Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
He just shook his head at me like a disappointed father, “Stop mooching off the land,
bro!”
Okay, then. Now I knew why I had been doubting myself the night before. I felt like a
fool. I was walking around Hollywood Boulevard with a bright yellow gas canister, telling
people about my journey, and they were ridiculing me. This wasn't in the script. Or at least
not in the one I had written.
I left the jungle that is Hollywood Boulevard and decided that I might have better luck at
a nearby gas station. I sat down on a bus-stop bench in front of the closest one, and tried to
relax. And by relax, I mean I sat down to question how was I ever going to make it across
the world when I couldn't even make it out of Los Angeles. Was Lina right? Was this whole
scheme just another means of escape?
Years before I met Lina, I dated a beautiful, smart, sophisticated, and kind woman
named Michelle. I was lucky in fact to have found all those same qualities in Lina. But the
comparison didn't end there. Michelle and I were together for five years. We lived together.
We made dinner together. We adopted a dog together. But the one thing we didn't do—or
rather, the one thing
I
couldn't do—was get married.
After five years, Michelle had had enough. She threatened to leave. I managed to con-
vince her that before we threw it all away, maybe we should see a therapist, someone who,
I thought, would naturally see my side, explaining to Michelle why being married is no
guarantee of commitment.
By the end of our fourth session, Michelle and I were refusing to speak to one another,
and the therapist was tired of talking. She sat back and suggested we do some more work
on our own before we came back to her office.
“Are you breaking up with us?” I asked her.
“No,” the therapist nervously laughed, “I just don't think you're ready to do the work
that this takes. Getting married isn't just about a wedding. It's about creating a connection
that can withstand whatever life might throw at it. That takes a lot of commitment. It takes
a lot of effort. It takes patience.”
As I sat on that bench, I wondered if I was simply being impatient. Something doesn't
work out in my life, so I find something else. I don't stick around to fix it; I just replace it.
I wondered if this trip was quickly going the same way. Would I have the patience to wait
for kindness?
I looked up to see a man walking toward me. That man was Dwight. I will say it here,
right now, to make it official: Dwight was my first angel. Resembling a young Jamie Foxx,
