Think of how many commitments you have in your life. Agreements and contracts and relationships that will be with you for years into the future.

Now imagine what life would be like without those commitments.

These days, monetary commitments are a big part of what make large purchases viable. An iPhone would cost upwards of $600 off-contract and not locked into any particular phone company. Commit for two years, though, and you get it for a fraction of that cost.

Unfortunately, these are the types of commitments that are harmful long-term. Not only are you locked into using a particular network for two years, you’re also committed to paying a certain amount of money every month for that amount of time. Your overhead has increased, and will stay increased, regardless of how your life changes in that time period.

Similarly, most people rent apartments for a year or more at a time. This is the kind of decision that impacts everything: you are stuck in that apartment for at least a year, and short of breaking the contract (which can be tricky to do), you have no way out. You owe a certain amount of money each month for at least a year, you will live in the same place for at least a year. Your year is pre-planned, and nothing that happens during that year can change that.

If you want to scale down — make less money for a bit, but take more time for yourself — you can’t, because you’ve got a set amount of money you’ve committed to paying every month.

Commitments can be positive things, of course — it’s nice to know how long you’ll be living someplace so that you can plan ahead — but they do limit your options significantly, and perhaps more than most people even realize.

One of the most common complaints I hear from people who tell me about what they want to do with their lives is that they’re locked into a certain lifestyle. They have a job, they have an apartment or house, they have a phone plan, they have loans, they have pets and relationships and gym memberships.

There is nothing wrong with having these things, but it’s important to realize that having them limits your options. It may make sense to spend $100 and take on a new two-year contract so that you can enjoy an iPhone now, but doing so results in your paying more over the spend of the next two years, and results in you being stuck with that phone, and that plan, for the same amount of time.

Think back to who you were and what you were doing with your life two years ago. Are you the same person with the same needs? Were the technologies at the time the same as they are now? Were the variables in your life that guided your decisions the same as they are now?

Probably not.

The decision that I made a few years ago was not to eliminate commitment completely, but to put a ceiling on how long my commitments would last: six months.

Six months is the maximum amount of time I will commit to anything. In work, in relationships, in subscriptions or services, the most I’ll be locked into is six months. After that time, I can reassess my life and my needs and decide whether or not to continue working with that company, dating that person, or living in that apartment, but giving myself the opportunity to check-in and make that assessment has made all the difference in the level of freedom I enjoy.

There are things I’ve had to give up as a result of this rule, but generally it’s not too big an issue. If I want to rent an apartment, I have to look a little harder for someone who will rent for a shorter term. If I want to have a mobile phone plan, I choose the monthly option and only use unlocked phones. If I want to date someone, I take the time to explain the philosophy behind this concept. Adapting this kind of lifestyle comes with limits, but they are far less invasive than the limits you remove.

This approach isn’t right for everyone, but for people like me, who value freedom over convenience, it’s the best I’m found so far. If you want to give it a shot, do what you can to eliminate existing commitments from your life, and accept no new ones beyond a certain span of time. It’s that simple.

At the end of the day, this is a lifestyle experiment like so many others that I’ve tried, but it’s stuck around longer than most I’ve undertaken. Thankfully, like everything else, this experiment is called into question every six months, as well, so if it ever ceases to suit me and the lifestyle I want to lead, I can easily cast it away, once again enjoying long-term gym memberships and discounted smart phones.

Car Guy is the guy who has a great car. The thing is really slick; he’s been working on it for years. Rims bigger than his neighbor’s rims. A big ol’ fin on the back. There’s a massive muffler that makes it really loud, annoying everyone for miles, but it sounds heavenly to Car Guy.

The thing I’ve always wondered about Car Guy is this: when he’s not with his car, who is he? He’s invested everything of himself into a thing, so what’s left when that thing isn’t around?

Car Guy goes on a date, and what does he say? “You should see my car.” Until then, he does his best to pass the time, just a regular Guy.

It was about 8 years ago that I decided I never wanted to be ‘just a Guy;’ a super-hero with all kinds of fancy equipment but no powers, and all my gear just out of reach. Instead, I wanted to BE the gear. A Car Guy without a car is just a Guy, but a Guy who is an Awesome Guy is always an Awesome Guy, no matter what he’s driving, where he is, or what kind of date he’s on. He has super-powers, not a losable, breakable, stealable, unwearable-on-dates utility belt.

You shouldn’t depend on something else to make you whole. You shouldn’t be defined by your car,  your online avatar, your fancy clothes, or your slick new gadget. You should, solo and naked in the woods, be just as epic and impressive as you are fully tricked-out with all the accoutrements of modern society.

And you do this by learning. By taking in new knowledge and becoming more self-aware. Over time, you become more confident, and over more time, you start to define your personal philosophy and a strong set of ethics. These are the things that make someone epic in any situation. A car is just a tool, and any tool works better in the hands of someone who sees it as an accessory to their life, not as a necessary component of making them whole.

FYI: I’ve started up a new business with some people whose work I respect greatly: Josh and Ryan from The Minimalists, and Thom from Mountain & Pacific (which publishes The Micropublisher and In Treehouses). We’ll be releasing more details soon, but it’s a bit like a community for independent publishers, along with a record label of sorts for authors of all flavors and all kinds of published materials.

Sign up to receive more details — and get in on the ground level of things — at asymmetrical.co.

Jóna and I completed a road trip around the US, managing to set foot in all 48 continental US states in under 60 days, and doing it all in Greyhound buses.

Then, Jóna left the US, heading back to her home in Iceland, which ended our traveling together, and also ended the relationship we’d enjoyed for the past year-ish.

Finally, a few days ago I completed my newest book; a sequel of sorts to ‘My Exile Lifestyle,’ which is called ‘Iceland, India, Interstate,’ and tells the story of my past year, and all the adventures therein, using the relationship with Jóna as kind of a chronological meter.

Of these three completions, the relationship with Jóna brings with it the biggest lifestyle change. I didn’t plan to date her for a whole year when we first met — in fact, we had both only intended to date for the final month I was in Iceland! — but it ended up being an incredibly valuable experience, and the past year has been my best yet as a result.

Finishing up a road trip, especially one that goes on for two months, is a big lifestyle shift, as well. We spent about 60 days running from place to place, spending an inordinate amount of time in Greyhound stations, sitting on buses, staring out windows, interacting with incredibly impoverished and legitimately crazy people, and visiting folks in different parts of the country, all of which had different lifestyles and world views, which we had to adapt to while on their home turf.

When I was young, and a Boy Scout, I went on a few day-long canoe trips, and when they were over it would be tough to sleep, because I would still be able to feel the rocking of the boat any time I lay down. I’m in a similar state now: I find myself mentally preparing to pack my bag, grab my ticket, and head for the station, but then realize I don’t have to; I can hold still for a bit.

But in holding still, I found other things to fill my time. My new book has been knocking around in my head for a very long time, and being able to sit down and write it was therapeutic. After a few weeks of doing little but write, however, I’ve come to another ending. Although there are still edits to make and a launch to prepare, I feel my brain crying out for stimuli. I’ve been taxing it for so long, loading it down with adventures and projects and relationships that now, when I’m sans these things, it feels like I’ve hopped off a trampoline, and my legs are still accustomed to being able to take me higher.

This feeling won’t last, though, it never does. I have a new project that’s already been conceived, and is just waiting to be presented to the world, and two more books that I’d like to write before heading out to Romania in June; moving to Romania, of course, will be a new adventure that my excitement-hungry brain will revel in.

So for now I sit here in Columbia, Missouri, happy to have some time to visit with my family and sit quietly (a rare treat), but ready — always ready — for that next new fix: that new start, which will give me something to finish.

I tallied up the votes for the next country I’ll move to today, as a birthday gift to myself, and Romania came out on top; a shocking turn-of-events, because until just a week and a half ago, it wasn’t even in the top 5. I’ll write a post about this soon, but I’m already psyched to make the move, and looking forward to learning more about this country that got such lovely comments by the folks who voted for it. I’ll be moving there in June, so I’ll be seeing you soon, Romanians!

What am I doing until June?

I’m spending time with my family, which has been (and will continue to be) nice. I’m also finishing up my next book — a sequel to My Exile Lifestyle — and I’m planning on having it in pretty good shape by the end of April, on the e-shelves in May.

I’ve also started up a new business with a couple of guys you might recognize. Joshua Millburn, Ryan Nicodemus, and Thom Chambers. Perhaps predictably, this new venture is publishing-related. Less-predictable is the model we’re fine-tuning. You’ll be hearing a lot more about this from us in the very near-future.

Finally, Jóna and I have finished up our Greyhound road trip around the US, and though we’re still recovering from such a whirlwind tour around the country, we are proud to have seen such beautiful landscapes, met such wonderful people along the way, and undertaken such a brazen adventure for its own sake. I’ll be writing up a guide on how you can do the same (and what we learned along the way) once I’m done writing the above-mentioned book this month.

UPDATE: I’ve been getting people asking what they can get me for my birthday, and that is just frickin’ ridiculously cool, folks, so thanks for the thought! I’ve got everything I want at the moment, but if you want to put another smile on my face, maybe pick up one of my books you haven’t read from Amazon (they’re cheap!), or take a look at Exiles and consider subscribing (it’s also quite cheap! The next issue is being released tonight, too!). Otherwise, just keep being the amazing people you are and stay in touch :)

I started my first company at 19, and back then I had ideas, but little practical knowledge of how to run a business. I had a few successes and a lot of flops, and it was exciting, but it wasn’t sustainable. I ended up taking a job when I graduated from college, and after a year of that, decided to give working for myself another go.

Thankfully, by that time I had acquired a fairly large body of knowledge involving the nuts and bolts of business, not just big, bold, brash ideas of how I was going to do everything differently and better than it’s ever been done before. Melding my vision with reality has been a harsh pill to swallow sometimes, but I’ve found that certain supposedly-unbreakable rules can be bent, and in many cases, bending can be most satisfying.

It’s with this in mind that I present you with a list of reasons I would work for someone else.

I should note ahead of time that I’m not planning to work for anyone else, nor do I particularly relish the thought, but I’ve been asked the question, “Would you ever go back to working for someone else again?” in the past, and have always answered (incorrectly) that there is no way in hell I would ever do so…I love the freedom of what I do now far too much.

Giving it more thought (as I’ve been able to do with a LOT of things during this road trip I’m currently on), however, I’ve come up with some properties of a job that would convince me to work for someone else (at least for a while), rather than being an independent agent, answering to no one but myself, as I am now.

1. Temporary

I’ve found that the best things in life tend to be temporary. Relationships can be better, for example, when they have a time limit, because then both people stay excited, don’t get hung up on tiny issues, and are able to make the most of the time they have.

I see the same theory working well with employment. I feel that I would be far more effective and excited about the work I was doing if I knew when my stint doing that kind of work for whomever I was working for would end.

Ideally, this would be somewhere between 6 months and 2 years, though it would really depend on the work, and who it was with. I wouldn’t want to get started and leave before I could achieve anything noteworthy and cool, but I also want to know when I’ll be done, so that the little things that would normally bug me otherwise about such work situations can be back-seated, and the opportunity can stay firmly in the honeymoon stage for the duration.

2. Flexible

Remote working would be ideal, but I could even fathom doing something where I was stuck in one spot, so long as I had super-flexible hours.

Ideally, it would be something with loose hours but firm goals; I like reaching goals, but I also like to know that if I reach them in a clever, time-saving way, I won’t be punished for doing so with more work to ‘fill the hours.’

It would also be nice to have the opportunity to explore different facets of whatever industry I’m involved in, which is not always a possibility, especially in cog-meet-machine style work environments.

3. Game-Changing

There are a lot of ways to get into work you’re doing, but I make it a focus to spend my time on things that I consider to be epic in some way.

This can mean being involved with the construction or promotion of some industry-upsetting technology, working with people who are aiming to do something that’s never been done before, or even just getting to participate in a field that’s unusual or nifty.

Fields I think are amazing: private space travel, electronic currency, augmented reality, decentralized internet-style networks, higher-education alternatives, new publishing; there are others. You bet your ass.

4. Challenging

I can always make money, but challenges worth applying myself to are fewer and far between.

To work for someone else, I would have to know that what I was doing would challenge me to learn new things, push my limits, and, hopefully, solve some problems along the way. When I go to sleep at the end of the day, I like to know I made a difference in some way. The same would have to be true for any job I might consider taking.

Of course, this is all just speculation, and I doubt something will come along that fulfills all these requirements, and I’m totally okay with that. I like where I’m at and where I’m going.

But this is a list I think every entrepreneur should make for themselves and have handy, just in case an opportunity comes along to work for someone else that might otherwise be missed because of misguided dogmatism.

After all, rules can be bent, and sometimes it’s most satisfying when they are.

If someone is watching sports on TV, I’ll likely go in the other room and read. If I’m invited to watch a game live, I’ll usually pass, opting to do just about anything else instead.

And yet, just a few days ago, I gladly walked a handful of blocks from the Hotel Modern here in New Orleans to the local NBA stadium, eagerly anticipating the game and pre-game festivities.

Granted, the walk was led by a bull-like, dancing black man, dressed in bright red regalia like a some kind of sassy Native American, and the pre-game festivities involved a talk by, and Q&A with, the president of the New Orleans Hornets. We were also served many drinks and countless foodstuffs.

It was a good sell. Although I was tired beyond belief, I still had a good time, and that speaks volumes for how the event was presented and delivered.

A handful of months ago, I was contacted by a representative from a group called NOLA Bound, and was asked if I would be interested in putting my name in the running to be brought to New Orleans for 4 days, all expenses paid, so I could check out the town, meet local tastemakers and influencers, and see how the city’s been doing in the wake of Katrina and everything that has happened since.

I didn’t think much of it until I received an email a few months later, informing me that I had been chosen; where shall they send the plane tickets? At that point I had already planned out the outlines of the US road trip I’m currently engaged in, so I set New Orleans as my halfway point, certain that it would end up being a nice break if nothing else; a free bed and some free food in the land of excess. A nice way to rest after bussing it around half the US.

I was wrong on one count: I didn’t get much rest.

Thankfully, the tradeoff was worth it. Myself and 26 other influential folk from various industries (medical, sustainability, digital media, artistic endeavors) were treated to more food than we could eat, more hands than we could shake (all attached to amazing people), and more activities than we could possibly undertake. I did all I could to catch shut-eye, and still I ended up with a great deal of sleep debt piled up next to the business cards and swag I accumulated over the span of the program.

We had our own tent (and food and drinks) at a music festival. We had box seats at the Hornets game. We ate at some fabulous restaurants and hobnobbed with the owners. We attended galas at the home of a jazz legend and a movie studio. We were given passes to several entrepreneurial events and access to some of the biggest names in business and tech in the area.

We were also given free reign to ask what we would and tasked with figuring out what New Orleans has to offer people like us. There was a charming honesty about the whole situation: the people who were showing us around knew they were in an echo chamber down here, and although they felt things were improving, they wanted feedback on what they could be doing better, and how they could best frame their city’s story so that creative, intelligent folk from around the world would want to settle there.

I, for one, feel that the area has quite a bit to offer. Rent is cheap and hopes are high. It’s not flashy and the entrepreneurial scene is definitely not as big as it is in, say, Silicon Valley or NYC, but it’s got a certain charm; it’s kind of like seeing a town full of bootstrappers after hanging out with only VC-chasers for years and years.

Traveling the world, I’m fortunate to meet welcoming people everywhere I go, but that’s partially because I’m loud about my arrival, and my network is expansive enough that I can generally get in touch with SOMEONE right off the bat. This makes meeting people quickly somewhat easy, and a friend of a friend is a friend, so the open arms are not always universal if initial connections are hard to come by.

Part of what fascinates me about New Orleans is that the people who live here are that way to EVERYONE. Whether on a tour or walking around solo, even through bad parts of town, I had trouble finding anyone who didn’t say ‘Hey!’ or tell me that I should definitely go to some parade that’s coming up. It’s a variation of the ‘Southern Hospitality’ concept, certainly, but also distinctive from it in that there’s an edge…rather than being blindly welcoming, it’s more like the people are trying you on for size, hoping to figure out if you’ll be their next neighbor.

In this way, New Orleans is the perfect midpoint for this road trip, as we’ve met amazing people all along the way, and explored a lot of fantastic cities, all of which had something great to offer. New Orleans is no different, except that in looking around you can’t help but feel the same way; you’re trying it on for size, seeing if you’re the right type of personality to live in such a place. If you have the balls and personality to bootstrap your life a bit.

I’m hoping my path crosses with New Orleans again in the near-future. I’m not ready to settle down anywhere, but it would be fun to have a small house somewhere, so that when I want to take a break, I can hide away and sleep a bit (and not on a bus). Someplace I could rent out when I’m not there, or just loan out to friends who are passing through. Maybe it could double as an office and I could hire a few people to work on various projects and situate them there, as they have incredibly favorable tax laws…

You see what happens? The combination of at-home-vibes, cheap real estate, and a political system that is doing all it can to get doers to the area is almost too much to handle!

Something to note: I don’t know that I would ever have seen this side of New Orleans if I hadn’t been invited to participate in the NOLA Bound program, and been introduced around to people who already live and work in the area. It’s not that you can’t find that same information yourself, it’s just that you have no reason to suppose it’s there. I’ve hit dozens of cities on this road trip, and each one is great in it’s own way, so why should I assume that one or another will take the cake in any one area?

The doors were opened for me, though, and because I was invited in and shown around, now I see the city in an entirely different way.

I can’t help but wonder if the same method would work for other cities, other countries, or even other people?

Open your doors, invite people in, and see what kind of response you get. Invite people to watch the game as you play it, and even non-fans will take the opportunity to see how you play.

In fact I never really thought of South Dakota. I knew it was the home of Mount Rushmore, and that was enough for me. Everything else I had ever learned or been told about the area led me to believe it was the most boring of boring places in the US. Not worth wasting a thought on, much less a trip.

But the other day I arrived in Rapid City, South Dakota, and my opinion of the place changed drastically; though this almost wasn’t the case.

What happened was this:

After spending a few days in Minneapolis, visiting my brother and filling our hours with game after game of Egyptian Laser Chess and rounds of trampoline dodgeball with Joel Runyon, Jóna and I hopped a bus up to Fargo, North Dakota.

After 6 hours on the road, we arrived, only to be told that our planned path through ND and down into the western side of South Dakota wouldn’t be possible, as their routes have been changed (though not on their website). We would have to go back to Minneapolis first, and then catch another bus through to Rapid City, where we planned to snag a hotel for the night, hop a free shuttle to Mount Rushmore, and then go on our merry way.

Our stop in Rapid City could have been depressing. I’m not a big fan of tourist attractions, and the whole city (in my mind) was just a vehicle for the famous President-encrusted mountain. Further, after enduring an extra 12 hours in a cramped Greyhound that we needn’t have experienced (back and forth from Fargo), we were both quite close to the ends of our respective travel-tolerance ropes.

During a stop in Souix Falls (5 hours or so from Rapid City), I sat down in the Greyhound station and started chatting with another passenger, who turned out to be a roofer, looking for work in the area. Another man came up and joined the conversation, and he was involved in contractor work; essentially rebuilding towns after catastrophic disasters.

I learned a lot about roofing.

But the second gentleman and I (his name was Tom), continued our chat after we boarded the bus, and a few hours later, we had run the gamut from roofs to politics to science and technology. He headed back to his seat and we both passed the last few hours reading, but were pleased to have had a solid conversation in what was otherwise a quite introverted trip.

When we arrived in Rapid City, I found that my phone wasn’t working (apparently T-Mobile doesn’t operate anywhere in South Dakota), and was unable to contact a hotel to make a reservation and to see if any of them would pick us up from the Greyhound station that late at night.

Tom asked me where I was headed, and when I told him about the phone problem I was trying to solve, kindly offered to have the guy who was picking him up drop us at a hotel nearby. We gladly (and thankfully) accepted.

When Tom’s ride arrived, a duo of dogs exploded from the car and ran to greet him, followed by a fellow about Tom’s age (probably 50 or 60 years old) came out and clasped his hand. We were introduced to Monte, and as we loaded up our bags in his car, he said “Well why don’t you come out and stay with me?”

The automatic response most people have in this situation is to assume the worst. Who was this guy? What did he want from us? Did he want to kill us, or just rob us?

This reflex has been worn away in me by years of travel, though, so I quickly took stock, reassured myself that he wasn’t nefarious, and checked with Jóna to make sure she was comfortable with the arrangement. She quickly nodded yes, and our South Dakota education began.

It started with a drive around the outskirts of town, leading to Mount Rushmore, which was essentially closed for the night, but still accessible if you ignored the signs telling you not to enter. We had a dramatic view of the rock-faces, each unobstructed by weather or tourists, and boldly emphasized by the lighting.

I was impressed. It was actually quite the dramatic view, and in the chilly, empty, quiet night, it was even more so.

We were then driven to a massive log cabin, which Monte had built. He showed us around and explained how he’s building these castles because he likes the aesthetic, but also because they’re eco-friendly and perfect for the Dakotan environment. He also owns a log-cutting business — removing diseased trees so that healthy ones can continue to live — so the log cabin ventures fit well within his business portfolio.

After checking out the cabin, we went out in search of something warm to eat.

The restaurant we decided on offered up an interesting mix of standard American fair, along with some regionals specialties and Mexican food. No one would man-up and order the Rocky Mountain Oysters, but Tom offered to buy Jóna a buffalo burger, in part because he wanted to make sure she tried it, and partially to welcome her to the United States.

Warm fuzzies all around.

Jóna and I were having a good time, but were also quite tired. Thankfully, the next stop was another log cabin, and this one we would get to sleep in.

To say it was a rustic experience wouldn’t be quite accurate, even though the vibe was definitely woodsy and lumberjack-like. It was more like the place felt like home even though we had never been there before, and it was warm and friendly enough that we quickly fell asleep, luxuriating in the quiet held in by the log walls, despite the blustery weather outside.

The next day we went for a hearty breakfast in a small restaurant that smelled of pancakes and looked like a hunting lodge. There were real moose, elk, and deer heads mounted on the walls, and a signed Nascar tire above our table. We ate all we could, and then Monte and Tom took us to visit another cabin, this one past the Black Hills, and a few frozen lakes, which we stopped at to take photos and wonder over the pickups trucks pulled out onto the ice, each surrounded by clusters of ice fishermen.

We finally headed back into town and were dropped off in the downtown area, right next to the Greyhound station.

We all exchanged handshakes, hugs, and email addresses, and we offered up our sincere thanks, which were met with smiles from our chance tour guides.

As Jóna and I sat in the bus and pulled away from the station, headed toward our next destination, we smiled at each other and I said “You know, I didn’t hate South Dakota, but now I kind of like it.”

I’ve done this before. Those of you who have been reading for a while may remember the WBSQ Road Trip 2010 project I undertook with Ash Ambirge and Andi Norris (and for the latter-part of the journey, Maren Kate Donovan).

We zig-zagged our way around the country, and in the process wrote a lot of travel stories, created numerous (and somewhat bizarre) videos, and met a whole lot of really cool people in real life, including, but not limited to Josh Millburn & Ryan Nicodemus, Nina Yau, Matt Stillman, Elisa Doucette, Arielle Patrice Scott, Jodi Ettenberg, Daniel Noll & Audrey Scott, Amber Rae, Tony Bacigalupo, Kristin Quinn, Robert Granholm, Greg Rollett, Carl Nelson, Andrew Norcross, Nicole Antoinette, Jamie Varon, Adam Baker, Joel Runyon, Zachory Zorbas, Matt Cheuvront, Grace Boyle, James Ryan Moreau, Chelsea Latimer, Josh Hanagarne, Jenny Blake, Amber Zuckswert, Jun Loayza, Mark Powers, Josh Stevens, and many, many, many more.

These people (and the others we met along the way) helped make the road trip into an amazing experience, and I’m bracing myself to be just as blown away this time around. Thanks again to everyone involved in that last road trip; it was over a year ago, but I still have many fond memories of it that I check back in with frequently.

2012 Newness

This time, I’ll be traveling with a new blogger named Jóna Hildur Sigurðardóttir.

Those of you who are subscribed to Exiles will likely recognize Jóna as the gal I dated at the end of my time in Iceland, and who I then convinced to come live with me in Kolkata. She also happens to be a professional sushi chef, an educated expert in comparative literature, and one hell of a fashion designer. You may also know her as ‘That Chick With Blue Hair and the Enormous Salvador Dali Tattoo in Colin’s Photos.’ That’s her middle name.

On top of the change in travel company, instead of taking a car, we’ll be exploring aboard Greyhound buses.

Why Greyhound?

First, they’re the only form of ground-based mass-transit available in the US that goes all the places we want to go.

Second, they’ve got a fairly mixed reputation, and that interests us. You get from place-to-place using other services, but you don’t stand the chance of getting abandoned by your driven mid-route, or sitting next to an incarcerated prisoner. We’re not sponsored by Greyhound, either, so we assume we’ll get some great stories from the spaces in between cities.

Finally, they have this thing called a Discovery Pass, which is essentially an ‘all-you-can-ride’ ticket. We’re opting for the 60-day version, which will cost us all of $556, a ridiculously low sum (as you’ll know if you’ve ever taken a road trip and paid for the gas).

This is going to be a super-cheap way for us to see the country, and that’s part of the plan: we’re intending to put together a guide of sorts that will give step-by-step instructions on how to undertake your own ‘New Great American Road Trip,’ and the theory is that such a road trip could be undertaken by just about anyone with a few weeks or a few months to spare, regardless of how big their wallets happen to be.

How You Can Be Involved

Want to meet up with Jóna and I? Want to meet up with other people in your area? Want an excuse to get out for a drink or a meal or an adventure?

Excellent! There are several ways to get involved with this road trip.

One way is to host Jóna and I as we pass through your city or town. We’re going to be choosing our stops based on where we have a proffered bed or couch or floorspace to sleep, so if you’ve got someplace we can crash for a night, let me know and I’ll add you to our list of potential stopover spots.

Another way would be to play tour guide and show us your hometown and the things that make it special. In my experience, even the tiniest little township has something unique, and that’s what we’re looking to see. This is Jóna’s first time in the US (except for a short visit to Disneyland when she was a kid), too, so even if your town isn’t terribly interesting to you, it likely will be to us. Drop me a line!

Finally, if you want to get together a Tweetup in your area (a real-life get-together organized online), let me know. We’ll plan a tentative day to show up, and will try to get as many people in the same spot at the same time as possible. Even if just a few people show, there’s a good chance we’ll all meet some great new friends, share stories, and have a grand ol’ time. Down to give it a shot?

Again, our route will be determined by where we have places to crash and do stuff, so let me know if you’re interested in hosting, touring-guiding, or partying with us somewhere along the way!

Bonus

For additional inspiration, here’s a brief collection of photos from the last road trip in 2010. As you can see, everyone involved had a ball, and I’d love to have some photos of you to include as inspiration the next time around!

Thanks in advance, and don’t hesitate to ask if you have any questions!

The thought? “I’ve lost track of time, or time has lost track of me. I’m somewhere in between the pages of a book, and I’m somehow cramming about 48 hours into a single day. I’m the sharp edge of the page of the book. If I turn sideways, I’ll disappear.”

Needless to say, at that point I was quite sleep-deprived.

We left Kolkata unceremoniously, having enjoyed a going-away party several days before we actually took off. Jóna and I had planned to hop a train for Mumbai, but our third attempt at doing so failed just as badly as the first two. We resigned ourselves to enjoying a few more days in the three-bedroom flat we had been renting in Kolkata for the duration of our stay, spending most of our newfound time indoors, working on our respective projects and gazing longingly toward a near-future when we would find ourselves back in the First World.

Hot showers. I’ve been taking two a day since I got back. After 15 minutes of standing — perfectly contented — under the endlessly-hot waterfall of steamy, clean water, I emerge from my reverie and tell myself that water isn’t free here, though it is awesome on a level I never noticed or appreciated before.

Honestly, I’ve gotten very little done in the few days I’ve been back in the US. I visited with a friend from college after landing in Chicago, and he was kind enough to put us up for the night, buy us a meal, and not be offended that we just wanted to pass out after the stressful hullaballoo we went through just trying to get back to American soil.

The whole thing was a jumbled mess from start to finish.

We found out, after landing in Mumbai for a 5 hour layover, that Jóna would need to fill out some kind of form (they call it ESTA, even though it has nothing to do with the verb ‘to be, non-permanent’ in Spanish) and pay $10 in order to enter the US. This is, I might add, a luxury citizens of certain special countries (read: countries who smile and nod wistfully instead of speaking up against us when we launch an ill-conceived ‘War Against Whomever’) are afforded, and is supposed to be better somehow than simply applying for a visa. As far as I can tell, though, the only benefit is that you have faster turnaround on them telling you whether or not you’re turned down pre-arrival (though they still reserve the right to send you home after you arrive).

From there, the friendly Cathay Pacific manager (who informed us about ESTA) also informed us that Jóna would need a return ticket from the US, leaving from her port of arrival (in this case, Chicago). The irrationality of this necessity is boggling, as it seems to assume that someone visiting the US, potentially for months, will not be leaving the city they arrive in.

In our case, Jóna was planning to road-trip with me around the US until the end of April, at which point she would head back to Iceland. Turns out, however, that IcelandAir doesn’t fly out of Chicago. Furthermore, as helpful as Cathay Pacific was throughout all of this (they allowed us to occupy one of their office computers for a solid 4 hours while trying to sort everything out), their terminals were running some old version of Internet Explorer, so every time we tried to purchase a refundable ticket from Chicago to someplace international, the browser would crash and all of our hard-work would go unrewarded.

I’m not ashamed to say that by the time we finally just said ‘Fuck it!’ and bought a relatively cheap ($190), non-refundable ticket to Canada from Chicago — chalking it up as an unavoidable cost of travel to the US — I was a jittery, pissed-off, mentally-shredded human being, equal parts ready to punch an American politician (ideally whoever was responsible for that ridiculous ‘must have a ticket out of the US’ law, but any politician would do at that point) and break down into a sobbing, gasping lump of sleepy traveler.

It must have been something to behold.

But we finally got all the paperwork in order, and we hopped a 6 hour flight to Hong Kong, where we then boarded a 15 hour flight over the Pacific to Chicago.

Upon arrival, I made it through customs faster than I thought possible, but Jóna was pulled out of line after waiting in it for about 30 minutes and taken to a back room.

I grabbed our bags from the conveyor belt and set them down in front of a pillar, leaning against it and facing the room where she was taken, making angry eyes (without seeming to be making angry eyes) at the security personnel there. After 20 minutes of waiting, I went and asked one of the loitering guards when I could expect her to be done in back. He glared at me and said, “She’ll be out when she’s out.”

I choked back a snide, “Thank you, that was very helpful; ass,” returned to my pillar and shifted my glare to the pudgy Homeland Security rent-a-cop that had so rudely answered my question.

After another 15 minutes she emerged. I asked her, “What did they do to you?” expecting to hear a tale of full-cavity searches and violent waterboarding.

“They questioned me for a bit. They wanted to know if we were planning to get married while I was in the country. You know, for a green card.”

We laughed in relief and at the ridiculousness of the prospect. “If they only knew how silly a question that was.”

We kissed, picked up our bags, and walked toward customs.

This post was stolen from the pages of Exiles, my everlasting ebook, which you can subscribe to (or find out more about) here.

This is because a price tag of any size creates a barrier-to-entry that will automatically exclude a large group of people. Nowhere is this truer than online, where ‘free’ has become synonymous with ‘content’ for many people, and the Napster Generation has subtly but definitely found that anything made of pixels can be had without that price tag, should they look around hard enough.

It’s an issue that has some industries up in arms, but it’s a situation I find appealing for a few reasons.

The first is that I enjoy being able to give work away. A big part of why I do what I do, and have set up my lifestyle the way that I have, is so that I will always be creating extra value I can give to people without worrying about cutting into my overall payout at the end of each year.

The second is that I enjoy solving problems. I find it to be an interesting challenge, promoting my work, knowing full well that I am competing against my own work provided elsewhere, for free. It means I have to go above and beyond in terms of interaction, ease-of-access and pricing structure, and it’s something I do willingly; I benefit from the culture-of-free that has sprung up around the net just as much as anyone else.

Finally, I like that free has become so easy to achieve when that’s what you’re aiming for.

Joshua Millburn and Julien Smith approached me with an idea not long ago; one that involved taking some of our best work and making it available for free. The small barrier to entry (cost) would be dropped for a few days, and people could grab what they wanted of our product, damn the consequences.

The choice was a simple one for all three of us, I think, because these days it’s possible to create work and then have it available as an asset from that point forward. A decade ago, it wouldn’t be quite so simple, as putting together an ebook took a bit more work than it does now, and people didn’t understand the value of such ebooks anyway. Now, that simple file can be just as coveted as a print version, and perhaps even more so, if you appreciate the portability and versatility it allows.

So putting these thoughts into practice, I’ve set the new edition of How to Be Remarkable from ‘$.99′ to ‘Free’ for the next three days. It’s not a large discount at all, but it’s amazing how massive a wall even a dollar can build in some peoples’ minds, and the content of the book is something I’d like to share with everyone, even if some people don’t like making purchases online, or don’t have a buck to spare.

You can hop on over to Amazon and snag your free copy now (if you don’t have a Kindle, you can download the free Kindle software for whatever device or computer you have lying around).

You can also pick up Josh’s amazing collection of short fiction, Falling While Sitting Down, and Julien’s inspiring new work, The Flinch, both for free on Amazon for a limited time.

I highly-recommend picking up all three, and I ask you to ponder something while adding them to your shopping cart: what’s something of value that you possess that can be given away for free, even if just for a short while? What have you created that is so good that everyone should be exposed to it, regardless of whether they can (or want to) pay?

Don’t risk your business model, but think about it; you may even find that the additional exposure ends up being a smart business decision, not just a solid philosophical one.