A Greyhound bus to Galveston, Texas, with a bicycle in tow. Barry R. spent his youth drifting through a neon world of concrete and cigarette smoke, chasing a "granular bit of heaven" in cocaine and the slow tide of LSD. He was a shy kid who didn't feel at home in his own skin, fleeing from a script in his head that told him he was unworthy. The wreckage mounted until he woke up in the back of a squad car, then later found himself driving faster into a field, nearly plummeting off a bluff.
At a detox center, Barry hit a wall of genuine surrender. He realized his life was a network of interwoven emotions—self-pity feeding fear, feeding resentment. He traded the high-powered motorbike for a 50cc putt-putt bike and a life of continuous surrender. From the grit of sober houses to the "boot camp" of a Japanese Zen temple, he learned to stop running and simply sit. He found a Higher Power not in theology, but in the connection required to survive.
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