In the beginning of this year of 2014, I ushered in not only a new job, but a new city of work – Palo Alto, California.  Prior to this move I worked in San Francisco for over eight years, and currently living in San Francisco (over two years now) and other neighboring cities prior to, my commute to work was never a concern for me.  San Francisco’s public transportation – compared to other US cities, at least – is good.  I Caltrained, I BARTed, I MUNIed.  Palo Alto’s public transportation, unfortunately, is a complete joke.  In fact it’s damn near non-existent.  And I understood that, prior to accepting the gig, I am required to increase my driving time and shoot my miles through the roof to get to work.

While I do have genuine concerns about the oil crisis and gas prices and our overall environmental well-being, I was okay with the commute ahead of me then.  And I still am now.  I did well for over two months, close to three, from January to mid-March.  I was out my door by 6:30 AM – 6:48 AM to avoid the morning freeway congestion, which allowed me to leave work just before everyone else in Silicon Valley did.  It is unfortunate that I eventually fell off the wagon; my nights became longer, and getting out the door by 6:48 AM became a rarity.  7:00 AM became more common, then came 7:15, then 8:00, to as late as 9:30 AM out the door.  And from this tardiness I was introduced to the very popular traffic on the US 101 that many, if not all Bay Area commuters cringed about.

Traffic – you learn to get used to it, but only if you allow yourself to.  Some days are worse than others.  In April, I suffered a car accident on the freeway that left my beloved truck of thirteen years totaled (and I thankfully walked away without a scratch).  And being fully immersed in traffic with thousands of commuters for the better part of these last four months have brought about one simple, yet powerful question:

What moves you?

And “work” is the surface answer.  You make ends meet to survive.  You get from A to B, earn a paycheck, then go from B to A and do it all over again.  It’s America.  It’s what you have to do to make America continue to happen and exist in it.  If you earn enough paychecks you get to pay your rent, buy a shirt, maybe some pants, and have a beer and a cookie on the weekend, too.

For the record, I don’t exactly promote the visuals of being butt naked from the waist down on your front lawn while munching on a cookie and washing it down with a Coors Light on a Sunday afternoon.  It’s just, you know, an example.  But hey, if that floats your boat, by all means please quote me.

But it’s the other kind of move that I mean.  I can only hope that most people do understand and recognize the differences between surviving, and living.  We work in order to survive.  Simple, right?  So what do you do to live?  With that in mind, what moves you then?

It horrified me that I couldn’t answer with any conviction.  And I think my problem by going about thinking of an answer was that, I was looking for specific answers, and when I did that I always came to a conclusion that it was “too easy.”  Passion projects, travelling, learning, and the overall pursuit of happiness – we all know this shit already.  Even further than that, how many times have you – for example – travelled and seen a new place and left unfulfilled?  Unmoved?  I know I have, and I can at least conclude for myself that those “answers” that are “too easy” can completely miss the mark, too.

Am I a man doomed to walk this earth not knowing what moves me?  Fortunately, no.  Because it did dawn on me the other day what moves me on a day-to-day basis.  It’s so simple that, when it hit me I felt it in my bones, and I had to go all the way back to how I spent my summer seasons during elementary school to feel that same level of simplicity and relief.

I want to be moved.  That’s what moves me.

And I don’t always have to chase and capture photographs for that.  I don’t have to design chair after chair and build full scale prototypes.  I don’t have to seek a new adventure in another city to be moved.  I don’t have to solve for x and find the area of the triangle using the Pythagorean theorem (although that really, really turns me on).

I’m easily moved by a song from the past, something from my favorite record from my favorite band perhaps.  I’m easily moved by having a conversation worth remembering for all time, or a brilliant idea that creates action, or a good film that inspires change.

And I can be moved, every day – even more – simply by just the way you look at me.  And the simple touch of your hand over mine, or if I’m lucky the brush of your cheek against the delicate tip of my nose.  I can be moved by simply hearing your voice, especially when your happy, even when you’re angry, but not when your upset.  I can be moved by the scents that only you will have, and when those scents tickle my senses a jolt of electricity will surrender my body.  I can be moved by the slightest upward bend of your lips.  And if you give me a full smile and that laugh of yours then you’ll move me swiftly off my feet and into outer space.  I can be moved every day.

But I don’t have every day with you. And the possibility of that still keeps me going.