The Gifts Of My Journey

When I conceived the Inward Ride journey, I made a pact with myself: I would only make it public if sharing my experiences and lessons on a blog and on social media would not preclude living them fully. For loyalty's sake, I have had to be very mindful of what I disclosed, how and when I did it. Hence my having chosen not to make more in-depth blog posts in the weeks since I left Oregon and headed to Utah. I was experiencing something new, very deep, and important. I wanted to own it, to integrate it first.

Since I left in mid-August, many new friends have chosen to follow my narrative here, so I’ll explain this journey in a nutshell. With an over thirty-year-old history of depression, and of dedication to getting to the bottom of it, last March I had the most severe of breakdowns. I understood that there was nothing left in life as I had known it, in the way that I had lived it. I felt that I had been catering to an image of a man that had been culturally indoctrinated, but had nothing to do with who I really was. The rational construction of who I should be (a.k.a “the shell”) crumbled, and that man died in March.

As I buried the old identity, I found that I had nothing to replace it with; I only truly knew what I was not. The only path left was to understand what was real in my very personal experience. I had, over the years with depression, developed a practice of inner loyalty, of following a deep inner guidance that had grown increasingly stronger. That guidance helped me move on from the loss of the old, known “me.” And it offered a new direction: the open-ended motorcycle journey that I am now on.

So I opened my heart. I came fully out of the closet with the fact that I had been suffering from severe depression most of my life. I debunked the hiding places that I had erected in order to feel safe in the shame of my condition. I shared it with everyone who was important in my life, and I started to share it here, too. I asked for help, for love, and for support. I invited my community to be a part of my new journey.

Boldness and vulnerability don’t bring comfort, but they bring a sense of strength and the knowing that I am in integrity with my own path, that I am walking in my own shoes. So my confidence grew in direct proportion to my ability to open to, and trust, that life is wiser than I am and brings what I need when I need it, both in terms of lessons as wells as of means.

And it did. All kinds of gifts were and have poured into my lap, as I increasingly learned how to recognize them in both their minute expressions, as wells as in their magnanimous proportions. Kindness, generosity, money, books, guidance, friendliness, companionship, housing, food, joy and adventure are a few of the currencies in which those presents have been delivered. And then there was the supreme form, too: love.

I have always found it remarkable how life morphs into and out of existence at a moment’s notice, birth and physical death being the most prevalent examples. But relationships have that quality, too.

On September 17, I published a post entitled Longing Is My Middle Name (link here: https://www.inwardride.com/blog/longing-is-my-middle-name). If you haven’t yet, I strongly recommend that you read it, either before or after finishing this essay.

Around that time, she replied to a previously unanswered message I had sent her three months prior. Surprised, I asked, “why now?” She had read one of my blog posts and wanted to know more. Even though I am a writer, I am not a texter, so I proposed a FaceTime call, and we schedule it for the following day. 

The call came and went, as it did the next day, and the following. And in the most stealthy fashion, our effortless exchanges started “growing down” as psychologist and author James Hillman would put it, creating invisible roots that increasingly missed further watering. Without planning or anticipation, our new realities had been graced by love. 

In-between rides in the desert during the day, and cold nights in my tent, I missed her presence more and more. Our daily FaceTime encounters continued and lasted for hours, despite our impression upon hanging up that only a fraction of the actual time had passed. Modern-day technology was not only allowing us to interact daily; it was making it possible to grow a bond unmitigated by our physical distance. Our long hours had made for reduced sleep; although instead of the draining aspect of the previous “honeymoon passions,” the more she and I surrendered to our growing need to interact, the more energized we felt in our daily lives.

Days and weeks went by, and life started to change. Although there had been no diet change, I started to lose weight. I then felt less compulsive toward food and nearly stopped resorting to the anxiety-assuaging sweets. Serving portions became smaller. I started exercising. Being away from her was increasingly painful, but in my solitude, I felt more peaceful and serene.

The natural question became: “when are we going to meet in person?”. I was still over two months from the end of my journey, but she had become an integral part of that journey. 

The next few conversations included this topic more and more often, and the planning began.

A man jumps between rocks at Joshua Tree National Park, in California. ©Ciro Coelho/InwardRide.com.