Episode 16: Y2K D'ok

Now you say you're leavin' home
'Cause you want to be alone.
Ain't it funny how you feel
When you're findin' out it's real?
(Neil Young, “Sugar Mountain)

Even though I'd already abandoned Lexington for the mountains, I needed to say goodbye to certain friends before I moved down to New Orleans at the turn of this century.

I ended up at the party because the one friend I still had in Lexington at that point was going. Now, unless you know me well... or even casually for that matter … you know that I don't do parties very well. I never have. And parties where I only know one person?

Not exactly my wheel house.

And it was Y2K... which, if you weren't of age when all THAT mess was happening, I'll condense and explain: basically, because of a computer glitch based on analog clocks being what computers ran on long before the invention of the personal computer, people became CONVINCED that because computer time was going to turn back to 1900 instead of rolling over to 2000, THAT CIVILIZATION AS WE KNEW IT WAS GOING TO... TO ADAPT  A QUOTE FROM A PULP FICTION, “...GET MEDIEVAL ON OUR ASSES.”

So there I was, at someone's house in Lexington, KY, knowing no one and not really knowing anything except that I was going to get behind the wheel of my 95 Grand Am that had every possession in it I cared about – a small suitcase, an army surplus duffle, and two milk crates of books – and drive to New Orleans.

I'd bounced around southern Ohio and Eastern Kentucky for a few years at that point. After 3 years in Lexington, I'd moved back to Eastern Kentucky to ponder my options because the only thing keeping me in central Kentucky was it's proximity to my daughter, who was 5 at the time. Her mother decided to move to New Orleans – La Combe, actually – to be near her new boyfriend. I could have fought it legally, I suppose... there was something somewhere in the divorce decree about that … but honestly I didn't see the point in going in front of a judge again. It was literally easier for me to move than to muster any faith in the courts.

This was my first cross country ride alone, and the first time I flew out into the world without something resembling a net.

As drives go, it wasn't bad. I woke up on January 1st, 2000, got into my car, and left. Other than stopping for gas, I didn't stop until I reached La Combe. My ex had agreed to let me sleep on the couch for a few days until I got settled, and I didn't want to spend any money I didn't have to until I found my own place. My daughter's mother and I were on good terms – it didn't last long – but I didn't want to bank on it. And I didn't want to confuse Stella, either.

Driving through Alabama felt like a cliché; it was all one long stretch of interstate with bill boards advertising the Alabama – the band – fan club, and when I stepped out to buy gas and stretch my legs, the air felt like I was being slapped with hot rag. I debated stopping for the night somewhere, but I'd driven through my New Year's Eve hangover and left it somewhere in Tennessee. I'd long since stopped  trying to listen to local radio, as the FM dial was populated with bad country, evangelical music, and preachers still screaming about the End Times.

But they hadn't come. The world was still... HERE. I spent most of that party in Lexington staring out the front window at the street. I was watching the street lamps. The weather had been unusually warm and overcast, which mixed with the light pollution to turn the sky the color of India Ink. I knew there wasn't a “grid” to go down, exactly. The problem is that people tend to think things like utility companies and governments – the things we've decided we depend on to survive –  are organized in much more logical … and sometimes diabolical ways … than they actually are. Humans tend to create institutions and companies like they lead their lives: haphazardly, with a partial plan that can't possibly cover every potential issue. Utility systems are just slightly more organized overall than the wiring in my house, done by the previous owner who believed he was an electrician. He also thought he was a plumber and a contractor, but never mind that.

The point is this: the world was spinning on and while we were on a short grace period before what was left of American democracy went into culture shock, the fact is that the lights DIDN'T go out, the apocalypse HADN'T happened. We were still alive, no matter what the bitter revivalists cried.
And while I didn't have a plan … haphazard to the last... I knew that whatever lay ahead of me was going to be ok. I was going to be ok.  And regardless of what's happened over the past 20 years since then, I hold onto that lesson. Always.

Thanks so much for listening to Episode 16 of a Record of a Pair of Well-Worn Traveling boots.  Please be sure to show some love by subscribing to this podcast on ITunes, Spotify, or whatever podcatcher you use. Check out the past episodes and look for Episode 16 in two weeks. If you really enjoy the podcast, please consider becoming a patron on our Patreon Page: www.patreon.com/wellwornboots. It’s only $5 a month and you will get a little extra for your patronage.

Thanks again for listening. May the road always rise to meet your feet.