I once had the privilege of attending a concert of the famed trumpeter Miles Davis. Hearing him play his “cool jazz” live seemed to be sufficient reason to enjoy the moment then, but I soon realized that his oblivious attention to the audience became the main source of my entertainment. Aloofly turning his back to the seats beyond to focus intently on his own interpretations for each selection, I reviled Miles that night as an arrogantly unappreciative performer. Finishing this brilliantly selfish performance, Miles walked nonchalantly off the stage without returning for the expected post-concert encore. I now realize that Miles did not need to prove his greatness to anyone that night nor did he need the attention of others to satisfy his ego. What factors then did elevate his status to greatness beyond the expected norm?

I spent fifteen years attempting to teach my skill-challenged college students in South Florida to pursue high standards of reading and writing performance. Unfortunately, expectations of success systemwide typically centered around the safe prospect of simply passing the class as a demonstration of minimal competency. Continuing my lifetime commitment to excellence amidst this haunting past of systemic mediocrity, I am attempting to implement three (3) ideas from my teaching days that I perceive to represent greatness through the act of travel.

1. Focus On The Present To Overcome Outside Distraction

As I recall my best teaching performances in college, poetry comes to mind. Immersing my students in the need to read for both fact and emotion, we slowly read each line of a stanza in class. By concentrating on being “in the zone” of present time then, they improved their focus for concentration on the academic task at hand and often learned lessons critical to their their own self understanding. In travel, I have similarly attempted to focus on the “now” experience of my surroundings rather than directing my attention to the uncertain fate at my intended destination. A brief glance of a snowy mountain or a casual conversation with a stranger in transit would stir my curiosity to better myself as a person and gain useful knowledge for future travel.

2. Let Intuition Guide My Projected Path.

The regimented routine of teaching often dictated rigid adherence to a clearly defined lesson plan. Over-reliance on tightly managed time schedules and heavily scripted teacher editions often limited my ability to make changes to lesson content when it appeared my students were not absorbing the material presented. The intuition of my Plan B psyche became my norm then as I frequently found classical music and You Tube videos to be an effective, non-traditional learning medium. I similarly have road tripped across the U.S., accompanied by a massive amount of map/travel guide information and my vehicle’s GPS directional guidance system for planning my intended itinerary of travel. There are frequent occasions, however, when I have intuitively felt the need the need to get off the Interstate highway to blindly explore countryside locations in more detail. Traveling Route 66 in the West and U.S. 61 along the Mississippi River have revealed meaningful insights about the history of this country that my research had not mentioned.

3. The Basics Propel Higher Functioning Abilities

In my youth, I learned the meaning of the phrase, ” You cannot squeeze blood out of a turnip.” If a student had not learned fundamental basics of Vocabulary and Reading Comprehension in high school, then there was a viable purpose for them to take my college reading class. In my 16 week semester, I systematically approached the instruction of each skill as a building block to the next one. By the end of the course, students who were initially diagnosed at a reading level of 6th grade were now able to function competently with academic reading tasks at the college level. Similarly, I have recently found that my attempt to sustain a lifestyle of world traveler would require me to build knowledge of deep, cultural values and second language settings to better prepare me for packing wisely, maximizing safety and spending frugally in my future globetrotting endeavors. I have additionally refrained from making comments about race, politics, and religion on Facebook/Twitter without sufficient background information of fact.

It is clear then that a true artist does not need the gratifications of others to exhibit greatness of craft. To remain relevant to the present would also skirt the real meaning of being brilliant. In a world of “what have you done for me lately”, one must set their own high standards of excellence in spite of the inducement to follow the expected road to success

One of the insights about  my retirement travels in the past two years has been the urgency to relieve myself of all the unneeded physical and emotional baggage from my past. Simply put, it is easier to live with less stuff when you realize the deception that luxuries are not necessities. Overcoming the fear of change complicates my desire to live a simpler life at times. In order to concentrate on my priority of downsizing to live more freely from my urban neurosis, then, I consider the following self actions vital now.

1. The Morning Fix of Newspapers

A morning newspaper has always seemed like an All American part of life, even though I have rarely taken the time to thoroughly read it. Rising every morning to digest the daily drug of world tragedies, depressing obituaries, and sports wins/losses, however, no longer feels motivating or useful. In addition, it puzzles me why I need to collect this pile of paper each day, which is largely composed of advertisements and old news. Become paperless now. Just click on my I Pad to peruse a variety of reputable news mediums and I might concentrate more thoroughly on a sharpening of my critical thinking skills instead.

2. The Study Den Effect

As I sit in my spare bedroom, I am surrounded by shelves of books that I no longer serve a meaning purpose. These memoriams of academic curiosity and career advancement collect dust now, as I attempt to free myself of egoistic advancement in life. No longer needing to hide in secrecy amidst my private library now, it makes sense to donate my collection to a more worthier cause. My Kindle Reader will offer me an electronic plethora of reading opportunities in any place of my desire. Why pay full price for a book now, when I receive through my Book Bub app each day, a list of recommended items that I can download inexpensively for less than $2.00 or even for free?

3. Clothes Hide the Person No More

Dressing for success brings up the question about the kind of person I want to be. Never buying into the ideas of modern fashion trends while living in a subtropical area of little seasonal change, I ponder a closet stuffed with clothes that I no longer aspire to wear. Do I really need the obligatory dress shirt or bulky sweater received each birthday? Does my passion for a winning team necessitate a box full of outdated football and baseball hats? Would I wear a tightly tailored suit anywhere in South Florida when humidity and heat deems a more informal attire? Simply put, the person should make the clothes, not the clothes make the person. Get rid of the clothes that no longer fit you in size and emotion and you are on your way to your true identity now.

4. It’s Ok To Have a Blank Wall

In order to feel relaxed at home, the less clutter the better. I never envisioned my home as an art museum yet it is obvious that framed art pieces, decorative wall hangings, and trophy display cases distract my visual attention every day. Gazing out my back porch at the serene lake beyond will sufficiently meet my needs for aesthetic beauty now. Digitizing my wall mementos as pictures and videos on my I Pad will enable me to make space at home while preserving precious memories.

5. Turn off the Reality Focus

The “reality show culture” that I have been subjected to through social media, news reports, and election conflict reveals a willingness to “dummy down” the human thinking process. Emotional bias and unsupported opinion run rampant on Facebook/Twitter while bookshelves in libraries collect dust. Teenagers use cutesy emoticons online to communicate with their peers as their writing skills in school settings steadily decline. Cable television stations like the History and Weather Channel sacrifice informational content for shallow acts of realism. The negative blame game occurring in the race for the highest political office in our country brings questions about the viability of the democratic process.

Imagine the story of Robinson Crusoe, who survived simply with nature on a deserted island, without knowledge of the outside world. In returning home, how would he feel about the crushing desire for materialistic affluence in our urban world? What positive values about life would he have learned from his harsh lessons of independent survival? Knowing that my island of self contentment lies in the present moment, it is time for me to say no to these endless diversions from a thoughtfully reflective life.

In an election year marked by vicious divisions in our country, there is uncertainty as to the direction our country will follow. I am alarmed by the extremist tirades of a Presidential candidate who incites anger and violence against minority groups, immigrants and his political opponent in this country. I am fearful that the fear of ISIS at home will lure voters to support isolationist withdrawal in an increasingly globalized world. I am appalled that our constitutional  liberties are under siege by an agitator who dares to build exclusionary walls or silence the free press in this country. I am repulsed that a Presidential candidate with no government experience or tangible evidence can indiscriminately mock our electoral system as rigged. As an American who must get back to his fall rituals of daily survival, I will continue to have faith in unity over separatism in these troubling times.

Our country will soon rejoice in the return of the gladiator ritual of American football. In South Florida, a full house of hero-starved fans endure sweltering heat and rain threatened conditions to re-embrace the game of football at Miami Dolphins Training Camp in early August. Observing the diverse representation of race, age, and nationality attentively watching today’s practice, fond memories return. I recall being a season ticket holder when each home game guaranteed a sold out stadium rocking with contagious energy for Dan Marino led teams. While football seemingly means little in matters of life and death, its potential to galvanize a community’s thoughts in hope of attaining a winning team again cannot be ignored.

As many Americans return from summer vacation, realities of daily survival routines re-emerge. In anticipation of increased retail spending, consumers will be enticed by tax free, holiday sales and back to school extravaganzas. In spite of the expected spike in middle class, economic growth, I keep in mind that there are many Americans who will still need help with the basic necessities of survival. Charitable donations and food/clothing drives would help to “even the game” for many while senior volunteering commitments would provide experienced mentors for those who appear to be overwhelmed by life’s challenges.

As students return to to begin a new school year, many will again recite the Pledge of Allegiance” as each day of class begins. Let the exalted meaning of this historical tradition serve as a role model for our educated masses to counteract the negative attacks on our political system today. Senseless appeals to violence and misguided acts of cynicism must not diminish the “good” of our democracy. Students must be reminded in these daily readings that our American system of government must continues to exist with “Liberty and Justice For All.”

It is time to take the long road home to South Florida. Facing the summer heat, in full force now, my wife and I long for the cool confines of coastal California once more. Aware of the necessity to travel greater distance daily for the sake of our returning deadline, car and driver seem to have united as one.

Loneliness sets in at times now to remind me that my loved ones at home remain faithful to my existence. Life on the road seems less glamorous as I ponder how my commitments will resume as a busy, South Florida resident. I am hopeful that the transition to become again a comforting presence for an aging mother will be a smooth one. Restless thoughts of unbridled, travel freedom, however, will soon return to urge me to get back on the road again.

Social Media today forces me every day to take a long look at my compulsive identity as a world traveler. Never enamored by gossip and innuendo, Facebook nonetheless provides me with a flexible tool for posting meaningful, travel information with social connections of my choice. Lacking the will to compose long, written letters to a few, selected loved ones these days, my weekly blogging on Word Press will enable me to commit to a theme of writing that touches a far wider audience of followers with common interest at no cost.

The truth of the matter seems to be that my aspiration to become an itinerant wanderer in retirement is a premeditated life choice. Home will never mean a permanent place now, but rather a temporary respite in the depths of my mind to prepare for the next adventure sought. The challenge of sustaining quality time with family and friends for an extended period, however, will remain the true test of this wanderlust commitment.

As the last days of our marathon road trip would soon end in Summer 2016, my wife and I decided to engage our traveling spirit in the always fun town of New Orleans. One hundred degree heat and periodic rain squalls would slow us down some, but not deter us from finding casual enjoyment in the renowned, French Quarter of the city.

In tourist friendly New Orleans, drinking alcohol with breakfast is a common sight. In fact, there are some unusual, morning drink combinations that might ordinarily shock the senses at any time of day. Finding a precious bar seat at the famed, Ruby Slipper, the bartender proceeded to demonstrate his ability to mix a favorite drink here: the bacon drenched Bloody Mary. Needless to say, I uneventfully opted for a more normal breakfast of grits and eggs to begin the day. Curiously eying a studious gentleman reading next to me, we engaged in an unexpected conversation about the impact of the Ottoman Empire in Europe. The conversation would soon turn into an opportunity to exchange heated views about Donald Trump’s impact on American politics.

No longer interested in “night owl” clubbing as health conscious baby boomers, we set off in early afternoon for a leisurely walk along the narrow streets of the famed Bourbon Street corridor. While curiously enjoying the party atmosphere of sexy burlesque theater, pulsating bar music and open alcohol consumption at this early hour there, I felt increasingly confined by the mob scene of tourists surrounding me. Ducking into the Famous Felix’s Cafe for a breather, we casually indulged in a favorite food choice of the area: Oysters Rockefeller.

Surviving the Bourbon Street gauntlet of hedonistic temptation, we now reached Krazy Corner. Quickly recognizing the Earthcam Video feed, broadcasting overhead at this intersection, I proceeded to wave and make funny faces at the inviting camera for all the world to see. How true it seemed, however, that the vicarious impression of a camera angle here could not truly portray the sensory euphoria of Bourbon Street madness that was inspiring my spur of the moment antics then.

Turning toward the tranquil, river bank shores of the Mississippi River now, we passed through the heart of the French Quarter, Jackson Square, to savor a famous French Beignet. I found time here to reminisce with my wife about memories of past visits to New Orleans in our youthful innocence as a twenty something newlyweds. We agreed that The “Big Easy”, as it is so aptly named, remains a unique place for us to indulge in spontaneous enjoyment at any age.

My wife and I had decided to turn south from Interstate 40 toward our home in South Florida to find relief from the relentless heat throughout the country now. Crossing the massive, expanse of the Mississippi River below Memphis, we had booked a one night stay at a cozy motel in Tunica, Mississippi. Once one of poorest towns in America, it had become revitalized economically by the building of glitzy casino row along the river. Weary from our three month trek on the road, however, the need for nightclub excitement did not interest us tonight.

The thought of catfish entered my mind somehow with the muddy Mississippi River nearby. It seemed destined that this prophecy of Southern cuisine would lead us to a place steeped in American blues tradition, the “Hollywood Cafe,” For it was in this tiny establishment of seemingly no interest that Marc Cohn sat at an aging piano to record his Grammy hit, ” Walking in Memphis.” Taking his inspiration from Muriel Wilkins, a blues performer at this revered institution, Marc’s song beautifully captured both the beauty and tragedy of rural, Southern life along the river.

Taking a closer look at Tunica I began to realize the true meaning of blues music. Along the Mississippi River, an inviting air of affluence prevailed amidst the glittery towers of riverside casinos. Further inland along Route 61, however, it appeared that many residents in the surrounding black community of Tunica proper remained abjectly impoverished in shanty housing and strictly segregated from white society. While the beauty of the mighty Mississippi River and surrounding resorts captivated the eye’s attention, the slow pace of change for the community as a whole affected me emotionally. Singing the blues then, I realized had found a musical outlet for expressing renewed hope in every cry of despair experienced here.

There is an undeniable allure that has brought my wife and I to Las Vegas again. With temperatures of over 110 degrees in late July, we have spent three nights there, to enjoy a little eating, shopping, and concert hopping. Not being party animals or gambling tycoons, nonetheless our itinerary incorporated an ambitious agenda of activities for daily enjoyment. These endeavors  included dining/window shopping at Caesar’s luxurious, Forum Shops, a nature photo breather amidst the desert environs of the Mount Charleston  resort, and a memorable concert of a legendary rock band accompanied by the Friday night freak show of the Fremont Street Experience.

On the first night, while we hesitated to go outside of our Harrahs cocoon of hospitality, we also found our central location ideal for visiting nearby attractions. Exceeding our daily budget, we splurged on an amazing Italian dinner at Carmine’s in the Caesar Forum indoor mall. It was obvious from the sumptuous ambience and quality service there, we had stepped into the sophisticated life of New York luxury. Perusing the glamorous but pricey aisles of upscale clothing and accessories shops after dinner, we soon realized our fantasy of Las Vegas escape had just begun.

Finding affordable dining became a major wake up call for us now. Venturing outside the strip on the second day, we found a less pretentious place to live. Suburban Vegas distanced us now from tourist glamour madness, enabling us to find inexpensive diners and well stocked supermarkets to manage our daily eating regimen. The dark side of Vegas living away from the strip, however, became obvious as we drove through a tedium of endless, urban sprawl surroundings teeming with homeless/drifter people congregating on street corners. It was clear to me then that the image of Las Vegas as place to strike it rich was very misleading.

On our previous visits to Las Vegas, we had always found its location ideal for outdoor relaxation in backcountry settings. While many tourists to Vegas would opt to book exorbitantly priced tours to the Grand Canyon or Hoover Dam, we elected to begin our third day to independently revisit a less ambitious respite from this urban chaos; Mount Charleston. Accessibly located northwest of the city, the appearance of Joshua tree groves and steeply reddish canyons on our leisurely drive up to the 8,000 feet summit as always did not disappoint. Enjoying the cooler confines of eighty degrees now at the mountain lodge, we ate breakfast in peaceful bliss over a spectacular panorama of mountain peaks, overlooking the arid Mojave Desert expanse below.

For the main event portion of our third day visit, we chose to attend the 40th anniversary concert of Boston in the Fremont Street section of the city. Concerns for sitting three hours in the 100 degree heat of the Las Vegas Outdoor Event Center subsided quickly as this iconic, classic rock band took the stage at dusk. Employing multiple guitar harmonies, impeccable vocal riffs and a mesmerizing backdrop of space age visuals, Boston rose to the occasion with a memorable set list of past hits recorded.

As the stars shone brightly for us, on this clear, Friday night, the fun would continue for us after the concert at the adjacent, Fremont Street Experience. Amidst the allure of laser light shows, overhead, zip-line daredevils, and bizarre, costume sightings, we curiously strolled under the famed canopy of “Old Vegas” past midnight. Picture a Bon Jovi video projecting overhead with a woman singing, who wears a Tarzan suit, with bosoms bared to all and you might have had an accurate picture of the weirdness we experienced then.

“What happens in Las Vegas stays in Vegas” is the image of popular belief, as the famous saying goes. It is not for this traveler, however, that one could make that assumption, In the brief span of three days, I have witnessed the contradictions of my own life, alternating between an self- centered ambition to acquire more material possessions in the future or a new paradigm of zen-like pursuit of an inner satisfaction of the present moment. As I resign myself to a new life of moderation in retirement, Las Vegas will continue to provide the ultimate test of my will to transition from the excesses of my ego centered past.

It is over 100 degrees today in the Mojave Desert of California. Not a car in sight as the surrounding sand and dust allures me into this vast expanse of nothingness. A road sign presents interesting options for survival. To the left might be Las Vegas but to the right might be death. On the car radio, I laugh as Peter Gabriel sings “Rain” to remind me of the contrasting aridity I now inhabit.

Climbing steeply from the salt valley floor, I obtain a bird’s eye view of the ancient sea of rippling sand here below. Subtle changes of terrain now take place. Sagebrush and sand now intermingle with an occasional Joshua tree. Suddenly, these prickly survivors appear everywhere to remind me that life can thrive here in this hostile environment.

High wind erosion in the high desert of Mojave provides a twisted array of rock formations in the distance now. A dry river bed produces a canyon of no return. A grotto of giant boulders becomes a teetering display of imbalanced roundness. I am simply in awe of this fascinating display of nature’s artwork, over the eons of time.

In contrast to those who travel by air to Sin City for hedonistic pleasures, I seem to have hit the jackpot in transit before arriving there today. Relaxed by the desert drive and certainly ready for a more active change of scenery, I await the neon allure of the Las Vegas Boulevard strip again. Don’t be surprised, however, if tomorrow morning, I choose rock sighting over slot machines as my preference for personal investment.

To everything, turn, turn, turn.
There is a season, turn, turn, turn.
And a time to every purpose under heaven.
A time to gain, a time to lose.
A time to rend, a time to sow.
A time for love, a time for hate.
A time for peace, I swear it’s not too late.

The Byrds 1965

In 1967, San Francisco celebrated the Summer of Love, a “renaissance of compassion, awareness, and love, and the revelation of unity for all mankind.” (San Francisco Oracle). Peace loving teenagers flocked to the Haight-Ashbury neighborhood to mellow out on free love and illicit drugs. The Fillmore Auditorium brought psychedelic rock to the forefront as bands such as Jefferson Airplane and Grateful Dead inspired a new generation of non-violent, hippie awareness. Thousands flocked to Golden Gate Park to receive free food, medical treatment, and basic necessities for anyone that needed them.

As I drive along the groovily named Brotherhood Way, I wonder why that spirit of peaceful optimism in 1967 no longer seems possible in S.F. today. The evidence is clear. For one, this metropolitan area notably suffers from the second worst traffic congestion of urban areas in the U.S. today. As I slow to a stop in an angry sea of horn honking gridlock now, traffic congestion tests my patience as I travel into the downtown. It is also noteworthy that a significant portion of the city’s population is considered officially homeless. I ponder the inhumanity of watching destitute people having little success in securing shelter from the cold. With S.F. having a liberal reputation  in favor of equal rights for same sex  relationships, it makes little sense to me why so many  “Elect Trump” signs are displayed near prominent street intersection in adjoining suburbs. Finally, as it has been documented that a high % of the city’s population relocates to S.F. from other countries, I become aghast of reports that white supremacists and Neo-Nazi followers have been reported recently to be perpetrating violent actions against such newcomers  in nearby Sacramento.

For a downtown of such exquisite beauty, I wonder why the white population is migrating in historic numbers to outlying communities.  As I elect to board the BART Rapid Transit system to escape traffic gridlock to downtown, I wonder why there are so few Caucasian faces that join me today in this time convenient journey. With the average cost of ownership housing in S.F. rising rapidly, I question how the American Dream of owning a home is possible for the vast majority of working families in this city.

I conclude my visit to the “city by the bay” to gaze in awe at the welcoming image of the Golden Gate Bridge. For many  newcomers , this international gateway  symbolizes a spark of hope that  human dignity and equal opportunity will take place  for all  Turning my attention to the right now, the stark isolation of Alcatraz Island stands in the distance, to remind me that there should be severe consequences for those who contrastingly show bigotry and hatred toward mankind. In a tumultuous election year, perhaps San Francisco can lead America to re-embrace that mellow groove time when a generation came together as one in the Summer of Love of 1967.

Approaching San Francisco by car from Lake Tahoe presents a spectacular entrance into this Golden Gate city of hills. Leaving the arid flatness of the California Central Valley along Interstate 80, Downtown San Francisco gradually emerges into a soupy fog of tortuous hills surrounded by the murky waters of a wide bay. Traffic snarls to a crawl as we cross the Bay Bridge. I imagine then that the end of the earth lies ahead at the end of our 5,000+ mile journey west zigzagging across the American landmass.

Veering South along State Road 101 toward our Daly City Motel, the sea fog thickens. Tightly packed villa houses distract me on both sides as cars defy gravity by parking vertically in steeply downward positions toward the street. My obscured vision in the distance fools my mind then into imagining an expanse of water at the end of every hill. Haphazardly dodging electric tram lines in the driving lanes of major avenues, I suddenly remember that such unusual driving skills are critical for avoiding deadly S.F. collisions.

Arriving at our motel, I relish the absence of motion and elevation in that moment. Expecting summer now, a cold wind from the westerly bay instead shocks my senses. The shorts and t-shirt I comfortably wore in the Central Valley will just not do here. How is it possible that summer in S.F. requires a knitted hat, gloves, and a heavy jacket? Will the sun ever make an appearance today to brighten my fog shrouded, emotional condition?

For the next five days, my independent travel spirit will surely be tested by geography, weather, and human congestion. Never doubting my will to find the unexpected insight, however, the itinerary does not seem to really matter. Using the S.F. Bart Transit System will enable me to relax from the stress of car travel as I search these famous hills for interesting destinations. Forty one years ago, my wife and I made our first visit to S.F. on our honeymoon as innocent tourists. I am honored to return again to this great city by the bay as a traveling fool and yet a wiser man.