“Distance is an essential American pleasure, the greatest American chore. Each of us must conquer it.”

It took me 9 months to quit my job in the Senate. 9 months from the first time I decided I needed to do it to the day I handed in my resignation.

Uncertainty is fear-inducing for most people. In that way, I am like most people. Routine and certainty run my life. For over 5 years, I knew where I was going every Monday through Friday (and sometimes on Saturdays and Sundays too). I checked my blackberry at the same time every morning (as soon as I woke up) and at the same time every night (the moment right before I got into bed) and about 150 other times throughout the day.

Most people quit a job because they hate their job. In that way, I am unlike most people. I loved my job. I still do love my job. I miss it immensely. Never during my childhood, teen years, or college years could I have predicted that I would live in Washington, DC and not only live in this great city, but work for our government. My interest in politics was and will always be long-standing. I enjoyed watching CSPAN2 as a teenager because it made me feel smart. I was so excited when I first had the chance to vote in an election. Never though did I think that as an adult I would watch CSPAN2 more than I saw my family, my friends, and my girlfriend.

My time working for Senator Reid was the greatest blessing I’ve ever received in my life. I got to work for a political figure I respected (and always will) and I got to meet and work with people from every part of North America. Because of that job, I now have life-long friends who grew up in places like Las Vegas, Mexico, Georgia, Louisiana, Philadelphia, and a host of other places I’m only leaving out for space purposes. For a kid from Taunton, Massachusetts with no pedigree to speak of and no great academic background, well, how lucky could I possibly get?

So why would I leave a job like that, in a place where I was respected and well-liked for a world of uncertainty and all of the fear and anxiety that comes with it?

That’s a really great question that I just asked myself. In the most truthful sense (and this will assuredly be something that if you’re a future employer reading this to vet me you will probably raise a red flag over) I just didn’t want to work any more. I was exhausted. And my job was keeping me from doing the things I enjoyed. Traveling. Writing. Cooking. Sleeping well. Not having anxiety attacks. Eating dinner with Amanda. And so on.

When I explained to people what I was doing during the month-long period between submitting my resignation and actually leaving, I was struck by the reactions. Some people hugged me and expressed joy and envy. Others thought I was dying of a disease. Still others questioned why someone would want to leave a job. The general trend though was that the “lifers” (those people who had been working on Capitol Hill for 20+ years) were those that fell into the first group. These are people who were journalists or staff members who had given so much of themselves to their cause. These are people who didn’t do what I was planning to do when they were 29. And these were people who, by and large, regretted that.

So for all of the 30-somethings who said it was a bad career move, I was comforted by the more experienced people with the greater perspective who saw very clearly that prestigious employment, even in a town like This Town, isn’t more important than personal happiness. Those people gave me the inspiration to make this happen. Without that support, those final days in the Senate would have been more difficult for me than they were.

And so, as you know, I hit the road. I had absolutely no idea how much of a challenge my road trip would be. I could not have accurately estimated how lonely the road can be when you know at the end of the day, you won’t be seeing someone you know. There were moments where I felt completely empty. Those usually came when I was out of place.

Near the end of my trip I needed to stop for gas and a bathroom break in the town of Dalhart, Texas, way up in the panhandle, north of Amarillo. I will never forget the glare I received from a woman who saw my license plate before she saw me. The glare said, “Get out of here.” It was cold and mean and frankly everything I would expect from a small-town Texan, unfortunately. Inside the gas station, the attendant would not make eye contact with me when I paid for my Coke. It felt like the sort of scenario you’d experience in a dream. Experiences like that sour you on not just individual people, but on the towns and cities they live in.

Once I left Los Angeles, I decided that I didn’t want to be on the road anymore, which presented a rather difficult logistical problem, namely that I was 3,000 miles from home, in my car. At that point, I had run out of the strength it takes to walk into a new restaurant every night, pull up a seat at the bar, and hope that someone nearby was in a talkative mood. And then, even if they were feeling gabby, I was just repeating the same story to a different face. “No, I’m not from here. I’m from Washington, DC. I’m on a road trip. Yes, I’m by myself. No, I have a girlfriend. Yes, she’s very understanding. No, traveling alone is not everything it’s cracked up to be. I worked in the government. No, I don’t have a job anymore. No, I’m not sure what I’m going to do when I get home. Yes, my chicken is delicious, thank you.” It’s an exhausting endeavor. I love people and I especially love people’s stories and backgrounds. But after 3 weeks, you just sort of stop caring about their own stories and, even more, your own.

The open road is romanticized in prose. And it’s long been romanticized in my head. I thought that spending a handful of hours on the road by myself every day would make things clear. I’d know what I wanted to do professionally. I’d decide, once and for all, whether or not I want to stay in DC. My life would become clear. And I had done the cross-country road trip before, albeit with Amanda. I knew how to travel. It would be a breeze. A freeing, comforting breeze.

Instead, I spent those hours thinking about every conversation I’ve ever had in my life. I would find myself lost in thought going over conversations I had with classmates in 4th grade. One night, when I couldn’t fall asleep because the time zone changes had caught up with me, I spent a solid hour trying to pinpoint the exact most important moment in my life. Then, I turned that into a sort-of Rorschach test:

Given the choice, would you rather (a.) Witness the most important moment in your past or (b.) Witness a randomly selected (presumably by the god or genie who is allowing you to do such  a thing) 5 minutes of your future life. Eventually, I turned the TV on.

By the way, I chose A.

One thing a lot of people told me before I left was, “Wow, I wish I could do that.” I could not discourage you enough from taking a trip like this. Spending all of your days alone can be a very sad experience. I pride myself on being independent. I like going to the movies alone. I like driving alone. I also prefer to sleep alone (Amanda knows this. Please don’t think I’m dropping some great bombshell here). If I learned one thing from my trip it is this: I’m not as independent as I’d like to be. I need the comforts of my life, primarily the people who bring me great comfort and joy. Three weeks is not a long period of time. I get that. But the days move by very slowly when you have no one to turn to when you’re feeling alone or when you’ve spent too much time reflecting on your “self.” Self-reflection, like black tar heroin, is great. But only in moderation.

The quote at the top of this post is from Esquire Magazine’s “75 Things Every Man Should Do Before You Die.”It’s a ridiculous list. Very Esquire. The quote is a companion for the number 9 item: “Drive By Yourself Coast to Coast.”

I conquered “the greatest American chore.” The relief I felt when I walked into my apartment at the end of my trip was unlike anything I’ve ever felt. Did it make all of the lonesome, sleepless nights in cookie-cutter hotel rooms worth it? Absolutely not. But it certainly gave me an appreciation for what I have in my life. And so if that’s the lesson of all of this, well, lesson learned.

TRIP STATISTICS, FACTS, LISTS, MINUTIAE:

October 7-28
Total Distance Traveled: 7,582.5 miles
Total Driving Time: 134 Hours, 1 Minute
Amount Spent on Fuel: $756.23
Average Fuel Economy: 35.5 MPG
Average Speed: 58 MPH

Highest Elevation Reached: 7,500 feet above sea level (Mogollon Rim, Arizona)
Lowest Elevation Reached: 225 feet below sea level (Salton Sea, California)

U.S. License Plates I did not see:
Connecticut
Delaware
Kentucky
Louisiana
Maine
Mississippi
Rhode Island

I saw my first Kansas license plate 5 miles south of the Kansas border. Kansans do not like to leave their state.

Cheapest Gas: $2.95/gallon in Hamilton, MO

Favorite (ironically) Roadside Highway Sign: Somewhere in rural northern Missouri: A confederate flag next to a hand-painted sign that read “IMPEACH THE CLOWN.” I wonder who that educated fellow is talking about…

I saw a lot of confederate (I refuse to capitalize the word) flags in Kansas and Missouri, which reflects very poorly on those two places.

Best Breakfast: Bison Benedict at Main Street Overeasy in Bozeman, Montana
Best Lunch: Pork Carnitas Burrito from Yuca’s in Los Angeles (Los Feliz)
Best Dinner: Chicken Mole at The Dish in Boise, Idaho

Album of the Trip: Haim’s “Days Are Gone.” I went back to this album any time I needed a pick-me-up. Just a terrific collection of pop songs with nods to a lot of genres and styles. On the short-list for my Album of the Year along with Vampire Weekend’s “Modern Vampires of the City,” Generationals’ “Heza,” Chvrches’ “The Bones of What You Believe,” and Yo La Tengo’s “Fade.”

Best Hotel Experience: Staybridge Suites, Bismarck, North Dakota (Very comfy bed, large suite, functional shower head)
Worst Hotel Experience: Holiday Inn Express, Springfield, Illinois (My room smelled like mold, the fan wouldn’t turn off, and the rusty shower head dripped water)

Hotel Discovery: I’m a 3 1/2 star hotel person. I stayed at two 4-star hotels on this trip and found them to be an unnecessary middle-ground. Either stay in a 3 1/2 star or a 5-star. There should be nothing in between. I’d also like to add that at both 4-star hotels, I had the privilege to pay $10 for WiFi as well as the great honor to pay $5 for a 16 oz. bottle of Nestle PureLife water.

City I Can’t Wait to Go Back To: LA, obviously. But also Bend, Oregon
City I Can Wait to Go Back To: A lot.

With that, thanks for reading these. From here, this will return to its irregularly scheduled sports blog.

And remember, YOLOBus.