Proper Previous Planning…
I cant wait to get on the road again.
Proper previous planning leads to poor performance; the enhanced edition.
Becoming “T3, Digi-Natural Nomad” has felt like the culmination of the chaos and rapid changes I've experienced over the last three years, condensed into a whirlwind of nine days (and counting). What I initially assumed would be one of the most straightforward moves in my life turned into a grueling, eye-opening, and, at times, soul-crushing ordeal. And yet, there has been something magnificently educational about it. As it often does, the universe holds up a mirror and forces us to confront our flaws and shortcomings—whether we’re ready or not.
I walked into this transition with a naive confidence. I had built a vision of an easy shift, where I would smoothly integrate my lifestyle into a mobile, streamlined existence, continue my work, build on my father's legacy, and explore nature as a Digi-Natural Nomad. Yet, the reality could not have been more different. Every mistake I made stemmed from one fundamental flaw: poor planning. I grossly underestimated the complexity of this move, and now, I’m left untangling the mess I created. It's not just a matter of things going wrong—it’s the realization that nearly every obstacle was avoidable had I taken the time to plan correctly.
For starters, I neglected my business. I’m deeply passionate about my work—whether teaching wilderness skills, documenting nature, or creating a documentary in honor of my father. But I failed to factor in how much time and energy this move would take. My teaching platforms, connections with my community, and even my social media suffered because I was overwhelmed, underprepared, and trying to juggle too much with too little help. I didn’t have the proper support, and in my haste to move forward, I overlooked crucial steps. The result? Missed opportunities, stressed-out students, and a sense of guilt I can’t shake.
One of my biggest mistakes was underestimating how much of my time this move would consume. From packing up my life into my Crosstrek, dealing with the emotional weight of saying goodbye to a static home, to facing unexpected technical issues with the Starlink setup and my online teaching systems, I was unprepared. I didn’t account for how much of a toll this transition would take on my productivity. Instead of smoothly moving into a new phase of life, I’ve been scrambling, putting out fires, and barely keeping my head above water. And to add insult to injury, I dragged around what can only be described as an absurd collection of sticks, rocks, and other “special” treasures of nature. At the time, I thought these items were essential, significant relics of my past explorations. Now, I see them for what they were—a metaphor for the unnecessary baggage I’ve been carrying, literally and figuratively.
Then, there’s the financial nightmare. On top of everything else, I’ve found myself caught in an identity theft situation that no one can seem to unravel. Somehow, amid all this chaos, I became the victim of a credit card scam. My finances are now tangled up in a web of investigations, phone calls, and endless explanations to my bank and credit card companies. It has left me feeling not only financially crippled but emotionally drained. When I thought things couldn’t get more complicated, this crisis hit, and I’ve been powerless to resolve it. The timing of it all feels like a cruel joke—this was not how this was supposed to go. I had imagined this transition as a graceful leap forward, but instead, I’ve stumbled, face first, into a series of painful lessons.
And that’s where the humble pie comes in. I have no choice but to eat it, to take responsibility for my missteps, and to learn from them. This whole experience has been a brutal reminder of the importance of planning. I didn’t set myself up for success, and now I’m paying the price in lost time, financial stress, and personal frustration. But the beautiful thing about failure is that it’s an opportunity to grow. Yes, I’ve made mistakes, and this transition has been far more challenging than I ever anticipated—but I’m learning. Slowly, painfully, but surely, I’m learning.
On the Lighter side, I want to thank Joe Lau from Phyre Dojo. Joe has been around since I was very young. I swear, one time when I was about seven years old, I watched him jump about 10 feet into the air onto the hood of a truck!
Seriously, though, Joe, who embodies The Way of the Caretaker, offered to do an online event that will benefit my trip (Which I need now more than ever), traveling around and showing you places my father wanted me to visit and interview people whose lives have been forever changed by his teachings. Plus, it will help me deal with this financial strain due to the ongoing investigations. The online event will take place on October 13th.
Between the stress of the last few years, my father taking his final walk, and life in general, I need to rest, and reset.
It's 2:19 AM, and I must go to sleep. The quote from Lord of the Rings keeps popping into my head. “I feel thin, sort of stretched, like butter scraped over too much bread.”
Peace of joy and purpose to you all,
T3