Can’t You See?

The Marshall Tucker band of South Carolina had  a hit in 1973 with a song called, “Can’t You See?” It  was a blues rock tune with the classic good-love-gone-bad theme. The woman breaks the guy’s heart.

The Marshall Tucker Band - Can't You See (Official Audio) - YouTube

In response, he does the only logical thing for a guy to do. He sits down and has a good cry with his guy friends, who give him lots of hugs and emotional support and supply him with plenty of tissues. Not true. Guys didn’t do that back in 1973. Back then, they bought a train ticket and blew on out of town.

“I've gone to buy a ticket now, as far as I can/Ain't a-never coming back
”Ride me a southbound, all the way to Georgia now/Till the train, it run out of track”

In a way, I’m that guy.

There is no woman, but I decided life had done me wrong, so I jumped in my van, got me a dog, and we drove across the country together: Four months, 15,000 miles, 30 states. What a great dog. If I moped, he moped. If I laughed, he laughed. We sang along with old rock songs on the radio. We ate a lot of lousy fast food. When I stopped to pee, he got out to take a leak, too.

Mr. Bones with those big brown eyes of his that melt every heart.

But what does this have to do with the song? It’s all about taking a long trip to heal the soul. The open road heals the soul through sights and solitude.

Looking back on my travels, I think the main questions are, can you see, as the song says, and can you hear? I have spent a lot of my life traveling. One thing I learned was to try hard to see. My experience is that a lot of people don’t want to see reality when they travel. They only want to go to beautiful places, and see beautiful things. Nothing wrong with that idea, except when it means pretending that poverty does not exist, and therefore trying not to let poor people ruin your holiday by reminding you that they exist. I see people sitting inside fenced-in outdoor dining areas, ignoring pleas for a few cents. They avert their eyes. Waiters shout at the poor to leave.

Remote luxury destinations allow us to pretend that reality does not exist.

Unfortunately, it’s hard not to hear when someone says they are hungry and asks for some food. Now people have found a solution. They wear headphones to drown out reality. They exist in a cocoon of sound. Many are looking at their cell phones rather than looking directly at passersby.

When I first got to North Africa in 1983, in Peace Corps, I saw a kind of extreme poverty I had never experienced before. At first, it broke my heart and made me feel sick and angry. My first idea was to give something to the beggars on the street. It didn’t take long to find out that the act of charity would lead to a feeding frenzy. The beggars would cheer that they got money, and a horde of beggars would descend on me. Of course, I didn’t have enough to help everyone.

The inevitable beggar in the street. Do you give them money or not? Why?

I learned that simple acts of charity often started with seeing the poor as poor creatures rather than as fellow humans. I had to learn to see them as humans first, not just as objects of pity. I would try to begin by asking them how they were. If they allowed me, I would ask their names and tell them mine. This transformed them into real people in my eyes and made me real, too.

So it is with traveling across the country in a van. I meet people that I would not meet otherwise. I try to make time to chat with them instead of just hurrying on my way. What’s the big rush, anyway? I try to look into their faces and make eye contact. I tell them my name and ask their names. Most people are willing to talk if you appear willing to listen. Today at the laundromat, I met a guy named Duran. He was an overaged hippy who performs with devil sticks at festivals. Normally, I would never have met Duran. I’d be home.

I didn’t have to pay any attention to him, but he appeared eager for some. He was busy replacing the grip tape on the devil sticks. He had a lapful of tape, scissors, a knife, and other necessities. As soon as we spoke, his bright blue eyes lit up, and he described 25 years of traveling around.

This is what my book is about, and it is what my current trip is about. We spend too much time at home, in my opinion, and too little time exploring the world around us. In the end, we don’t own our homes and possessions; they own us. We can’t leave home. Who would take care of the house? What about the lawn? Who will cut it? Someone has to pick up the mail every day.

 I am not against home ownership. I had a home for 40 years while raising my kids. But I am in favor of getting out and traveling simply. I am in favor of meeting the common man, not hiding in expensive resorts that curate human beings for us as if we were actually museum artifacts.

 Hope to see you out there one day on the road. I will try my best to see you. Can’t you see? You can if you try.