Overlooked Connections

A Dedication to the Inspirations

May 08, 2024

Books. We all have them. Many of them sit on our shelves collecting dust. But in those pages, they hold many stories. They are also filled with chapters, page numbers, reference sections, introductions, appendixes, indexes, letters, recommendations and a table of contents among other things. There’s usually one page for Dedications. A mostly blank page that holds space for a few names and leaves the rest of the page in mystery. Within those “To” names are stories themselves. Entire books exist on the names which foster the inspiration for YOUR story. This is my dedication page. The content of my book begins shortly after.

In the 5th grade, I had to write book report on a US State. When the day came to choose a state, I was out of school on a family vacation. After I returned, I found that my state was chosen for me: New Mexico. As a Minnesotan, it was as foreign as not talking about the weather. Jokes on them though, I love the overlooked.

Ticking off my bucket list travel, last month I spent time in the Southern and Mid-Atlantic regions of the United States. I’ve now visited all of the 48 mainland US states in the last 8 years, visiting 45 state capitols and 40 city’s defined as the largest city by population in their respective state. My journey has brought me to 24 of the top 25 largest cities in the US and 42 of the top 50. I’ve traveled on every interstate, from 5 to 95, driving 20,550 miles for leisure. It’s likely that I’ve seen more of this country than the average person does in one lifetime. But of all the numbers I track, there’s one that keeps me coming back, keeps scratching that itch. It’s the simplest one, and I’ve already said it, 1. I’ll let you in on a little secret, I don’t really care about the numbers so much as I care about the people. I solo travel for the sole purpose of connection.

This is my Dedication Page.

To Emile-Yvon, the French Canadian photographer I met at the state Capitol building in Jackson. A fellow capitol traveler. There, a Minnesotan and a Canadian met and talked about slavery in the southern United states. About an outsider’s perspective coming to learn, seeing the growth and the struggle and how the affects still ravage this country. How we can’t fix it ourselves, but we can learn from it and share it with others to become better versions of ourselves. And how to respect others as he informed me it’s almost illegal to take a picture of another person without their consent in Quebec. Pay attention to the details, there will be another connection to make here. Thank you, Emile-Yvon.

(Picture: spot where Emile-Yvon and I stood in front of the Mississippi State Capitol)

To Frank, the maintenance employee at the state capitol in Baton Rouge. Entering the country’s tallest State Capitol building, After going through security, I was told that the observation deck was closed due to the state-wide storms. Most things in life are out of our control, so I took that as a sign to slow down, enjoy the details; like finding the bullet holes from the Huey Long assassination or the pencil still stuck in the ceiling after the 1970 bombing. About to conclude my visit, a staff member came up to me and said “the Observation deck is open, you can go.” Taking no time in wasting the opportunity, I hopped aboard the first of two elevators one needs to reach the summit at the Louisiana State Capitol. On top is where I met Frank, a building maintenance person. Born and raised in Baton Rouge, Frank shared what it was like growing up and living in this southern city, in the shadow of it’s much more popular sibling 80 miles southeast. That it’s just as culturally rich and historically significant as an early port city upriver from the Ocean. My visit there reminded me that life doesn’t always go to plan, but it’s how you respond that can make all the difference. The observation deck quickly closed again; open long enough for this memory. Thank you, Frank.

(Picture: Spot where Frank & I stood, overlooking Baton Rouge)

To Asael, my Uber driver who took me into the Big Easy, for a planned dinner with a friend from my hometown. I’m one of those rare types loves a good Uber conversation. There’s a nostalgic draw in that activity, a harken back to the days before the screens took over. It’s often that you find these driver’s lives are much more than taking people from point A to point B. That was the case with Asael, an immigrant from Turkey, who came to the US, only to be met by the most wicked storm this country has seen, Hurricane Katrina. How him and his neighbors would get together and make food for each other. How hard and sad it was to watch the lawlessness unfold in the aftermath, but that through darkness one finds light. Asael reminded me that our struggles are but teaching moments, as he drove past flood roads, still unable to keep up with a momentous rainfall from the day. Change can take a long time. Thank you, Asael.

To Natasha, from one Uber to another. It’s 4am, when the Mini-van pulls up and I meet Natasha. I love a good morning, but it’s still night for me at this time. I thought about sulking into the seat for a quick snooze, but curiosity got the better of me. Natasha, who has a regular job, gets up every morning and drives people to the places they need to go because she has places she wants to go. Natasha loves to travel. Her next big trip is in Australia, where she’ll stay for weeks with strangers who became friends after a stay with her in New Orleans. She’s also passionate about the details and that plays out in her cooking. She’s meticulous in everything she does. I learned how to clean a pot after it’s use to ensure it lasts forever, something she learned from her mom. Why the smallest details make the biggest difference. Natasha treats her dishes, like she treats those who come into her orbit, with nothing but the best. It’s by no mistake that she has “homes” all over the world. Thank you, Natasha.

To Sal, my Mobile Engineer Lead. I flew to New York City after that. Arriving with the intent to visit coworkers in Brooklyn. Renting a car and driving in the largest city in the US for the first time and perhaps the last. The chaos that is the referred to as “the concrete jungle” extends to the roadways, where white-knuckle driving is the standard. Passing a donut shop, I stopped in to pick up a sweet gift for my colleagues before having lunch with them. We dined on chicken and waffles, (perhaps signaling that I brought a little bit of the Deep South with me to the Big Apple). My day job kept me grounded behind a screen, orchestrating Agile Product Development and working with Software Engineers, where virtual work is the norm. I spent every working day protecting. As a Scrum Master, I guarded our Developers time like the Mint Police at Fort Knox. Now, at the end of my Watch, Sal came out for the changing of the guard, allowing for us to connect without being in uniform. Thank you, Sal.

Picture: Sal (on the right) and I in front of Sweet Chick off Flatbush Ave in Brooklyn

To Mike, the soldier at the Castle. After stops in Trenton and Cherry Hill, New Jersey, I was feeling sleep deprived. A planned stop in Wilmington, Delaware was “ok”, but the feeling of unease remained, and I needed to pull over immediately after leaving Delaware’s largest city. The unplanned exit brought me to New Castle, Delaware; that’s where I met Mike. New Castle is one of the oldest cities in the country, founded by the Dutch West India Company in 1651. It’s protected and preserved, opting not to turn it into a theme park of sorts. It’s a history buff’s dream. After walking the same cobblestones as many of the Founding Fathers, I found myself needing a bathroom. A nearby resident said, go to the Visitor Center, Mike’s the guy, he’ll take care of you. You can guess where this goes, I found myself deep in conversation with him, but not about what you think. We chatted in length of the history and significance of World War I. Somehow the conversation organically found it’s way there and much to my surprise, Mike was an expert in this arena. He couldn’t have known that my Great-Grandfather fought and was wounded in World War I or that I’ve done immense research on the battles fought there. I was a little homesick that day, but Mike connected me back to my family and like medicine for an ailment, I was back to being myself. Thank you, Mike.

To Everett & Marlene, the owners of a hobby farm AirBnB in the middle of Delaware. Being one of the smallest states, the middle is still near the coast. This allowed me a chance to visit Lewes and Cape Henlopen while escaping to a place I sought stillness, away from the crowds. The long tree-lined driveway offers mystery at it’s entrance. But the welcoming party is just on the other side. It’s the first place I’ve stayed where most of the hosts are not human. Immediately after parking, Marlene’s goats and free range chicken greeted me like my dog does after a long time apart. Solo travel is freeing, but it can be isolating and exhausting at times. I found myself walking to the pen many times for a “chat” with these furry friends. Petting and feeding the goats, the owner came over and described owning and building a play pen for these comforting animals. There’s a reason why Goat Yoga is a thing. I told her what a gift she has to give to others. Never would have I imagined there’s an Oasis in Delaware and that it would become my favorite stay on the trip. Thank you, Marlene.

(Picture: 2 of Marlene’s pygmy goats)

To Phuong Vu, the traveler and connecting piece of the puzzle. I arrived in Nashville, Tennessee. Mainly seeking time to recharge. The Music City is a familiar stop, having stayed there multiple times before. I had dinner with a friend and met new people, ran through the colleges of Belmont and Vanderbilt, strolled along the Parthenon replica in Centennial Park, and feasted on live music and hot chicken on Broadway. On my last full day, I had the itch to visit the Capitol again. Having visited just a few months previously, I returned less as a seeker, and more as an admirer. And that’s where I found Phuong Vu, an Engineer, much like those I work with, and a Photographer, much like the activity I very much enjoy. He pointed out bullet holes in the stairwell from the lobby to the 2nd floor. I wasn’t aware of the fact that a bullet was fired during a debate about the Fourteenth Amendment's ratification after the Civil War, and that the mark has remained unrepaired since. He noticed I signed the Capitol registrar. “Are you the guy who’s visited 45 state capitols?” I couldn’t help but laugh, yes, I’m that guy. It gave me the opportunity to share that it was the 2nd capitol I’d been to in a week that had bullet holes. And more importantly, a volley back to Phongvu to share about his origin story; from escaping war-torn Vietnam to finding sanctuary in America, and building the life he wants. Thank you, PhuongVu.

(picture: Mural in downtown Nashville, seen shortly after my visit with Phongvu)

It would take me a series of books to go in detail from every encounter from this trip, let alone, the past 8 years. My humble thanks to Jim at the Old Woodshop that builds furniture out of reclaimed wood and Bill at the Zwaandel Museum in Lewes, Delaware, who has just a couple states left himself to visit. To Steven, who suggested I go to Lewes, the playwright, actor, and enormously talented historian at the Old state Capitol in Dover. To Joel, the owner of the AirBnB in Manassas, Virginia, who’s backyard porch is so loved that many locals book it to find comfort from the busy world. To Mike & Judy, the gracious hosts at my AirBnB in Nashville who accommodated my early arrival request, greeted me with kindness and curiosity as I shared the reason for my visit. Who directed me to some of the best food in Nashville. To another Bill, the owner of a Nash.TN, a small business that I stumbled upon near the end of my trip. Who’s story is larger than the box his store fits in, and is the source of many murals dotting the city. And on and on, the list goes.

In my apartment hangs a fabric scroll banner with the word Connection. It reads:
“It is only through one another we are able to see our true selves. I am you as you are me; without each other, we are nothing.”
Laughing and smiling, as it dawned on me during this writing, where I purchased the scroll from. At the beginning of this journey, of all places, New Mexico.
Sometimes the overlooked aspects, our inspirations, are just as worthy of a story.

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