The Very Very Beginning

It's 2011 and I'm 21, living at home in New Hampshire, and working at Dunkin friggin Donuts. I've just dropped out of the audio engineering program at college and I don't have a single idea about what I'm going to do with myself. I've been playing around in bands and recording the local artists around town on the weekends but it just doesn't feel like what my life should be. I find myself over at my best friend Clinton's house and he breaks the news that he's finally going to pursue his dream and move to California. I'm shocked. Not because he's chasing his desires across the country but that my best friend is moving far far away.

"I'm coming with you."

It's almost as if I didn't really get the chance to think about it before I heard the words come out of my mouth -- but it feels like the right the thing to say. Suddenly, from this point on everything has a new purpose. I'm going to get a new job doing construction in efforts to save as muuuch money as possible to move away with -- Clinton's working tiling floors. Almost every night we're meeting up to hang out and commiserate about our shit jobs and talk about how worth it it's all going to be when we're finally hitting the road to sun-shiny LA. We're absolutely amped.

My parents just bought a new house and I'm helping my Dad do some painting to a spare bedroom that was supposed to be mine. I'm trying to figure out a nice way to ease into saying, "I'm moving to California." I'm feeling increasingly nervous that my Dad is going to disapprove of my decision, when finally out it just pours out.

"So Clinton is moving to California, and I'm going to go with him."

Simple as that and he's instantly supportive. Something feels like he doesn't believe me totally - like there's a thick fog of we'll see in the air. He humors me, asking questions about our plans and potential departure dates. We gave ourselves six months to save and organize. I've made a decision and whether people believe me or not, I'm going to follow through. My grandmother might tell you over some coffee one day, "Oh Ryan, he's always gone after what he wants. He's such a smart boy. He finds something he likes and he just goes out and gets it!" All smooshy-faced Grammy compliments aside, she's right.

Six months goes by pretty quickly when you know that at the end of it, your life is going to change. Relationships are ending, possessions are being sold for travel money, and everything seems to be building up to being left with practically nothing else to hold onto except for a little money to start something new for ourselves with. I've cried about a lot of things in my life but I've never cried over being excited and scared at the same time. My family is all outside with us as we pack Clinton's little Ford Escort with the last of our belongings. My girlfriend at the time is there to see me off and I have no real sense of what the consequences of my decisions will be. As far as I know, I've got a pocket full of money, a car filled with everything I own, and journey ahead filled with brand new experiences. I say goodbye to my family and my unbelievable supportive girlfriend after rounds of hugs and kisses. We're doing it. We're about to drive to Los Angeles, with a Tom Tom GPS and not a damn clue as to what we're going to do when we get there. We're going straight rogue.

We're stopping at the gas station and I'm filling the tank trying to settle into this situation we've just gotten ourselves into. My sadness for an old life ending is being replaced with a feeling of limitless expansiveness that we can go absolutely anywhere from here. We've done all things necessary so that no one needs us anywhere at any time for any reason. In this moment I feel for the first time in my life a sense of absolute freedom; my life is in my hands and I can do anything I want with it.

We pull off and hit the highway west. Here we go, mile one of a three-thousand mile drive that would take us to places much further than we could ever anticipate.