James, let me tell you something I’ve learned over the years. You can spend your whole life running, convincing yourself that the next move, the next place, the next woman, the next job is going to be the thing that finally makes sense. But you already know the truth, don’t you? There’s no finish line to this kind of life. There’s just motion. And I ain’t saying that’s right or wrong. Some men aren’t built for stillness. Some men are just wired to keep going, to keep chasing, even when they don’t know what the hell they’re after.
I know you. I’ve watched you carve a path through this life like a man with a fire at his heels, always looking for the next exit, the next fresh start, the next escape hatch. And hell, I won’t lie to you—there’s something beautiful about that kind of freedom. Most men don’t even get a taste of it. They get trapped early, tied down to a house, a woman, a job they hate, and they spend their days pretending they don’t feel that ache in their chest, the one that whispers this isn’t it. But you, you took the road most men don’t have the balls to take.
And now here you are, staring at the words of a song you can’t shake, wondering why your ex-wife looked at you and saw a man who was Desperado.
You want to know what she meant?
She saw what I see. A man who’s been out ridin’ fences for so long he forgot how to step off. A man who’s had good things laid before him, but he always wanted the ones just out of reach. A man who calls it freedom, but deep down knows that the price of that freedom is loneliness.
And don’t give me that bullshit about how you don’t want a woman tying you down, about how you don’t want to be like those old men who die in their recliners, suffocated by routine and Sunday dinners. You don’t have to be like them. But tell me something—how many times have you walked away from someone before they could walk away from you? How many times have you burned the bridge before they could light the match?
I’m not telling you to settle down, to buy the house with the white picket fence, to spend your golden years hosting Christmas dinners. I know that ain’t you. And truth be told, it ain’t me either. But let’s not pretend that leaving every time the walls start to close in has made you any happier.
Hawaii didn’t fix you. Neither did Sedona. Neither did Portland or Phoenix or Bend. You think Argentina will?
Son, you’ve been running your whole life, and maybe that’s just who you are. Some men are meant to keep moving. But every man has to ask himself at some point, What am I running from?
Maybe it’s love. Maybe it’s stillness. Maybe it’s just the fear that if you stop long enough, you’ll have to face the fact that you don’t know what the hell you’re looking for.
You say you just want a drinking buddy and a bed warmer while you plan your next move. That’s fine. But tell me—how many times have you done that already? And how many times has it ended the same damn way? You ever wonder why?
You got kids who inherited that same itch, that same hunger for more. And maybe that’s a gift, maybe it’s a curse. Hell, maybe it’s both. But you know what’s funny? Your daughter, the one who told you she’d be disappointed if you didn’t travel the world—she might have given you permission to keep running, but she also gave you the truth. Because if you keep going, if you chase every last horizon, what happens when there’s no one left to tell your stories to?
I’ve seen men like you before, James. Hell, I’ve been men like you before. And I’ll tell you what happens. You keep running until the road runs out. And then one day, you wake up in a place where nobody knows your name, where the bars close early, where the only voice you hear is the one inside your own damn head. And you realize—you weren’t built for stillness, but you weren’t built for silence either.
I ain’t saying stop. I ain’t saying settle. But don’t be so damn sure that freedom is just another country away. Because that prison you’re afraid of? The one where a man walks through this world alone?
You built that yourself.
Now, what the hell are you gonna do about it?
