The Journey Chapter 58: Stigma, No Regrets, and the Changing of the Season

THE STIGMA OF LIVING IN A BUS

I was tugging on a Facebook thread today. To quickly summarize, one bus life newbie wanted to know why there is so much negativity towards buses in many towns that person has visited. He said he has felt downright hostility from some townsfolk, and on several occasions has had the local police confront him once he parked his bus on the street with the intention of walking around the town to see the sites.

The conversation continued online, with many other bus life veterans saying they have experienced the same thing.

Trust me when I tell you that similar experiences do not happen to people when they park their $100,000 Class A motorhomes on the street of a strange city.  There is something very specific about converted buses which make city officials, and citizens, very uptight and on guard.

I suspect it has to do with the growing homeless problem in this country.  In fact, I would bet money on that suspicion.  Most converted buses are older vehicles, and I think any older vehicle conjures up concerns of squatters taking over a section of curb, intent on living there for several weeks.

Truthfully, I understand. I don’t find that kind of reaction strange or insulting at all, given the current economic climate. And there are several things I have done, steps taken, to avoid these types of uncomfortable scenarios. Some of the things I have done were conscious attempts to avoid confrontation. Some turned out that way despite me being clueless at the time.

Painting Puddle Walker in rainbow colors and having the words “Meeting America One Handshake At A Time” makes my shuttle bus inviting and welcoming.  It’s a sublime signal to all that this is not just some random home on wheels, and the owner does not have ill intentions.

When I step out of the bus, I am well-groomed. I wear clothes from REI, which speak of a certain economic status.  I am accompanied by a dog, a pretty dog, a friendly dog, and how harmful could I be, seriously, a well-dressed man with a smiling dog?

Speaking of smiling, I make sure I make eye contact with the people I pass, and more often than not I greet them, as I smile, and ask them how they are doing.

If I am going to be parked for a few hours, I talk to a shop owner nearby, or even a passing cop, and explain that I’m visiting and is it all right if I park the bus on the city street.  This puts people at ease and trust me, the homeless do not ask those questions when they show up in a town.

Not once have I been hassled or have I been greeted with hostility.  Not once in nearly eight months.

I WISH I DIDN’T KNOW NOW . . .

I don’t know how many of you are old enough to remember the lyric I am about to share with you. It originally appeared in Bob Seger’s monster song “Against the Wind,” early 70s me thinks.  Oddly, the lyric was also the name of a single recorded by Toby Keith in 1994. Not sure how he got away with using an iconic lyric from someone else’s song, but he did.  The lyric goes like this:

“I wish I didn’t know now what I didn’t know then,” and it is one of those lyrics that you never forget if you have a love affair with song writing like I have and do.

It’s a lyric, and song, about regrets, looking back on a life lived hard, and wishing one had taken a different path, that life might have been a bit easier or have a better outcome.

You all know how I feel about regrets. I think they are a complete waste of positive energy, and for the last seventeen years I have not gone down that self-defeating path. The “mistakes” I made had a purpose, and the purpose was to learn from them, and by learning from them I have arrived in this “place,” and it’s a damned fine place indeed.

I asked Bev the other day if she had any regrets about not finishing the Trail. She just laughed.  “Not a one,” she said. “I proved something to myself,” she continued. “I know I am capable of some pretty cool stuff, and I can’t wait to see what challenges I meet in the future.” And I couldn’t be happier for her.  2500 miles, no, but just short of 1000 miles is still some pretty rarified air for anyone, and it is so cool to see how happy she is since she came off trail and returned home.

No regrets, my friends. The shouldas, couldas, and wouldas will eat you alive, from the inside out.

THE SCENT OF A PROMISED CHANGE

Maggie don’t know a damned thing about monthly names. September don’t mean spit to my girl, the same with April or January, just human words, random sounds to her, heard and discarded like needles in a homeless encampment. But she knows change. She senses seasons and their changes, and no one can convince me otherwise.

Shadows lengthen this time of year, the sun lower on the horizon, something many people don’t notice, little changes and yet significant. It seems, to me, I’ve spent a good portion of my life chasing my shadow, but there were times it seemed the opposite, me being chased by it, and I’m not sure which is disconcerting and which comforting. Ask the Shadow, the Shadow knows, to borrow from an old radio program, but on this particular day the Shadow ain’t speaking any truths at all.

There are times when life seems so transparent, the secrets so easy to discern, but most of the time, for me, it’s like trying to make out specific details while looking into a dark forest. It’s damned near impossible to penetrate the darkness . . . or finding clarity in a Fun House mirror . . . a fool’s quest at best. So it is for me on this day. Questions of considerable bulk and substance, about existence and life and the meaning of it all, assail me as I walk, and I simply do not have any clarity about any of it. Seventy-four years of experiences and lessons, trials and tribulations, and none of it helps me to clean the lenses and allow for 20-20 vision.

Maggie, on the other hand, has no such concerns. She simply is. Her surroundings simply are. She responds to stimuli I can’t even sense or recognize. She is not encumbered by past experiences; she’s a cause and effect, spur-or-the-moment sort of girl, and at that moment my girl is wagging her tail wondering where the hell her treat is.

God I love this dog! Unconditional love and loyalty . . . where else are you going to find it? Perhaps, if you are truly lucky, you will have one or two friends during your lifetime who will stick with you no matter what. One would hope family would fit that description, but I know from personal experience that isn’t always the case. But a dog . . . God bless them! I think dogs were put on this earth to teach us about the original hope for humans, and there’s some serious irony in that statement, that we needed . . . that we need . . . teaching in being human.

The wildflowers are fading. Tree leaves have lost their vibrant green, and specks of brown and yellow can now be seen on the maples, oaks, and elms as I look upward. A breeze kicks up and I’ll be damned if some leaves don’t start falling from the trees. September, second week, seems a bit early to me, leaves falling, but what do I know about the natural order of things? I’m just a traveler on this path called life, here for a brief time, not long enough to learn it all, and my trip is slowly coming to an end. There’s nothing ominous about that statement, it’s happening to all of us, the blink of an eye and it’s all gone, and there are times I swear Maggie understands that fact as well.

Squirrels are doing some serious scurrying up above us, high-wire acts without a safety net, preparing for the long winter ahead. Maggie gives them a long look, sniffs the air, and looks at me in understanding. Yes, Maggie girl, it’s time we moved on. We have errands to run, chores to do, and quiet time later for petting and words of friendship. We turn for ”home” to the smell of leaves burning not far away, a plume of smoke rising above the tree line, a sure sign of Fall, universal, understood by all.

Sweet melancholy sweeps over me on this day, Maggie noticing, more affectionate than normal, she is, and once again I’m grateful for my girl. A dog knows, don’t kid yourself, they are tuned into their owners, and they just know when extra lovin’ is needed, and for about the thousandth time in six years I am incredibly grateful for this dog.

“There’s nothing to be done about it, Mags,” I say to her. “We can’t hold back the tide, and we can’t stop aging, so let’s just live the rest of our lives balls-to-the-wall and howl at the moon every chance we get,” and Maggie wags her tail, barks, and walks back to the bus.

Just a man and his dog, walking down an urban road, but a whole lot more as well.

I am reminded of words once written by a man named Thoreau:

“As you simplify your life, the laws of the universe will be simpler; solitude will not be solitude, poverty will not be poverty, nor weakness, weakness.” Again, Maggie instinctively understands those words. Life is basically very simple at its core. Only man has managed to complicate it over the thousands of years.

Life is living. It is not profit statements, it is not jealousy nor is it greed. Life is not borders nor is it ultimatums. Life simply is, and the more we embrace the is-ness of it, the happier we will truly be. The more we accept the simplicity of it all, the more contentment we will experience. The more days of love we accumulate, the further away we will travel from discord.

Maggie agrees, and that’s good enough for me.

Just a man and his dog, out for a walk. Thanks for joining us!