PREFACE - Travel for STOICs

According to Stoic philosophers Epictetus, Seneca, and Marcus Aurelius, the ideas central to ancient Stoic philosophy provide tools for managing anxiety, specifically by cultivating a kind of indifference to events, good or bad—not by suppressing emotions, but by examining and understanding how emotions are connected to our opinions and actions. There are things we can control and things we can’t, but we can always regulate our reactions to what happens to us. And to conquer our anxieties, the Stoics believed we must get out into the world and do fieldwork. As Epictetus wrote, “We are eager and loquacious in the schools; but drag us into practice, and you will find us miserably shipwrecked.” Exposure to the strange and unfamiliar via travel is the perfect means for attaining mastery over our personality challenges. Amending your will to suit the world, not amending the world to suit you, will lead to the blissful condition of Stoic virtue, and as the Stoics believed, virtue is sufficient for happiness.

Part travel guide, part self-help book, and part memoir, Travel for STOICs is the book for the Solo Traveler who is Obsessive, Introverted, and Compulsive, informed and empowered by ideas borrowed from ancient Stoicism. As an obsessive-compulsive (O-C), you know the power of habits, so being a STOIC will provide valuable training that you’ll be able to apply to all areas of your life.

The need for empowerment implies that power has been taken away. Power is not a word often used to describe the obsessive, introverted, and compulsive person, a person who may have suffered from these conditions from a very young age and been made to feel powerless because of them. The clinical focus tends to be on intervening compulsions by mitigating obsessions. Because of this shift of focus away from empowerment, STOICs feel anything but mighty and robust, and this condition must be addressed as well. These persons also may be teetering on the edge of agoraphobia, so even the idea of leaving the house may be fraught with anxiety. Consider this book a “lead by example,” written specifically for those who dream of escaping the prison of the obsessive-compulsive and introverted. Consider me your scout, the person who’s gone and gathered the information you need to confront your anxieties and defeat them. Imagine yourself as a Stoic traveler, then get out there and do it!

Suppose we were to send you as a scout to Rome. But no one ever sends a timorous scout, who, when he only hears a noise or sees a shadow, runs back frightened, and says, “The enemy is at hand…” Get you gone and prophesy for yourself; our only fault is that we have sent such a scout. Diogenes was sent as a scout before you, but he told us other things…“There is no enemy near,” he says; “all is profound peace.” How so, Diogenes? “Look upon me,” he says. “Am I hurt? Am I wounded? Have I run away from anyone?” This is a scout worth having. But you come, and tell us one tale after another. Go back and look more carefully, and without fear.”

                                                                 —Epictetus

Stoicism is the original cognitive behavioral therapy, and solo travel is anxiety disorder exposure therapy par excellence. What better way to confront and mediate your condition than to throw yourself, solo, into the world at large, a world full of strangers and perceived threats? If I can do it, so can you.

                                                                 —Eva Rome

Excerpts - What It Means: Myth, Symbol, and Archetype in the Third Millennium, Vol. 1

Car Wash as Purification Ritual

Contemporary purification rituals, where water is the purifying medium, abound in the third millennium, just as they did thousands of years ago. We have the Jewish mikveh, a complete immersion in water to restore the observant to a state of virtue and piety; the Islamic ablution ritual of Wudu, where the hands, feet, head, mouth, and nostrils are washed in preparation for prayer or for handling the Quran; the Christian baptism tradition, and secular rituals including immersion in freezing water in winter, spring break at the beach, and hot tub parties. But nothing rivals the automated car wash purification ritual in efficacy, in systematized removal of dirt and filth, and in outcome. As the driver of the car, we experience the ritual minus the physical and emotional discomforts that can accompany a traditional purification ritual, and we reap the benefits sans the threat of annihilation. Enwombed in the safety of the cab of the car, we witness the utter transformation of our vehicle from unclean to clean within a matter of moments and experience this cleansing by proxy.

As in Dante’s Divine Comedy, a Virgil-surrogate guides us onto the eternally rolling track where, once our tires are locked, there is no escape and no turning back. Suggesting the rite of baptism, car wash nozzles spray a fine mist that covers our vehicle, replicating the sound of a gentle summer rain. Next, an opaque, fluffy stratum of multicolored soap silently blankets the car, surrounding it in a cloud layer that vaguely suggests a heavenly abode and that insulates the driver completely from her surrounds. Momentarily one feels free of gravity, an angel-spirit floating in a rainbow multiverse. The cares of the world have melted away, and absolution is within one’s grasp. But just as abruptly, this comforting layer is whisked away and we are back in Dante’s Inferno. From all directions, the car is subjected to a physical violence to its body in the form of whirling, rotating strips of thick red chamois—the flails of Lucifer—making horrifying slapping noises on all surfaces as if they wished to strip the car not only of its filth but also the outer painted surface and the metal skin itself. This is the supreme test of the driver’s ability to maintain the serenity induced by the previous two stations, and it is advisable to engage in a short penitential prayer or contemplate a future act of contrition at this point in the purification ceremony.

Although the lowest circle of hell has been reached, the faint light of Purgatorio—the second kingdom “wherein the human spirit doth purge itself”—can be glimpsed in the distance. But first one must pass through a curtain of the purest water, which in some car washes is lit by a cycling color sequence created by high-intensity LEDs, not only suggestive of the tortures of the nine circles of hell now left behind, but also a symbol of the rainbow, God’s covenant that “the waters shall no more become a flood to destroy all flesh.” Thus, the illuminated curtain of water can be understood as a symbol of the synthesis of heaven and Earth. Emerging from this station, one passes beneath the winds of Aeolus, and most, but not all, vestiges of grime and water are swept away. The shades of the upper circle of hell, consigned to an eternity of wiping and buffing, conclude the purification ceremony with a quick rub-down of the entire vehicle and wave you on your way. Paradiso is, by now, clearly on the horizon.

Peanut Butter and Jelly

Peanuts, a legume, develop their pods underground, and were first discovered and cultivated by the ancient Sumerians. Because of their scrotum-like structure and texture, and the fact that they usually contain two seeds, one per pod, they became a fertility symbol and were worshiped as such. A man who ate a handful of peanuts every day was assured of his virility well into old age. Another meaning assigned to the peanut came later and is associated with the Greek cult of Demeter. When Demeter's daughter, Persephone, was abducted by Hades and taken to his underground lair, Persephone was so terrified that she could not control her bowels. Peanuts were thought to be congealed bubbles of decomposing methane gas from Persephone's “night soil.”

Toward the end of the second millennium, peanut butter, a creamy paste made of peanuts and hydrogenated oil, was invented. When introduced into the mouth, peanut butter sticks to the palate, and the action of the tongue rubbing against the palate to remove the peanut butter stimulates the release of feel-good hormones dopamine and serotonin. Hence, peanut butter grew to be one of the world’s most popular foods. In the third millennium, the act of pouring a bag of peanuts into a carbonated beverage, followed by the ritual consumption of this potion, symbolizes the consummation of coitus and its assured success.

Jelly, a rendered form of (most often) the grape, is of course connected with Dionysus, the god of wine, debauchery, and fertility (and later a patron of the arts). Grape jelly is thus a symbol of his generative essence. A potent and intoxicating combination, peanut butter and jelly is a food consumed to assure fecundity, to honor the gods, and to participate by proxy in an ancient Greek bacchanal.

Location X: A Quest for Place — Chapter One, Diogenes

In São Paulo, Brazil, the neighborhoods known as Alto Pinheiros and Alto Lapa are hilly, solidly middle-class enclaves of handmade, single-family homes and soaring high-rises. Pinheiros borders on a large park named for Brazilian composer/conductor/cellist Heitor Villa-Lobos, and close by are streets named for Berlioz, Beethoven, Bach, and Haydn. One of the longest, busiest streets that meanders through those neighborhoods, though, is named for the ancient Greek philosopher Diogenes.

Diogenes, a Cynic and proto-Stoic, was born c. 412 BCE. He rejected societal and cultural conventions and called out the hypocrisies and follies of the people and institutions of his day. Renouncing his material possessions, he lived in a large, overturned jar in the agora of Athens and carried a lantern around, shoving it in people’s faces and declaring that he was “looking for a man,” knowing it was a fool’s errand when, in his estimation, none qualified. His philosophical antics didn’t stop there. Supposedly he once encountered Alexander the Great in Corinth, a city west of Athens. Diogenes was reclining against a building enjoying the sunshine, and Alexander, thrilled to be meeting the famous philosopher, asked if there were any favors he could do for him. Diogenes replied, “Yes, stand out of my sunlight.” Alexander then proclaimed, “If I were not Alexander, then I should wish to be Diogenes.” Diogenes replied, “If I were not Diogenes, I would still wish to be Diogenes.” If Oscar Wilde had been on the scene, he may have been inspired to author his clever dictum: Be yourself; everyone else is already taken.

Diogenes has renewed relevance in our era of extreme right-wing politics, the Covid pandemic, and the idiocy special to our times. He was partly the inspiration for the sale of my house and the drastic reduction of my possessions, but I haven’t resorted to living in a large jar. Not yet. Today, Diogenes would be ensconced in a cement storm sewer drainage pipe somewhere in Los Angeles, and his lantern would be his cell phone. Instead of looking for a man, having given up on that idea, he’d be Googling the ideal place to live out his days in relative comfort and contentment, away from people and the possibility of being swept away in a deluge. Also a fool’s errand?

Diogenes is credited with coming up with the word “cosmopolitan” (cosmopolites in Greek) because, in spite of his misanthropy, he claimed to be a citizen of the world. A radical statement for an ancient Greek, considering how important identity was to them. (Think the Peloponnesian War—the Spartans v. the Athenians—which concluded seven years before Diogenes was born.) I’m a citizen of the world, too, but what goes hand in hand with that is a sense of exile. Which I also feel. Cynicism encourages self-sufficiency and a focus on the things in life you can control, and in that spirit, I fled Santa Fe, New Mexico, in the United States, to find a place of reason, beauty, and tranquility, my own promised land. This was my quest, to hold my own lantern up to the world and my experiences and declare, “I’m looking for a place.”

It’s April, 2021, month one of my quest.

Chapter Eight, Airbnb Review: My Vacay in Your Travel Trailer

Thank you so much, everything was great! 😊 I’m thinking of buying one of these, so I thought I’d try yours out first. All I can say is, wow! I arrived during the heat of the day, and when I opened the door to your adorable trailer, I was greeted by a blast of lukewarm air that said moldy refrigeration coils! After bringing in all my stuff, I checked out the rural Texas flea market décor: cute, oversized plastic flowers in a Mason jar painted black, plastic stick-on butterflies, and all those old 45 records with psychedelic flowers painted on them glued to the walls, how fun! And the records, “Frontier Christmas” by Hudson & Landry, “Fat Man’s Prayer” by Victor Buono, and “Moonlight in Vermont” by Sam Butero, some of my favorites! Speaking of vinyl, the tablecloth was a great touch, with its Target store-logo motif and numerous coffee cup rings that complemented those exact shapes. And the slits in the cloth that said, someone got in a hurry and cut their BLT in half right here. The two-tone curtains featuring the midcentury’s most popular colors—avocado green and harvest gold—looked original, given the years’ worth of spaghetti sauce splatters and Cab Sauv stains, or is that grape Kool-Aid? 😜

The toaster oven and stove looked like they’d been left out in the rain, wind, and sun for a few years before being brought inside, but the rust gave them a great patina that said “country camping.” So did all the flies whose numbers I could never seem to reduce, no matter how many I smacked with the flyswatter. I got a really good feel for the other guests who preceded me when I saw all the greasy fingerprints on the fridge and microwave—thank you for providing this little bit of history! But I was wondering, doesn’t anybody cook anymore? The pots and pans were covered with cobwebs, and the holes in the colander were plugged up with what looked like red mud. Maybe somebody’s kid was out panning for gold, haha! Oh, and the toilet, rustic to be sure; indoor plumbing with an outdoor look (and smell)! The bedroom was a delight—pillows that were well-broken in—I always like to take a peek inside a pillowcase to see those infusions of other people’s head sweat and drool—it’s comforting! An afternoon nap was out of the question, tho, since the west-facing bedroom was uninhabitable for five hours or so in the afternoon. But that’s okay—I just drove around in my air-conditioned car waiting for the sun to go down. You know that massive gash in the balsa wood wall behind the head of the bed, and those huge gaps in the walls and floors where pipes enter and exit? They made me think I might be visited in the night by a raccoon or a possum, exciting! I love how raccoons look when they’re sitting on their haunches eating your food, their nimble little hands and short legs remind me of my Aunt Dolly. ✔

You know you’re REALLY out in the country when you get up in the middle of the night to pee, take the four steps across the bedroom carpet to the toilet, and end up with lots of those West Texas sand burrs in your feet, ouch! But no problem, I had pliers in the car that I removed them with. Did I mention the shower? No hot water or water pressure, but no worries. All I wanted to wash were my bleeding feet, anyway.

When I woke up the next morning, I squealed when I noticed I HAD had visitors during the night but missed the patter of their little feet. Mouse droppings were all over the towels, in the sink and—this is so doggone cute—they had eaten through my plastic bag of chocolate chip cookies and taken a bite out of each one! I’d forgotten that out here, you have to put everything in the fridge or they’ll get to it, even all the paper products. They LOVE Charmin Ultra Strong (maybe it’s more of a challenge than the cheap brands of TP 😉); it’s their favorite nesting material. ’Course you have to plastic bag-up all the paper before putting it in the fridge or you end up with a big, soggy, useless mess.

When I got cold during the night and pulled an extra blanket down from one of the cabinets, a pack rat nest came down with it. You wouldn’t believe the stuff that was in there! A lipstick tube, a five-centavo coin (did the critter go all the way to México to get it? 😂), the usual matted hair and masticated steel wool, and somebody’s keys. You know how pack rats can reconstruct their nests overnight? I do have one suggestion: you might want to check that, in between guests. I left the lost keys sitting on your book We Want It All: An Anthology of Radical Transpoetics because it has that bright pink and black cover, and I thought it would catch your eye. BTW, the cozy quilt on the fold-out couch, was that your grandmother’s? And did she bear all her children on it? There’s a substantial accumulation of history on that quilt!

Well, thanks again for the perfect vacay, and for sure I’ll be back this way again. Don’t you dare change a thing! 10/10 ✨✨✨✨✨