Where the Road Might Take You

And what it might make you

by Carl, aka “The Why Guy”

Key Message: Sometimes life on the road less traveled isn’t the one you went looking for — but it may be the one you need. Or the one that destiny chose for you.

My moniker, “Why Guy,” reflects my commitment to tackle deep questions that lead us to roam, hitting the highway, escaping into books, or exploring life in other ways.

There are plenty of how-to blogs. This is “Why-Do.” If you don’t know why, why do it?

In Brief (A recap for busy people)

This week, I share the exact moment when I realized that life on the road had changed me, possibly forever. You will find key moments from my 30,000-mile book tour journey, to an epiphany in the desert, to getting rid of almost everything I owned. The book tour failed to make a profit, but made me into someone else instead. I share what the road gave me, and what it cost me.

Why read it? If you are looking for something but not finding it, this might be for you.

The Rest of the Story. (For those who want to know more, read on. A 6-7 minute read)

After spending the first six months on the road conducting my own national book tour in 2022, I was exhausted. My dog and I had driven 30,000 miles, averaging between 200 and 250 miles a day. I did the driving because my dog did not have his driver’s license yet.

(Note: You need to know that this is no ordinary trip and Mr. Bones is no ordinary dog)

Driving through West Texas one morning in late March 2023, lost in the lonely monotony of the desert, I stared out at the dust and the low scrub, my mind vacant. Suddenly, I had an inspiration. I said to my dog, “Mr. Bones, guess what? I am home free. Home Free!”

At that moment, I was very excited. Somehow, I had decided to give up my sedentary life.

Death Valley seen from Panamint Springs on its western edge – from my collection

My Epiphany in the Desert

If you’ve never had an epiphany, let me tell you, it’s an amazing experience. It’s a revelation of special significance, a life-changing moment, not remembering where the grocery list is.

Although finding the grocery list is pretty special, too.

Was it a real epiphany? At first, I wasn’t sure. Like most people, I’d never had one. It felt profound, moving, and transfixing. If it wasn’t an epiphany, it might as well be.

A desert is a great place to have an epiphany. It’s quiet and lonely. Jesus and Mohammed both had their epiphanies in the desert. Theirs were a little bigger than mine, of course. A desert is a big, empty space that allows your mind to fill with enormous new ideas.

(Spoiler alert: You, the reader, are entering a world in which dogs talk. Get used to it.)

Mr. Bones looked at me and said, “What are you talking about?” Looking back at him, I said, “I don’t have the responsibility of a home, or the expense. I can get up every day and go in any direction, drive as far as I want, stay for as long as I like, then go somewhere else.”

“That does not sound like much of an epiphany to me,” Mr. Bones said. “You don’t look radiant as if touched by God, and you’re not holding any freshly carved stone tablets.”

“It’s not that kind of epiphany,” I said. “I started this national book tour looking for my next home, a place where I want to live from now on. Now, I realize that I no longer want a home. To give up my sedentary life requires a serious change of heart.”

No home ever again? Living on the road? What did this mean? Who had I become?

No Home, No Plan, No Problem

I realized I was on my way to becoming a modern nomad, but didn’t yet know what a nomad was or how the journey would transform me into one. But it was no turning back. You would think that deciding to become a nomad would be unsettling and scary, but a strange calm descended on me. It struck me as exactly the right thing to do next.

After finishing the book tour way up in frigid Fargo, North Dakota (10F, two feet of snow) in early April, I got back to Indianapolis in time for Easter in April 2023, as my Mom requested, feeling victorious for having completed a grueling national book tour on schedule.

A frigid April in Fargo - Photo by Paul Bortnem

On the long drive from Fargo to Indianapolis, 800 miles, my mind wandered. I began imagining that I was in a ticker tape parade, confetti floating down, as I rode in a convertible, and people waved and smiled. The entire town turned out to honor my unusual accomplishment.

When we arrived, there was no parade, and no reaction from anyone. It was as if no one knew, cared, or understood what I had just been through or accomplished.

That was a sobering moment. First, I expected the world to take note when I self-published my first book, but there was only silence and indifference. I had somehow convinced myself that a national book tour would make people take notice.

There are very few effective ways to get the world’s attention.

Making my Mark in an Indifferent World?

It was normal to hope that my accomplishment mattered in the grand scheme of things. I expected the world, or at least my hometown, to notice. It didn’t. The sun still came up the same way the next day. That deafening silence eventually forced me to realize the real prize wasn’t an empty round of applause — it was the new freedom of movement and a new life that I’d stumbled onto.

In any case, I knew that I had accomplished something. Now, I had to move on.

Maybe it was time to reframe the experience? I had accomplished my initial goal of doing a national book tour, then discovered that the journey had transformed me.

Scoring a Goal, or Moving the Goalposts?

Goal post image by Gene Avil

I had some tough questions to answer. What did I really accomplish? I had transformed myself by writing and self-publishing a book and carrying out a national book tour. By finding a new dream and following it through. Instead of sitting at home, retired, reading the newspaper in my slippers, I had written a book, something very few people have done.

After thinking it over, the official reason for the journey was to conduct a book tour, but the ultimate reason was quite different. The tour kept me away from home long enough to understand that there was another way to live. It made me survive without furniture and my other possessions long enough to discover that I did not want or need them any longer.

The journey gradually, silently transformed me into a modern nomad with no desire to return home or to resume a sedentary existence. But if I were a nomad, why was I still paying so much every month to store my belongings in another city?

Nomad with camel in the desert - photo Jyotirmoy Gupta

So, I drove 600 miles to Washington, D.C., and told the warehouse guy that I was emptying my storage unit, donating what I could to charity, and dumping the rest of it. He looked a bit disappointed to lose my business, but he said, “Well, I guess that’s up to you. Good luck.”

Lightening my Load?

It was late June, hot and humid, as usual in the Washington, D.C. area. I hired someone to help me so I would not overwork myself and die of heat exhaustion before hitting the road. We drove to a couple of charities and offloaded what they would accept, then to a second-hand market to offload some more, and finally to the nearest dump, where I had the oddly satisfying experience of tossing my possessions onto the enormous pile that is a landfill.

Town dump photo by Derek Lee

On the way out of the dump, the man inside the guard booth surprised me. He smiled and asked, “How do you feel now?” “A million pounds lighter!” I said. We laughed. “How about a treat for your dog?” he asked. “Would he like that?” Mr. Bones eagerly accepted it.

“Well, Mr. Bones,” I said, “We have no home to go back to. It looks like we are going to be on the road a while longer.” I expected a thoughtful comment. He looked at me pensively. “What are you thinking about?” I asked. “Peeing on more trees.” “To each his own,” I said.

To set off again without a set goal, heading into an unknown future, was far harder than launching the book tour. Yet, the road beckoned, almost as if it were alive. Distant places called out for us to visit. Mountains, rivers, and plains awaited our arrival. “Off we go.”

Tell Me Your Story or Share Your Dream

In upcoming posts, I will share tips about how to reactivate your imagination, live with less, roam with purpose, and rediscover joy. That is for a different day. Now, let’s conclude.

I’ve told you part of my story. Soon, I want to share stories from other nomads I have met. Fellow nomads out there, let me know how and why you hit the road.

Aspiring nomads and armchair wanderers—if you’ve ever wanted to pack up and roam, start over at any age, or break out of a stuck routine, please tell me about it.

Maybe you’ve started down your own road. Maybe you wish you could. Either way, your story could strike a chord with others or inspire someone else to roll the dice, too.

The Thinker, photo, Benjamin Lehman

Just hit Reply and drop me a quick note — I’ll send you a simple format to share your story. Don’t worry if you’re not a writer. Just answer the questions honestly.

Who is invited to share their story? People of every age group, every demographic, every walk of life. The more diversity, the better. The road is for everyone.

If this resonates, please share this Substack with someone who might enjoy it. It’s free, and it helps me keep rolling these stories out each week.

Want to Know More About My Nomadic Life?

My second book, Like a Buffalo, Roam, is expected out this year. Stand by. This blog is free now — please subscribe and share it with everyone you think might benefit.

See you on the road — by Carl (AKA “the Why Guy”) & Mr. Bones, the wonder dog.

(with my dog on a hike in the Sangre de Cristo mountains outside Santa Fe, NM)