REFLECTIONS FROM IDLE THEORY BUS[huge_it_slider id=”2″]
[one_half padding=”15px 15px 15px 150px” ]Two and a half years ago, we quit our jobs, gave away our stuff, and moved into a ’76 VW bus named Sunshine. It was exhilarating, frightening; the most freeing thing we have ever done.
We have nothing to lose anymore, and so the world is ours. Glacier. Yosemite. Yellowstone Basin. These are the names of our backyards, each a temporary home.
Every new morning we go where we please. We spend our time on dusty, crooked back roads that go nowhere. Our favorites are the elusive, the overgrown, the ones that have no name.
Out here, we find both comfort and disturbance. Peace and restlessness. We work, play, and take respite in the cycles of the Earth.
Every place has its own story.
In the long needled pine forests of Florida, we learned not to mess with sand. There, stuck on a doubletrack, we scratched our mosquito bites and watched nesting hawks hunt overhead.[/one_half][one_half_last padding=”15px 200px 15px 15px”]The Tetons brought icy snowmelt runoffs and moose wallowing in the heat of summer. We hiked far up into the alpine meadows, craving altitude. Near Three Sisters, Oregon, the sunset gilded us golden from our camp high on a bed of truck-sized rocks.
One September, we swam in the high granite lakes of a perfect deadbeat Sierra summer and thought we’d never find more joy.
Even the vastness of North America can seem small sometimes. We’re happiest exposed to wide tracts of sky, where the Milky Way is bright. We build fires in the 10-degree evening, and its primitive warmth restores us. In the dead black of a moonless night, we sleep.
Time is one of the most valuable resources we possess as living, dreaming beings, and we have decided to waste it wisely. This is life, our real life, and we wouldn’t choose to live any other way.
– James and Rachel of @idletheorybus[/one_half_last]
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