Nathan

Nathan in the Sweetheart CityIf something can be done, I can do it. Or so I tell myself in poetry and late night thanksgiving before falling into the never fully drown through sleep of living on the road. When the scent of elk is just outside your window, the sound of scurrying birds and squirrels, when daybreak means every wall’s every window in your home will be flooded with the new morning, you never quite get completely to sleep. Which is fine, because I try and do most of my dreaming while I’m awake anyway.

On my first cross country roadtrip, only a handful of years ago, though it seems so far away, I was changed. I remember camping in the Manzano Mountain Wilderness of New Mexico and telling my girlfriend at the time that nothing would ever be the same for me. I’m not sure how literal she took that, but by the next summer I’d quit my job and was moving to England.

So much living has happened between then and now. Recently I made, perhaps a very poor, decision to leave my gorgeous, brilliant, magickal and foreign girlfriend of nearly 5 years in pursuit of a more solo life. “There is an urgent rush to live life.” So a page that I’d written reads, a small leather book that I’d chronicled the steps between living in a stick house and becoming a fulltime roadie full of similar scribbles. I needed some time to pursue whatever it is I’m pursuing without the balance of another adult. It’s frightening, because I actually do believe that just about anything is possible, and sometimes it’s good to have someone around to remind you that you’re mortal at times.

But mortality can wait awhile, as in these moments I’m consumed with little else other than a desire to move from place to place, meet women and children and the hard working men that keep this nation burning alive, and write and record it all for my own sanity. I am not running from anything, I simply like to run.