Issue link: https://digital.copcomm.com/i/610464
42 wholelifetimes.com W aiting for the tow truck, I glanced in the rearview mirror to see a frantic, lost look on a tear-streaked face. Is that me? I did a double take. Pull it together, sister, everyone's car breaks down on occasion. The truth is, sitting in a dead car in downtown L.A. rush hour is probably one of the "safer" places I'd found myself in the past 15 months. Having gone all-in on a new business venture I was now broke, homeless and stressed to the max. I'd bought the car back when I was still practicing law so I could escape into nature after emotionally stressful weeks of fi ghting for air pollution control, and against cancer-causing waste dumps. I always returned to work more focused and energized. My passion was creating those epic weekend getaways, so I walked away from a stable job to follow my bliss as an entrepreneur. As a cost-cutting measure, two months in I'd given up my apartment to launch a marketing road trip. But 15 months later I was still traveling from one adventure or free couch to the next, and constantly longing for a space to call home. Now, waiting for the tow truck, my all-wheel drive 1997 Subaru had been pushed to the limit. The faded red hatchback looked tough with its bike rack, missing hubcaps and custom DIY fi berglass job, but it had long been asking for some undercarriage love I couldn't afford. In the rearview mirror I could see all of my worldly possessions: essentials (tent, sleeping bag, bike, wetsuit, bear canister, rope), a Tupperware container of clothes that still fi t my new wiry frame, my dying laptop, an oversized printer, random offi ce supplies (I was running a business, after all), my lucky heart-shaped piece of gravel, laundry detergent (I may have been homeless but I refused to smell homeless), an apple, a jar of peanut butter and one granola bar. When I made it to the repair shop, the owner looked me up and down: "Did you run out of gas, sweetie?" I tried to wipe the tears from my eyes but they had become one-way spouts with no emergency shut-off valve, and I was gulping for air between sobs. Listen asshole, I've traveled 5,000 miles, conquered business plans, website development, marketing strategies, crowd funding, brand ambassadorships, mobile application development, contractor negotiations, patent applications and all without a freaking home! I would know if I ran out of gas. "No. The tank is three-quarters full and I changed the oil two days ago." Car repair underway, I visited the restroom. Gripping the edges of the sink I let it roar, allowing my sobs to echo off the walls. This is not a big deal. It's just a car. Breathe. No matter what I told myself about the insignifi cance of my car dying, I couldn't stop hyperventilating. This car is my sanctuary, the only thing I can rely on. The death of this car is a big deal because, frankly, this car is all I have left. It's the only thing keeping me from being a complete failure. Much like my car, I had been pushed to my limit. I had become so focused on planning the perfect trip for each of my clients that I'd neglected to plan my own life journey and had ended up lost. That was it. That was the moment I decided to walk away from the dream I had given up everything for, because achieving it simply wasn't worth the cost of losing myself. It doesn't matter how much money you sink into an idea, how many hours you've spent nurturing it, or how many people you've convinced to believe in you if the pursuit of it leaves you homeless, hungry, hopeless and most of all, lost. It was time to let it go. Six weeks later I had place to live, a full-time job, a plan to evolve my business into a side project (women's weekend retreats—I still believe in the value of an epic escape), and most important, I had a sense of self again. backwords END OF THE ROAD By Laura Baker How far should you go to follow your passion?