After I graduated college, I sold or gave away most of my possessions. As a young US American following the footsteps of many before me, I headed west to California.

ho·​bo  / ˈhō-(ˌ)bō /
(n.) a migratory worker

With just a few duffel bags of cargo, my 21-st century move from Florida to California lasted only a few hours on an airplane. My destination: San Francisco — where, in a few weeks, I’d begin a new job as a software engineer.

During my time living in California, I visited Yosemite National Park and went on my first-ever overnight trekking trip. This experience taught me much about self-sufficiency and packing light–something that I later refined to an art.

I was in San Francisco for just over a year, but I never spread my roots too deep. Before my second year, my feet were itching for something new, and I found myself on a plane again — this time destined for New York. With Guthy’s voice singing through my earphones, I flew from the Redwood forests to the New York islands.

After some time, I was off again, heading down the US east coast back to Florida, and I hopped a plane to the furthest city in America that had an international airport — Santiago de Chile.