Road Lesson Number One: Stronger Than We Seem

The following is from the first part of a talk I gave to Mental Health Con in Estherville, Iowa on Sept 28, titled "Eight Lessons I Learned on the Road. Here is Lesson One ...

As you recall, I’ve been in the road for more than two-and-a-half years. I didn’t exactly choose to go on the road. I was called to action, so to speak. Heart surgery, economic collapse, a good friend bailing out on me – there was nothing to keep me in San Diego, where I had been living comfortably for 10 years.

Quite the opposite: It was almost as if San Diego were kicking me out.

So, six months after my heart surgery, in January, 2017, I packed my didgeridoos and other necessities into my ‘99 Passat and hit the open road.

My first year, I did a complete circuit of the country – 30 states, 13,000 miles. Most of the time, I didn’t know where I would rest my head for the night. Sometimes, it was on the couch or the spare bed of a friend. Most of the time, it was in a tent out in nature.

So – this brings me to today’s talk. This talk is about the many things I learned on the road. Life lessons. Lessons I’m hoping you can apply to your recovery. And here is my first lesson:

One – We are a lot stronger than we seem. Don’t be fenced in by your perceptions of your own limitations. I’m doing things at age 69  I never would have dreamed of doing when I was much younger and in much better condition. If you told me I would be doing the things I’m doing now four years ago, I would have told you you were crazy.

Well, guess what? I’m having the time of my life.

Let me tell you about one early test. I’m in the Superstition Mountains in Apache Junction, outside Phoenix, Arizona. One of my mental health tribe, Leanna, has offered me a place to stay. Plus she's a keen hiker.

I was expecting some short walks close to the parking lot. You know, get out, walk along an easy well-maintained path, look at the scenery, get back in the car. The first hike we did was a bit like that, and I recall remarking to her about the joy of just being able to breathe. I’m only seven months out of my heart surgery and I’m thinking of myself as a heart patient. I have no idea how I’m going to hold up.

So next hike - now we’re scrambling on a loose rock surface up a 1,400-foot ascent. Going back down, we’re on our asses a good deal of the time.

Up at the top, I balance myself on a rock outcrop. Leanna takes a photo. I’m going to send this to my cardiologist, I tell her. You know what? After my hikes in the Superstitions, I no longer thought of myself as a heart patient.

So, let’s bring a new element into this discussion: Fear.

I'm experiencing the adventure of a lifetime, but it isn't one I signed up for. I'm in my victim-of-a-series-of-accidents mindset. No matter where my journey takes me, I will be taking my fear with it. Sometimes, I will punch through to the other side. Other times, I experience the thrill of tapping into newly realized strengths. But I'm doing it with the Anvil of Damocles suspended over my instep. The Sword is already lodged firmly in my head.

Six or seven months later, I just happen to check my Facebook feed. My good friend Leanna has posted a meme: “Sometimes the fear won't go away, so you'll have to do it afraid.”

I'm in it for the long haul, me and my traveling companion.