On December 4th, 2020, I arrived back in Portland from Hawai’i for my overnight stay at a hotel. I had no idea what to do. I wasn’t supposed to be here. I wasn’t supposed to be anywhere. The secret contained in my book, “Disconnected: An Odyssey Through Covid America,” was body was supposed to be washed out to sea from a secluded beach on the Big Island.
I had figured out somewhere and somewhen in my travels across America that I was not going to commit suicide. I had never found hope, but I found pieces of myself that had long been forgotten.
Even as the pieces coalesced into booking the return flight from Hawai’i, I ignored time– and everything else. I made the destination and the finish of the journey the entirety of my existence. I had made the “now” the entirety of my existence.
“Now” was over.
Standing in that parking lot in the hotel in Portland, I knew I was completely screwed.
Aye, laugh or wince if you want, but there is a definite downside to not completing a finely executed plan to end your life. You need a “next,” and I had no idea what that was. I had no idea where it was.
My time on the Big Island had shaken me. I was scared. When I had started my journey, I had disconnected with everything I knew and was. Throughout my journey, I had begun to reconnect. In my book, I call Big Island the epicenter of disconnect. I had never felt more alone there than in my entire life. You’ll have to read the book to get insights into that.
When I left Chadds Ford in July, I was living, I think, in the top 10%. Maybe top 20%. Now, I was looking at acquiring the basics. Food, shelter, medications. With my bank account dwindling, and my credit cards maxing out, I was starting over in the hole.
Where to begin my next?
It was not as dire as it may sound. I’d been there before. Starting over from in the hole was nothing new. I was resilient, rested, and had the benefit of a skill set that would get me hired somewhere or another. But where?
Three places jumped out to me, but only one was realistic. At The Great Sand Dunes National Monument in Colorado, and the Apache Reservation in the Southwest, I had felt comfortable and happy in the quiet. Connected to everything while completely alone. I had also felt that way in Salt Lake City, on the Temple grounds. So, I drove to Salt Lake City.
It was cold!
In 2020, all the seasons had been delayed. Just a month before, I was driving through the mid north of the country in balmy, unprecedented temperatures. Summer had fought off winter a long time, but winter had finally assumed its customary hold on the country. Norms had returned and that meant a frigid arrival in Salt Lake City. Just north of the city, I had hit a patch of black ice. It all had me rethinking things.
I wanted to be warm to begin next.
My immediate “next” was preparing for the storm that I knew was coming. There was a reckoning heading towards me. I knew that as well as I knew I would survive it. It was just simple math, basic logical consequences of the actions I took.
I began the step-down process of weaning myself off of my meds. It was not fun. Each step down brought a new round of withdrawal. 2020 had seen changes in laws and my meds could not be quickly ordered. I needed an address to establish a relationship with a doctor.
Where to weather the storm? Like I said, I just wanted to be warm. The connection I felt in Salt Lake City, in the summer, seemed to have dissipated in the winter. I spent one night in the hotel there, called some friends, and then began my drive to just north of Austin.
Warmth and friendship took precedence. With the last of my cash, I rented a small house and bought furniture on Independence Street in Liberty Hill, Texas.
It was nice being by friends, nice being where I felt wanted.
Warm? As I explain in the book, Austin would have its coldest winter in decades, with the entire state shut down for a few weeks due to snow and ice. A laughable event in Philadelphia or Salt Lake City, a few inches of snow and ice, cut power (heat) and water.
One out of two wasn’t bad?
“Next” began.