Like a Rolling Stone
Dylan in 1965 at the height of his creative genius
The Dylan album Highway 61 Revisited was released in 1965. I was all of seven years old. In those days, I did no rolling, except when “the big kids” on the playground put us “little kids” in empty steel drums and rolled us downhill for fun. They told us a truck would run over us. It was sheer terror.
Things have changed. It’s now July 2023.
I’ve been a rolling stone, a complete unknown, for over a year. I’ve been on my own, with no direction home. I don’t even have a home. I gave up my lease last year. How does it feel? Fantastic! It’s totally amazing, most of the time, except when it is not, occasionally, and then it sucks, but that’s just life.
Some months are better than others. June sucked. Hard. But it’s finally over, thank God. The worst thing was emptying my big storage unit in Falls Church, a suburb of Washington, D.C. Storage units are a total rip-off. They suck you in with a promotional rate. I figured it was a steal…but they are the ones stealing.
The scam is they offer you a low promo rate then increase it slowly
What they don’t tell you, although it’s probably in the 10-page contract, is that they can raise the rate at any time. When I left to travel around the U.S. last June, I got a 10X15 unit to store my stuff. They raised the rate about $25 every three months. From $200 per month, in less than a year, it went up to $275.
Then they sent out a notice that it would go up to $375 on July 1st, which is just highway robbery. So, I decided to get rid of everything except items which had sentimental value,. In my case, this included family pictures, my books and my CD collection. I have shitloads of them. Also, all my old bike gear.
Why do people put up with the constantly increasing cost of storage?
People usually don’t mind putting stuff in storage units, but most of us hate opening the unit and getting stuff out. That’s their business model. Make it cheap and easy to put stuff in storage, and then gradually increase the rates, knowing that people hate to drag their shit out, look at it, and decide what to chuck. Like the frog in a large pot of water that gradually gets hotter, most of us don’t know when to get out.
Even smart people often tolerate the intolerable until it is too late
It took me two solid days to go through all my crap. It was in the 80s and the humidity was high. We were sweating like pigs. On top of that, the first day was Code Red air quality due to smoke from the Canadian wildfires; the second day was Code Orange air quality. My throat and eyes were burning.
The air quality was code red on Wed and code orange on Thu
This is what owning shit does to you. It’s like a parasite, holding you back, dragging you down, wasting your money, sucking you under. Still, I hated throwing perfectly useful stuff away, but the corporatized thrift stores (Goodwill, Salvation Army) won’t take much of anything anymore. So, we had to go to the county landfill and throw away things that a poor family could have used: furniture, chairs, lamps, etc.
You find yourself thinking crazy stuff, like, where’s a poor family when you need one?
At least I finally got rid of most of my stuff. Now my remaining possessions fit in a 5X10 unit. I am exhausted, sore, and numb, all at the same time. So tired that I can barely think much less type a blog.
But now that I got rid of those useless possessions, I feel like now I can write my second book, which is titled Home Free. I realized that our homes own us as much as we own them. Many of us would feel free to travel more and experience life more fully if we could let go of all the shit we have accumulated.
But, you ask, what was that about not having a home? There are many arguments for owning a home.
Home is where the heart is. A home and a hearth are full of memories, but they also hold us back, weigh us down, and fence us in. Home is the address the government uses to tax us, creditors send us bills, the repo man comes to get the vehicle if you miss payments, and where the law will come to find us. Not that I am running from the law. I have nothing to fear. But I have never felt so free in my whole life.
The reaction of family, friends, and colleagues is interesting. Some people are appalled at the idea of giving up their home and hitting the open road, and others think it is the greatest thing in the world.
Many people have told me they wish they could do what I’ve done, but… then they reel off a long list of reasons why they can’t do it or won’t try. Some reasons make sense: they still have kids at home and they’ve got to stay put till the kids finish school. Or they have their elderly parents in a home nearby.
But for many others the reasons for staying put are harder to understand. They are retired, but they can’t make up their minds where to go next or what to do. Even though they find themselves longing for some sort of excitement or adventure, home is so comfortable that they just can’t imagine leaving it,.
Of course, none of this is any of my business. I don’t comment on their decisions to just stay home. If they don’t ask for my advice, I keep my mouth shut. As the old saying goes, discretion is the best part of valor. I am out here on my own, for my own reasons, not to tell others how to live, where to go, or why.
People usually don’t tell me that I’m crazy, although I can often see it in their eyes or hear it in the tone of their questions. Where are you going next? How long will you be traveling? And what is your plan?
That last question is easy to answer: I have no plan.
For the first time in many decades as an adult, I don’t have a plan. My kids are fully grown and on their own. Before heading out on the road, I checked with them and they said I should go have fun. My kids aren’t married yet. I don’t have any grandkids and don’t expect to for some time. I may never be this free again. For example, my health will eventually falter. I will need to live near doctors and hospitals.
My only job now is to write. The only things I need are a flat surface to write on, Wi-Fi to send my stories out or do research topics, and access to electricity to charge my laptop and my phone. I also need ideas for stories. The open road is the best source of ideas that I could possibly imagine. Every day, I meet new people; go new places; see, hear, and feel, new things; and think new thoughts.
I saw a motorcycle gang from Baltimore at a gas station in Roanoke VA
This is not to say that life on the road is as much fun as a barrel of monkeys, although I am willing to bet that barrel is a hoot. Sometimes life on the road can be lonely, but so can sitting at home waiting for the phone to ring. Sometimes things don’t go my way, but that is true for everyone at some time or another.
This barrel of monkeys does not look like it’s having fun
Yes, June sucked. July has to be better; I don’t see how it could be worse. But whenever I am down, a song will come on the radio, and it will transport me to another place, and soon all is well again.
“How does it feel, how does it feel?
To be on your own, with no direction home
Like a complete unknown, like a rolling stone”
For me, it feels great. Try it. You might like it.
