People often ask me, “Don’t you miss home? Don’t you miss your own bed?” And those questions are easy for me to answer these days – I smile and tell them no. For one, I don’t even own a bed anymore. I sold it to a college kid in Indiana. People ask my address and I say, “2-0-0-2 Nissan, Quest, America.” And do I miss home? What’s home but where your friends and family are?
I’ve got a home in Oshkosh, Wisconsin with a blue-haired girl and her partner who introduced us to fried cheese curds and the rock ‘n roll revival.
We have a solid place in Oregon with a retired pro snowboarder who now races stock-cars and hosts jam sessions in his living room.
Got another home off Hollywood Boulevard where a guy in the film biz gives us a key and knows the really good horror movies to recommend.
Home is relative, and beautiful, and everywhere.
A lot of older folks hear what we’re doing and they get this starry, listless look in their eyes, and mumble something about doing it while you’re young, wishing they could do the same. I want to grab them by their shoulders and look them square in the face (respectfully) and tell them they still can. It just takes the resolve to shake off the American yoke of security. Maybe you can’t come back to your job, maybe you find a different one. Our country is a big one, and there’s a lot to see and do and eat and drink and explore and jump off of and embrace. You just have to look change in the eye and prioritize telling a story over installing a swimming pool. Getting caught using a classy hotel pool is a better story to tell your friends anyway.
Joshua Powell, aside from enjoying NPR and fish tacos, fronts a fearsome folk band out of Anderson, IN, called Joshua Powell & the Great Train Robbery. Connect with them on Facebook at facebook.com/joshuapowellmusic or visit their website at joshuapowellmusic.com to follow his adventures.