A Hundred Euros

Day two hundred and seventeen, Georgia. I was afraid for twenty years.

That is the honest summary. I had the dream at twenty and I did not go, and I did not go, and I did not go.

What I had not understood is what a decision does. It doesn't clear the road, it makes a different road exist. A dream can't stay alive when all the current is running somewhere else.

There was a point on this journey when I had a hundred euros in my pocket, two thousand kilometres behind me and eight thousand in front. No reserves. No prospect of work on the road — or so I thought, because I couldn't see the possibilities, although every one of them was already there.

That was not the situation. That was my head. I believed I wasn't worth being happy, and a man who believes that will not notice an open door if he walks into it.

I kept driving anyway.

Now I am getting a taste for the feeling of fear and going in. Nervous before the interview? Good. In. The job is slightly too big for me? Excellent. Too shy to speak to the woman with the eyes?

Seven months out here, and it turns out the fear was never the obstacle. It was the toll.