It turns out that a long journey does not start with the first step.

No.  It starts with explaining to your friends and family why you would want to put yourself on a [insert quirky transport here] for 30 days alone to talk to strangers.

It would be disingenuous  to suggest that when I set out on my scooter 4 years ago that I was clear on what I was doing and why.  It was, in the purest sense, a journey. But this time, I do not have the the veil of plausible deniability.  I know the gifts and challenges that are a part of setting aside those defining comforts and attachments for the joys and infuriation of showing up to listen, truly listen.  That years of dismaying the demise of our national discourse can be assuaged by putting a face, name and dignity to each persons story.  Water over rock.  Very cool.

This election, as the last, forces a light on who we are and who we want to be.  Every day my promise is to share one such story from the road.

More than anything, I want get past sound bite responses and thoughts limited to 140 characters.  Turns out, I just need to show up.