This is life.

Remember that scene in Fight Club when Edward Norton, plagued with insomnia, wanders from flight to flight like a zombie, traveling all over the country, often times forgetting what city he’s even in?  Well, I’m beginning to understand the feeling.  I’ve spent so much time in the air and at airports this summer that I have actually had moments where I lost track of what city I was in.

I’m not complaining.  I’m really trying to enjoy the experience of it.  To be honest I was really looking forward to a summer in New York City, but that just wasn’t in the cards.  Instead, New York is the home base that I tag a couple times a month just long enough to do some laundry and re-pack for the next journey.

Last night I took Megabus (highly recommend… $10, free wifi, electric outlets at each seat) to Philadelphia.  I then took a regional train to the airport, camped out for the night, and then boarded the flight I’m on now for LAX.  While I was en route, I started thinking about my traveling habits.  A lot of people ask me if I get sick of traveling alone.  I hadn’t really thought to much about it because I’m so used to it.  I’ll walk through the airport and see people with friends or family members having drinks or dinner together at the restaurants that line the concourses.  That’s just not my reality.  It would be a blast to travel with someone.  To have someone to race from one end of Atlanta’s massive airport to the other during a 28 minute layover.  Or splurge on the occasional sit-down meal between flights.

But to be honest, traveling alone is also really therapeutic for me.  As much as I’m a people-person, I also get a lot of energy from time alone.  And as much as jet-setting can be exhausting, I find airports to be mostly peaceful places for me.  I can usually grab a wireless signal, a coffee and muffin at starbucks, find a place to sit down, and just rest.

I’m also a budget traveler.  I do everything I can to stretch my dollars by scanning the internet constantly, grabbing last minute deals, taking alternate forms of transit, like Amtrak and Greyhound, when possible.  There will probably be a day when I can comfortably book whatever flight is most convenient, but in the mean time, I wouldn’t trade the budget style for a non-stop flight in first class (well…).  It affords me so many extra adventures, coincidences and opportunities to meet interesting people.

The other day my parents got a taste of my traveling life.  They stood on the platform of the train station in South Bend, IN.  I was bringing a bicycle back to New York with me.  I had hastily booked the ticket and hadn’t checked into the cost and logistics of checking my bike through to New York.  At first the worker at the station just said, “You’re in trouble.  That’s not going through to New York.”  But before I knew it, he and two other cycling enthusiasts were helping me pack my bike into a box to get it onto the train.  It was a community effort and it was incredible.

It reminded  me of last year when my ’87 Honda Accord broke down on me on the Coast of Oregon.  It was raining.  I had to be in San Francisco in two days.  But before I knew it, a tow truck driver had hooked me up with a mechanic and his wife who ended up putting me up at a resort with a suite on the ocean and taking me out to dinner at a buffet.

Traveling on a dime has forced me to be flexible.  When all you know is that you have to get from point A to point B, and you give yourself plenty of time, you learn to be at peace with whatever happens.  It’s why I don’t mind being bumped from flights, hanging out at airports, hitching rides, or crashing couches (or floors).  Because of this mentality, I’ve met so many people and experienced so much of America.  I’ve slept in cars on the coast overlooking the ocean, curled up in the front seat  with a sleeping bag pulled up around me to keep warm.  I’ve slept on a couch where a professional skateboarder (who shall remain nameless) stumbled in and tried to fight the guy I was crashing with.  I met a meth-addict homeless photographer.   Farmers.  Mechanics.  Hitchhikers.  Etc. Etc.

And this summer has been so crazy for me, that I’ve begun to feel like I’m floating.  I don’t think much about what’s next.  I just do what I have to do.  I fill my bag accordingly, climb onto a bus, train, car, or plane, and head off to wherever I’m supposed to head off.

To be honest, it’s all been such a blessing.  I won’t deny that it gets tiring, and I look forward to a day when things slow down a little.  But in the mean time I’m soaking it up.