I woke up as the sun was reddening; and that was the one distinct time in my life, the strangest moment of all, when I didn’t know who I was—I was far away from home, haunted and tired with travel, in a cheap hotel room I’d never seen, hearing the hiss of steam outside, and the creak of the old wood of the hotel, and footsteps upstairs, and all the sad sounds, and I looked at the cracked high ceiling and really didn’t know who I was for about fifteen strange seconds. I wasn’t scared; I was just somebody else, some stranger, and my whole life was a haunted life, the life of a ghost. I was halfway across America, at the dividing line between the East of my youth and the West of my future.
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“Cheap Hotel Room,” On The Road
I never knew when I was fifteen and first reading this book what an impact it would have on my outlook on life or how it would lead me to take to the road for thousands upon thousands of miles of driving across this beautiful country.
As for this quote and the section of the book it relates to? There’s a lot of truth in it. After you’ve been on the road long enough, home becomes relative, and in a way who you are all becomes relative.
Not so much that you’re someone else, but all your interactions occur on this level in which you’re always introducing yourself, always interacting in a way that differs so greatly from how you would interact daily with those that know you and have known you for some time.
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