I ever thought possible and saw giant waves ridden in 40 degree water. Between all of this was the magic of California in the fall, full of golden afternoon light, Santa Ana winds, and good friends on the beach.
I set off on that first adventure five years ago in search of the stories that define a lifetime. Stories that get passed down to your children and grandchildren of a life lived less ordinary. What I found amongst those adventures on the road was friendship, and that uniquely beautiful experience of the world getting smaller. I also fell hopelessly in love with being a gypsy. Five years later and damn if that same world hasn’t continued to shrink as one trip led to another and each new friend to five and then five more. In the years since first hitting the gypsy trail I have gleaned one particular nugget of information that I thought I’d pass along this holiday season. Without my friends, this nomadic lifestyle that I treasure would not be possible.
Without addresses like 215 Esplanade in San Clemente, 711 Ramming Way in Santa Barbara, 390 Broadway and 511 E 80th in New York City, 2009 Vallejo St. in San Francisco, Loring St in San Diego, the happy A-frame by the river on Whipsaw Drive in the Board Ranch, the Tamarama Beach pad in Sydney, the High Street Mansion in Melbourne, 219 N Mill Road in Oconomowoc, 2060 Moccasin Ct in Boise, and the countless other addresses that have opened their doors and arms when this itinerant vagabond comes knocking my gypsy dream would have died long ago. More than numbers on the door or couches to crash on, sheds to store my possesions, and living rooms to unpack and repack my bags, what makes these places so special are the quality of people who live at them. People whose welcome is always a warm one, whose houses and apartments are filled with that same warm energy, and whose hospitality always makes me feel like family.
Maybe it’s my mom picking up the mail from a p.o box that’s been ignored for months and cashing a much needed check while I’m out of the country, or maybe it’s a cold beer after a surf session with the boys at Ramming Way, a ping pong tournament at Esplanade on a rainy day, an invitation to dinner at a great hole in the wall Italian restaurant in the East Village, a ride out to the hot springs, or an invitation to the best Halloween party in San Francisco. More than anything it’s the little things, a home cooked meal, some shared conversation, the laughter of old friends and new ones, these are the things that make a place feel like home and I feel unbelievably lucky to have so many places and people like that in my life.
Traveling, no matter how glamorous it seems, can be a lonely endeavor at times, and if chasing the gypsy dream has taught me anything it’s that there is a fine line between a wandering gypsy scribe in all its romantic glory and just a dirty, broke, homeless, vagrant. Sometimes they’re one in same, the only thing separating the two is an open door and a familiar face, smiling with open arms.
In friendship and love, I am a rich man. Everything else in my life is in a constant state of flux as I dance between the chaos, serendipity and disaster of my existence. At times my dance is a graceful one, gliding smoothly and effortlessly through each transition, departure, and arrival. At other times it’s a clumsy romp, jerking sporadically and randomly across the cosmic dance floor with no real destination whatsoever, flailing wildly as if each step contains a spasm of emotion. I will promise you one thing though, if I am dancing at all, I’m smiling…and that’s something to hold onto.
After all, a good dance party doesn’t require the best dancers or even amazing music, it’s all about who you’re dancing with and whether or not you’re smiling…so keep smiling and thanks to all of you for putting up with me.
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