10/03/2021
Twenty-four years ago, I started a journey. It was across country, and through myself, and I came out of it changed. For one, I started it as someone who wanted to write a book. And I did, though not the book I expected. There was a lot of that on the journey.
The book was called A Transcendental Journey. In it, I describe the places I saw and the essays of Ralph Waldo Emerson that I read, and how they seemed to somehow shape each other, and me, along the way.
Eighteen books later, I feel like something started there that has not finished. For one, I did not get all the way across country. I have wanted to pick up the journey and finish it. And I planned to do so next year, the twenty-fifth anniversary.
But as with that journey, my destination may have changed. Twenty-four years ago on the road, I started writing a play, one that has never been produced. I think now that the end of the journey may be to produce that play. I’m not sure where, but maybe New York. I’m not sure when, but maybe next year.
When I took the original trip, I sent occasional emails to friends and family, letting them know where I was and that I wasn’t lost (often). This time around I think this blog will tell the tale.
See you opening night.
