Alexander Funnylastname

One of the first books that I honestly fell in love with was Into The Wild, and this weekend I finally got around to watching the film adaptation directed by Sean Penn. Pretty good, I must say; certainly captured the spirit in which Christopher McCandless lived his intriguing life, and perhaps did an even better job than the book of (at the end of the film) portraying just the right amount of regret he probably had during his final breaths.

Of course, it made me think of the things I want to do; not necessarily the "things I want to do before I die" (generally a meaningless list) but the "things I need to do to find my own truth" (somewhat airy-fairy but still holds perceived meaning). Per usual, once I drifted off into thought I got distracted by the first shiny object and never completed the task. Now that I sit in front of the computer, I'm looking back at the important things I have done, and one particular event, a two and a half week odyssey in fact, seems to have provided me with most lasting value to this day.

"The Trip"

Four dudes, one shitty van, and the entire country of Canada in front of us...well, from Montreal westward, that is. Sorry, maritime provinces.

While some of the details I care not to explain, in part because of length required would take me all night to divulge, but also because, well, some of the experience I wish to keep my own, it still ranks as the best time of my life.

Many long to backpack through Europe, or trek through SE Asia (I certainly wouldn't mind doing either), yet this cheaper alternative provided four college students who couldn't legally drink in their own country a chance to explore a land not very different from their own, but at the same time still exciting and enchanting for the simple fact there were no rules, no itineraries, and no expectations...just driving, stopping when we so desired, and exploring. I have traveled abroad (like, over a fucking ocean and/or not in another largely English-speaking country) but it was different. For that, I had a schedule, and having a schedule means having a leash. For this...nothing. Just us, and whatever the fuck we felt like.

There was plenty of boozing, sexual encounters (some regrettable), and the like, but honestly all of that took a backseat to the wonders of the open road and the idea of being completely unchained to anything at the given time. Hell, two of those guys I'm no longer in contact with and the other I think is a raging douchebag these days, but it doesn't matter; we'll always be brothers for those 17 or so days, for the sheer amount of trouble we at times dance around, and for the immeasurable quantities of fun we had together.

For one, after getting back home once the trip was done for, I began to realize what I was capable of, and also what humanity in of itself can be. I can't even count the number of total strangers we encountered willing to buy us a beer and have a laugh with us (sometimes at our expense). In a dingy cowboy bar just outside of Calgary for instance, grown men who would make Sam Elliott and John Wayne look like Nancy boys regaled us with tales of love lost and other hardships of life, as if our mere presence automatically made us regulars at their watering hole. I really could go on all night, but you get the drift.

I would do a similar trip in a heartbeat, but it wouldn't be the same. While still a young guy, the weary roads we travel in every day life out in the real world can't help but make you grow cynical in some ways. My eyes aren't as open, and at times my mind seems to be padlocked. What made "the trip" so great was our youthful innocence and eagerness to trust anything and anyone that came in our path. Now, it's different; not necessarily worse, just different.

But I wouldn't mind trying.