Let's Get Real

OK, let’s get real…

Driving down endless stretches of asphalt, I've too much time to think. This road trip sounded like a grand idea back home—a mission to dig into people's lives, to pull out their stories, and share them with the world. But every morning, I wake up with a knot in my gut. The idea of walking up to a stranger and getting them to open up feels like stepping into the arena without any armor, exposed and unsure of what happens next.

Some days, the open road becomes a copout.. I keep the wheels rolling, watching battered mailboxes blur past, just using the road as an excuse to avoid the hard stuff. It's easier to stay behind the wheel than to step into someone else's world uninvited. Maybe I'm running from the fear of rejection…

Nights are the worst. The empty passenger seat is a constant reminder of who I'm missing. My wife's back home, and every fiber of me wants to be there with her. The bed's cold, the silence is loud, and the loneliness digs in deep. Thirty-five years together, and being apart doesn't get any easier.

Funny thing is, when I do muster up the courage, I'm pretty damn good at it. I can get people talking, make them feel seen. I step into their shoes, feel their joys and pains like they're my own. It's what I set out to do, and it should come naturally. But the fear doesn't care about that.

"Do something each day that scares you," Eleanor Roosevelt said. Well, I'm living that, whether I like it or not. It's become a daily challenge, a bitter pill I force myself to swallow. Sometimes I wonder why I put myself through it.

The raw, unfiltered humanity that you can't find sitting at home.
It's messy, uncomfortable, and sometimes it hurts, but it's real.

But then I remember the purpose behind this "Hope & Generosity Tour." It's about more than just collecting stories; it's about connecting with the heartbeat of this country. The raw, unfiltered humanity that you can't find sitting at home. It's messy, uncomfortable, and sometimes it hurts, but it's real.

There's a kind of thrill in pushing past the fear. When I finally break the ice with someone, and they start to share pieces of their life, it's like opening a vault of their untold stories waiting to be heard. Those moments make the struggle worth it. They remind me why I chose the hard road instead of the easy chair.

The adventure isn't just in the places I go; it's in the people I meet and the walls I break down—both theirs and mine. Every story is a victory over the doubt that tries to keep me silent. Each connection is a middle finger to the part of me that says I'm not cut out for this.

Every story is a victory over the doubt that tries to keep me silent.

Here’s the brutal truth: the temptation to pack it in and head home is strong. The pull of familiar comforts tugs at me every day. But I've got a mission to complete, a promise I made to myself. If I bail now, I'll carry that regret longer than any memory of discomfort.

So I keep pushing. I face the fear head-on, even when my gut churns and my mouth goes dry. The road keeps stretching out ahead, and with it, endless opportunities to prove to myself that I can do this.

At the end of the day, I know the stories I gather aren't just for others—they're for me, too. They're lessons, reminders of the resilience and generosity that people carry with them. They give me hope and make the loneliness a little more bearable.

I'll get back home eventually. I'll hold my wife again and share with her all the moments that tested me and the ones that made me glad I didn't quit. Until then, I've got miles to cover and fears to conquer. The road's calling, and I'm answering, as best I can, one step at a time.