With no real place to go or thing to do, I decided to empty out my checking account and grab a couple of credit cards and head for the open road. Hitch hiking out west had always been my dream and this was the only thing I could think of doing.
The first ride I got was from a nice gentleman in a respectable sedan.
"Where you headed?"
"Portland, OR" I said as if I actually had a destination set.
"I am headed to Lincoln, Nebraska for the National Bar Association Convention. You can ride with me that far if you like."
"Thanks . . ."
"Call me Vinny," he interrupted.
"Great," I thought to myself. This is going to be easier than I thought.
Over the next 400 miles, we got to talking about my year. How I felt like nothing went right, how my dreams about college and marriage had all kind of fizzled.
"That's horrible," the gentleman said, "you are a fine young man -- articulate, smart, insightful. You would make a great attorney. To be honest, I think that college screwed you over. You should write a complaint to the American College Liberties Union."
"Honestly?" I said strangely encouraged.
"Yeah, and that girlfriend, you could tell her a thing or two. My ex-wife was like that, always a load of unrealistic expectations. You can definitely do better. You really just need to stand up for yourself. The world is yours for the taking."
"Nice guy," I thought as he dropped me off at the hostel just outside Lincoln. "He made some good points."
The next day, was one of those clear, summer days you dream about during mid-terms in March. Clear, 80 degrees, nice breeze. I smiled as I slid into my seat at a truck stop. "I will take the Hungry Man's breakfast, I said to the waitress." Her name tag read, "Charlotte."
She looked like she may have been working there for 40 years or so.
"You really should think about the vegetarian omlet," she suggested. "I see men come in here all the time and order that Hungry Man's breakfast but they go waddling out like they are 6 months pregnant -- all that sugar and fat in their gut."
"Uh, sure," I said, taken aback a little. I knew she was right. I feel horrible when I eat sugar for breakfast.
"Where you headed?" Charlotte added when she brought back the omelet.
"Oh, I don't know. Far away from Expectation University that's for sure."
"You can't run from things, you know. That's all millennials do nowadays. I have a grandson who has gone to three different colleges and hasn't graduated from any of them. Now he signed up for some kind of Peace Corps thing. He's trying to change the world, but he can't even change himself."
"Uh, . . . " I didn't really know what to say.
She brought a refill for my coffee and kept going on like some kind of antique wind up toy, "I think men really have issues with commitment these days. Whatever happened to love? You know the kind of love that is steady and strong and not distracted by the Miss Universe contestants. If men really knew how to love, we wouldn't have all these fatherless children and mothers on welfare."
Thankfully she got distracted by some new customers. "I think I like Vinny better," I muttered to myself.
For some reason that day, people were not noticing hitch hikers. By 11 am it was 85 degrees and, I just gave up putting my hand out and just walked beside the highway. The words of Charlotte kept playing through my head. Maybe she is right. Maybe I am just like every other millennial out there, rootless, unfocused, unable to commit to anything. If I could just get organized, I could make it, but it never happens that way. I start a new plan, and it just ends up not working out. The last words my girlfriend said came back to me, "I just need someone who knows what they believe and where they are going in life. I am sure you will find someone else." I guess idealism doesn't mean much when you never finish a book or stick to something longer than a few months.
About 4 pm, I heard a rattly, clunking noise behind me. I turned to see a Ford pickup -- maybe from the early 80's. It sounded like it hadn't received an oil change since 91.
"Where you headed?" a raspy voice said from the driver side through the open passenger window.
"I don't know," came from my mouth -- the first honest thing I said since I left that pristine university campus.
"Hop in" the old man said.
I am not sure how it happened, but as we clunked down the road I told the old man everything. How I had always wanted to do something great. How I was the first in my family to go to college, but I was failing out. How I wanted to make my dad proud, but I couldn't forget the time I overheard him talking to his buddies about me, how I should go to college because I couldn't put a nut on a bolt without stripping it. I told him how I used to run down to the river and watch the leaves fall from the trees and go floating on down to the little log jam where they all got stuck. I told him how excited I was to join that presidential campaign last year. I was sure we would really make this country better. Maybe I could get a job in government after that. Finally, this country would be a place of fairness and peace. I would have been a real part of it! I told him how alive I felt when I started dating. How amazed I was when she said, "yes," and I had a real girlfriend! How I wasn't sure what had happened. How I felt like rolling my eyes at every professor as they went on and on about the amazing properties of such and such when all I could think about was that I had no property at all. I spoke about how I dreamed of being a great father and how everything went wrong over Christmas break, how my girlfriend said an abortion was the only real option. Guess I am not "real" then.
After about 6 hours of this, we pulled off the highway and took a couple of streets and then entered a long winding gravel lane. Not sure why, but I didn't ask where we were going. I didn't much care. Eventually, we started to climb up a long hill and turned the corner to a rocky ridge then into a little clearing in the trees. We came to a stop in front of a beat-up house trailer nestled in the tall grass. A make-shift porch swing sat out front just where one could see back down the hill. The wooded valley stretched out below. "I'll be right back," the old man said as I settled into the porch swing. Moments later he came out with a couple of cold Pepsi's and some left over potato salad with two forks stuck into the deli container. "Hungry?" he said. "Sure," as I took a fork and began eating out of the container.
"You are a wanderer," the old man began. "I was too once. I have children in Vermont that don't care about me. I worked in investment banking for twenty years. My wife said our kids needed fresh air. All I could see was the next payout. She got her fresh air all right. It just didn't include me. I began to self-medicate. I had a doctor friend who was a client. I did his finances, and he would write me prescriptions. Pretty good deal we had going. 'Till the night my body couldn't take it anymore. I ended up in the ambulance driving up the West Side. That's the last thing I remember."
"I woke up the next week with nothing. As soon as I could walk, I took a flight to Boise and haven't been back since. That was 30 years ago."
I listened in silence as I ate the last of the potato salad.
"You know, 'Not all who wander are lost.'" he added. "Truth is you are all those things that Charlotte said, and more. You thought you could do it all and be it all. You can't. I thought I could, but I found out the truth the hard way. Big surprise, I know, but you aren't all those things you wanted to be. Honestly, you sounded a bit grandiose. And isn't it true that you also tried to mold your girlfriend into your image. She didn't fit your fantasy. No wonder she couldn't trust you. All of those things are true, I can't sugar-coat it for you.
"This may come as a surprise, but I know your father. He and I were buddies back in Vietnam. He knew you were heading out this way and gave me a call. He said that you have always had a special place in his heart. There was this sparkle that he never quite understood, but he knew it was the seed of greatness. He is actually in a nursing home in Virginia now. He said you never call him, so I don't expect you to know that, but he watches your posts every morning on Facebook. They are the highlight of his day. He said that he still can see the sparkle, and he knows there is important work for you to do somewhere."
I couple tears softly dripped into the empty potato salad container on my lap. The sun had slipped behind the horizon in the valley. What else could I say?
"Yes, I am a broken, directionless, accomplish-less man," that is true, but somehow I also felt like I had made it home. How could it be that my father still loved me and was paying attention to my life? Could it be that I really have a good future?
As I lay awake on the couch that night it occurred to me that I had been given three choices, three voices, vindication, shame, and brokenness.
Vindication says ...
If only the world would discover my talents.
If only she would know how much she hurt me.
If only, they would say sorry.
If only people would know the truth about what happened.
If only the guilty would pay.
If only I could start over, I could make it work if I had another chance.
Shame says ...
There is no hope for vindication.
It would be better if I disappear.
My voice doesn't matter.
My only hope is to escape, far far away.
Brokeness says ...
Its actually much worse than I even thought.
Not only am I bad but I have done many things good with wrong motives.
Vindication is unrealistic in this life and wouldn't heal me anyway.
Shamful withdrawal into the safe shadows is not safe.
There is no redemption short of exposure.
Why are you surprised by your inability to make life work?
Why do you think failure is final?
There is healing.
There is nothing to hide.
There is forgiveness.
You are loved.
You are free.I drifted off in a peaceful sleep. For some reason, making it to Portland didn't seem very important any more.
Here's a song I like.
