Lessons from the Ether

As you will see by the end of this entry, lessons in life can arrive at your doorstep from the most unlikely places—if you are willing to notice them.

The internet is littered with blogs, Instagram handles, and YouTube channels about people who go on some extended travel endeavor. One goal is to see the world, others for the adventure I alluded to in the Call to Adventure entry. Nearly—if not all—has had the following question (s) presented to them by friends or family.

“What about your job, house, kids?”

In whatever form the query arrives, they represent legitimate, logistical concerns. Adults usually have these pesky things called responsibilities that can impede extended travel or adventurous pursuits. You can rent your home, or AirBnB it. Jobs are a sticky situation that deserves its own entry—perhaps even two—but must be considered carefully.

Children, however, are a more delicate matter. What to do with the kids is never a simple solution. I do not have children of my own, yet I relate to the decision tree parents need to move through, because of my younger brother.

They classify my brother as perceptually impaired, an amorphous designation that sits next to the autistic realm but is not quite part of it. What it means in practical terms is he cannot take care of himself on his own. I am his guardian and responsible for his care. Which means, I cannot just go anywhere for an extended period without considering him.

Millions of caregivers in the country share this challenge with me, and the answer is usually simple. Where I go, my brother goes. Simple solution when traveling for work trips or vacations. David has traveled with me to conferences, on cruises, and even a trip to the Dominican Republic. There is no, “I” travel. There is “We” travel. Two plane tickets, sometimes two hotel rooms.

This normal course of thought takes a pause when considering traveling across the country on a bike. A bike tour entails travel for weeks at a time, biking on paths and streets with passing traffic. Usually, it involves camping at parks or sometimes wild camping.

If you are a parent, you may let your spouse handle the kiddo’s while you are away. If you have strong relationships with direct or extended family, leaving your children with relatives is possible. However, when looking after special needs individuals—adults or children—these options are not always viable.

The special needs category is a wide spectrum. Some individuals need constant care and attention. Others are more like my brother, calm and stable enough to not need constant attention.

One common trait depicted in extreme form in the movie, “The Accountant,” or television show The Good Doctor is a need for routine. Special needs individuals crave and handle life better in a routine. Where they live, what they watch on television, what they eat daily, or where you take them outside the house, it all serves as known daily post marks in life that serves as security emotionally.

Breaks in that routine cause distress. This OCD like trait is most closely associated with autism, but it exists for the other levels of mental disability as well; Downs syndrome, Asperger’s, or Perceptual Impairment. I am blessed in that my brother does not suffer from the more extreme versions of these disabilities.  Less, however, does not mean none.

At home, I do not have to watch over him constantly. His level of awareness is such that I can leave him alone in the house and he can cook basic items with no danger to himself or the apartment. Dragging him along on a bike to navigate roads with passing traffic and thin shoulders is a different scenario. Embarking on this trip would mean leaving him to stay with family.

However, even suggesting it set my brother off. Understand, David is the low key one verbally and often emotionally. I’m the loudmouth in the family. He hangs in the background and usually speaks in under five sentences.

That all flipped like pancakes when I suggested he would stay with family in our home State of New Jersey. Immediate agitation surfaced, and he rattled off a bunch of sentences:

“I’m NOT going back to New Jersey. I’ll be miserable.”

“I’m not going to Lori’s (our nearest cousin) house in Oklahoma.”

“You can’t go! You’re gonna make us homeless!”

“I’m staying here. And you cannot go. It’s a stupid idea anyway.”

The emotion and ferocity filling my brother’s words put me on my heels. I was not expecting it. In a way—because I don’t push him that much—I believe I had forgotten certain aspects surrounding my brother’s condition. I could not understand the reaction to staying with family. After all, it is family, not strangers.

But, you see, none of our family members are part of our routine. We live in Florida, most of our family is in New Jersey and we do not go back home that often. And by rarely, I mean, essentially never. In the last 15 years, we have been home three times, all for funerals.

None of this insight occurred to me at the time of my brother’s outburst. It bubbled to the surface later, when I sat deep in thought behind a couple glasses of strong red wine. This insight, when it arrived, did not come alone. I also realized that I am a horrible family member, and presumptuous. I was considering, thought it was viable to just drop David off on family for three months, out of the blue. I mean, really?

If any of my entry’s in Wheels to Adventure are to serve as lessons or inspiration, perhaps it starts here before I even cycle a mile. There is no logical reason for not speaking regularly with family. Telephones always worked, and now we have Facetime, What’s App, and Facebook. Plane tickets are relatively cheap, and not too difficult to save up for. Yet, here I sat, not using any of these technological wonders to even call once a month to say hello. It is inexcusable, when you really think about it.

There are no years long beef. I'm not angry at anyone, and I love them all. So why the distance?

And here is both the lesson and the answer. It does not take a mental disability to fall prey to routine and ruts. My brother has his safe, cocooned routine, but so do I. So do many—perhaps—most people. Too many of us operate on autopilot. Like when you leave for work and arrive, realizing you do not remember the exits or turns you took to get there. You started the car, drove, and boom, now you are there.

The structure of routine is a coping mechanism for the human brain. It helps order the constant stream of stimuli our brains take in without us realizing it. The downside is that our routine can become ruts that turn into walls. Walls that separate us from the wonders of the world or the care of family or friends.

Everyone operates in a bubble. Perhaps yours comprises your new marriage, newborn baby, striving for the promotion, or focused on surviving another day at a job you hate. I believe that bubble, that routine, is why we are fascinated by people who do something that appears daring. It is why that the Call to Adventure is such a romantic notion in our minds. We want more in life and we want different.

We do not have to bicycle the continent, climb Everest, or sail the ocean to break free of our self-imposed, robotic routine. Drive a different way to work. Order something different from your favorite restaurant. Pick a new restaurant and do not look at the menu before going. Make a list of family members you have not spoken to in six months and call them. You can take solace because your list is probably shorter than mine.

Just do something different. That’s the first lesson I have been given in this process, and it is also the answer. I know exactly what my brother and I have to do.

You can read Part two here