I stopped in Ashland, OR, again last night. Not because I planned to, but because after six hours in the car, winding through mountain passes and inching through one-lane construction zones, I needed to be off the road.
I wasnāt thinking about destination anymore. I was thinking about relief. A bed. A door that locks. Silence that isnāt filled with road noise and a semi-truck isnāt trying to drive up my asshole.
Iām still more than ten hours from home. Odds are, Iāll repeat the pattern tonight. Drive. Think. Feel. Pull over. Sleep. Rinse. Repeat.
This is the in-between place.
Not quite where I started. Not even close to where Iām going. Justā¦here.
And āhereā has a way of asking questions.
What am I even doing right now? Not just the literal act of driving up and down the West Coast, but the bigger picture. The choices. The pivots. The quiet recalibrations that donāt make for dramatic storytelling but somehow feel more important than the big, obvious milestones.
When did everything start to feel soā¦layered? The world, especially. Itās loud. Itās heavy. Itās relentless. And even when I step away, even when Iām surrounded by beautiful views, new cities, old friends, and delicious meals, that weight doesnāt fully clock out. It rides shotgun.
Where am I, really? Geographically, sure, I can pinpoint where I am on a map. But internally, itās less precise. Somewhere between tired and grateful. Somewhere between overwhelmed and grounded. Somewhere between wanting to unplug completely and wanting to stay engaged, informed, aware.
Who am I in this moment? Not the version of me from a few weeks ago, and not quite the version Iāll be when I finally pull into my driveway. Travel does that. Distance does that. Time alone with your thoughts definitely does that.
Why does all of this feel both necessary and a little disorienting? Because slowing down forces honesty. Because when you strip away routine, distraction, and the comfort of the familiar, youāre left with whateverās actually going on underneath. No buffering. No background noise to hide behind.
And maybe the most important question:
How am I? The real answer isā¦mixed. Iām tired, physically. Long drives will do that. My shoulders feel it. My eyes feel it. My patience feels it.
Iām also mentally stretched. Not broken, not spiraling, justā¦stretched. Like a painterās canvas, ready to get the next creative project started. Iāve been holding a lot at once and I havenāt quite set any of it down yet.
But Iām also okay. More than okay, sometimes.
Thereās something quietly reassuring about this in-between space. Itās not comfortable in the traditional sense, but itās honest. Itās transitional. Itās proof that Iām moving, Iām making progress, even if I donāt have every answer mapped out.
I think we spend so much time trying to rush through these spaces. To get to the next destination, to the next version of ourselves, to the next sense of certainty. But thereās something to be said for sitting in the middle of it. For acknowledging that not everything needs to be resolved immediately.
Right now, my job isnāt to have it all figured out. Itās to keep going. To find the next place to rest. To notice whatās shifting, internally and externally. To let the questions exist without forcing answers that arenāt ready yet.
Another hotel tonight. Another stretch of road. Another few hours of thinking, or maybe not thinking at all.
Eventually, Iāll get home.
But for now, this in-between place is where I am.
And for the moment, thatās enough.
Keep calm and carry on!
Clint šāļø
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FROM THE ARCHIVES
BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY
04-30 = Alice B. Toklas (1877-1967) = American-born memoirist š
04-30 = Matilda Mary Hays (1820-1897) = British actor and writer š
04-30 = Onir (1969- ) = Bengali Indian filmmaker š
04-30 = Tsukioka Yoshitoshi (1839-1892) = Japanese artist š
MAN CRUSH OF THE DAY
āLook, Iām not odd. Iām just trying to be an actor; not a movie star, an actor.ā
Montgomery Clift
Clint, Welcome to the Bardo, the Inbetween Place. Sounds like your adventure helped you do a lot of processing. That is good and it is also difficult. Keep on Keeping On friend. Fondly, Michael
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