We begin our lives knowing nothing, so much nothing that the thought of knowing anything is irrelevant. Then there comes a point, maybe in our teenage years and early twenty's, where we think we know everything. Somewhere around our mid-twenty's some life occurrence gives us a humbling smack in the face and brings us back to earth. Then begins the process of realizing how little we know. But it's new this time. Now we have a base of knowledge. We know things we like. We know things we don't like. We know there are things we know very little about, but we know they are interesting to us and we want to learn more. We know there are some things we just don't care to know. We begin to learn what levels of risk we are comfortable with. We try new things. We learn more. We learn more and more just how much we don't know.
I set off on this trip knowing a few things. I knew that I was going to hitchhike to the end of the world. I knew that I was going to spend a lot of time standing on the sides of roads waiting. I knew that I was going to learn tough life lessons of self-discovery. I knew that I would make friends. I knew that I would encounter difficulties. I knew that I would have moments of bliss shouting my triumphs from mountaintops. But I didn't know how any of those things were going to feel. That's what makes the journey so special. I looked at a lot of pictures of Patagonia as I was planning my trip, but there was no way of knowing what it was going to feel like to stand there, to taste the food, to breathe the air, to swim in the water. I read stories about other people waiting for hours to catch a ride. But what does it feel like to wait for hours, all alone, in the middle of nowhere? These were all things I knew that I didn't know: unknowable knowns.
So where the hell am I going with this? 'Damnit Jeremy, we want to hear stories about your adventures. Tell us what the mountains looked like, how cold was the water? We want to know about the German ex-navy seal that gave you a ride but never his name, then randomly appeared two days later and has become a new friend and mentor. We want to know about the Ukranian kid who hopped in the back of a truck with you screaming, "This is pure adventure!" on his first day of hitchhiking, then disappeared for a week only to end up being the one to invite you, the only American in town, to a Thanksgiving potluck dinner. We want to hear about the kid who stood next to you for two hours, not saying a word, seeming to be so rude and disinterested, only to find out he was deaf and scared on his first travel away from home, and how you helped him find his way. And all the rest. COME ON!'
Well my friends, I promise I have a million stories for you. Good, bad, scary, alone, new friends, triumphant, coincidences that can only be described as miracles. But I've learned that so many of these stories aren't ready to be told. Because they are ongoing. They are interconnected, intricately woven together in ways I still haven't completely grasped... because I'm still going, and so are these stories.
So where am I now and what the hell does this all mean? I'm currently in Punta Arenas, Chile. I'm getting dangerously close to my end goal. I'm camping in the backyard of a 'hostel' which is really just a woman named Romina's house with a few bunk beds crammed into already confined quarters. I asked her if I could camp in the backyard for half the price and she accepted. I can still use her kitchen, wifi, and shower. It is not one of my glorious photos of my tent in front of a lake or a snow-capped mountain. But I'm happy. She's become a good friend and she calls me to translate her Spanish to English for the other guests. I am here because a few days ago I was in Puerto Natales trying to find last minute cancellations to trek the famous Torres del Paine National Park. Torres del Paine is probably the most well-known and over-trekked park in Patagonia, with beer and pizza available at every campground throughout the park. You can charge your phone and take a shower. You see beautiful things, but you can't build a fire.
Well, I didn't find reservations. But what I did find was a map. A map of a trek no one around me had ever heard of. Not in a national park and not leaving from Puerto Natales but rather from Punta Arenas, a port city not known for trekking. I knew that I found something interesting and I wanted to know more. Now that I'm packed and on my way out the door, I will tell you what else I know:
I know that I missed my friend Rick's boozy-hot-chocolate-decorating Christmas party last night. I know that it was epic, because I know what Christmas parties feel like, they just might be one of my favorite things. I received pictures last night from sister of the snow at home. I know that a white Christmas in Seattle is beautiful. I know that it makes me feel nostaligic and miss home. I know that if you flipped the world upside-down, I'm on the other side. I know that for all of you yesterday was the first day of winter, but for me it was the first day of summer. I know that I need a good cry, not at all because I am sad or feeling lonely, simply because I am overwhelmed with emotion from this whole journey and I know I need to discharge and reset before the finish line. I know that is healthy. I know that I need to scream into empty nothingness from a mountaintop. I know that scream will feel glorious. I know that I need to feel the embrace of a hot fire after making one of the three river crossings I know are on this map. I know that I need to spend a few days lost with God. And I know that I am smack-dab in the middle of learning life lessons, difficult self-truths, and that at some point I know I will emerge a stronger and wiser version of myself, with a shit-ton of great stories to share with you all. I know that when you give a captain a map... hell, I know that all of you can finish that sentence.
I know that I'm happy, excited, anxious, prepared, and open-minded. I know that I'm going to miss saying 'Merry Christmas' to all of you this year because I will be in the wilderness. I know that it's going to be another epic journey that will become a marvelous chapter in my book. I know that it will not go the way it sounds in my head. And I know that it's not supposed to. That's the whole point of life, of chasing dreams. We learn that we are interested in something and want to know more, we need to know what this interesting thing feels like. And it never goes according to plan, because if plans were perfect we wouldn't learn lessons, overcome adversity, persevere, and feel that illustrious moment of triumph when we achieve. It's about the journey, not the destination. But it is the journey that makes arriving at the destination feel so damn good.
In this moment I don't know where I'm going, but I know exactly where I am. I am in the unknowable known.
See you out there,
J. James
P.S. Merry Christmas to everyone. The list of people that read this email is 37 and I've come to love that. I know all of you and I have you all in mind everytime I write. I am thankful for all of you. Thinking of you helps give me a voice, and having this voice gives me a creative outlet. I look forward to a day when this list is larger, should I continue this with future journeys, becaues I will always be writing to you guys. It makes it feel so personal. I love you all. I'm sending big hugs and warm wishes with your families and loved ones. This year I got called to adventure for Christmas even though it had not been my plan. But it's a call I hope to always answer.