Last night, sleep worked hard to evade me. Surrounded by comfortable pillows with the aid of a sleeping pillow, I finally drifted off to a night of strange dreams. My mind has been churning a lot. I am in a hotel in Staunton, Virginia where Mairead, my eldest daughter is currently a junior at Mary Baldwin College. Miranda, my second daughter, is applying here and I will be speaking with various people about the educational goals of both of them. Mary Baldwin has a Program for the Exceptionally Gifted, which is how Mairead, aged 16 is a junior, and why Miranda, aged 13 is now applying.

From here, I will drive down to Memphis for the Journalism that Matters conference and the National Conference on Media Reform. Providing a soundtrack to all of this is Riding the Iron Rooster by Paul Theroux, which is the book on tape I’m listening to in the car.

Last night, I stopped at a local bar and grill. I sat at the bar and listened to the regulars chat with the bartender. She was a college student whose classes just started up again today. She spoke about starting her student teaching at a school in some nearby town. On her first day, she spoke with the students about what they had done during the Christmas break. One student spoke about visiting her grandparents in jail. My mind flashed back to Gina, to my resolution on Gather, to my discussions with Miranda about Freedom Writers. Freedom Writers is based on the true story of a teacher at Woodrow Wilson High School in Long Beach California.

My mind wanders the hour drive out of Long Beach up to Malibu where wild fires are currently raging. My wind wanders to the Woodrow Wilson Presidential library about a block from the hotel I am staying in here in Staunton. My mind tosses as I worry about how I will continue to pay my mortgage, or if I’ll be able to sell my house at a reasonable price, let alone how I’ll manage to support two kids in college.

When I left Theroux’s tape, he was settling into a railway car by himself on the trans-Siberian railroad with the staples he bought in Poland; a good setting to write. I’ve always wanted to ride the great railways of the world. I’ve always wanted to write about my travels. I guess that is part of the reason I digress and talk about the student teacher at the bar. That, tied together with a resolution to help people find their voices and the needs to feed and educate my family gives my mind plenty to churn about.

Will I find the best things to do for my daughters’ education? Will I find chances to write? To help others find their voices? Will I find a way to finance all of this? I guess this trip is more than just a physical road trip.