I'd left Siberia ghost town as the sun went down, departing for a four-hour motorcycle ride into the desert night; with hot wind at my front and the waning intensity of the setting sun upon my back. I left the ghost town with new ideas, a few scrapes and bruises, a bit dehydrated but with rejuvenated motivation to make the best of every day to come. This is the most worthwhile effect of my day and night in the desert every two weeks; in summer or winter the result is always the same: a sense of being well spent, and well worn, and of time well used and passed and a brain chock full of musing sufficient for another two weeks among the sane and sober world where I do call home, and where I hang my hat and pursue purpose and goodness and a still deeper sense of ample yet fully contrived life meaning in a universe of otherwise great indifference.
My name is Kurt Bell.
You can learn more about The Good Life in my book Going Alone.
Be safe... But not too safe.
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