My last job had transformed into Lessons in How to Avoid Your Boss — the one person with a right to ask “Where are you?” The question would remind me where I wasn’t — following my own road; going confidently in the direction of my dreams; feeding my soul with creativity and travel, curiosity and wanderlust. We were driving in circles, he and I, round-and-round till the exit ramp became indistingui
shable from the dead-ends. Asked to account for my place in the world, I wanted to say I was ripping up The North Fork on my vintage cafe racer or spending the summer hitting minor league baseball parks in my converted school bus or making love to Camping Kitty at the foot of Multnomah Falls in broad daylight. I wanted to say I was handing out free flannels to flood victims in Louisiana or entering my pit bull Jameson in the Westminster Dog Show for sh*ts and giggles or building AdventureMobiles with my nephew Barry so anyone can tear up their own piece of turf. This is where our story begins, leaving our “jobs” and embarking on the road trip of our lives. A thousand miles of coolness. This is where we let go of whatever doesn’t serve us — everything that doesn’t fit on the bus. The rest can find its own place in the world. Here at Flannel Jack, we value experiences over things and opt for the outdoors over any mansion on the hill. We roam and explore and test ourselves. We live well, no matter where we wake up, or maybe because of it. We chase the present, when our minds and hearts are one and dreams roll out before us like an endless road. Together we ride, together we rise. Now the sweetest thing people can ask is the very question I used to dread. Where am I? Exactly where I want to be.
