An Inquiry Into Living While Walking The Roads Of America, Mexico, And Beyond

I devoured Jeffrey Sawyer’s “An Inquiry into Living,” looking for answers to any of my own questions about what life would be like if I left everything behind. I can’t help wondering, though, how a man without money arrives in Hawaii and Asia? I know his canoe didn’t take him that far, right?

While I appreciate reading authors’ replies to letters, Jeffrey Sawyer’s responses [Correspondence, September 2004] are appalling to me as a white male. They reveal the dangerous mind-set of the purportedly “enlightened.” Despite his claims of seeing “society ever newly” and living with “perfect clarity,” his long history of abusing his privilege comes through in his everything-is-fine approach.

Of his four replies, the only one that shows any respect is in response to a man. With his three other responses, Sawyer makes it clear that he does not take women seriously. Most telling is his final reply, in which he manages to marginalize the writer with his single flippant sentence “Are you single?” His unwillingness to address the content of the letter and the way he turns the letter-writer into a sex object speak volumes about his lack of clarity and newness.

Jeffrey Sawyer’s “An Inquiry Into Living” is a fascinating description of a journey without destination. It reminded me of the wanderings of Peace Pilgrim, who crossed the American continent by foot from 1953 to 1981, covering more than twenty-five thousand miles. She carried only a comb, a toothbrush, paper and pen, and the clothes on her back. She remained in good health until she died in a car accident on her way to deliver a public lecture. Like Sawyer, she asked no one for anything, but accepted whatever was offered. She exemplified trust in herself and in the universe.

What fantastic adventures Jeffrey Sawyer has had, from cleverly saving some poor black kids from themselves to quietly judging a poor white Appalachian couple. From Sawyer’s essay I learned that women, especially beautiful women, are rarely themselves, unless they are lucky enough to find a man like him to save them; and in the rare moments when they are genuine, they are scary. Drunk Mexicans can be scary as well, but no worries: they are dumb and easily frightened away. In addition, Sawyer taught me that gay people want to suck you off in their cars.

Although Sawyer briefly had the insight to feel bad for not contributing anything to society, it seems his tremendous talent for rationalization quelled that guilt for him. Please tell Sawyer that staying awake for several days in a row is a classic sign of the manic stage of bipolar disorder. He may want to look into that.

I was captivated by Jeffrey Sawyer’s story [“An Inquiry into Living,” June 2004] of how he chucks everything and walks around our country, continuing to discard ideas that cause him pain whenever he finds them. He truly seems to clear his head and live in a more immediate, less troubling reality.

I am not as carefree as Sawyer, sleeping wherever he finds himself when tiredness overcomes him. While I’m considering if I really need a cellphone, he’s considering if he should eat all the mushrooms he finds. But I felt a deep resonance with his experience. I’d like to swim through my middle-aged-schoolteacher life with his courage and discernment.

Replying to D. Johnson in the September 2004 Correspondence, Jeffrey Sawyer says: “Not giving in at all to fears that direct my life away from perfect clarity and inner contentment assures me of health at all levels.”

I work as a visiting nurse in my community. Every day I see people who are afflicted with problems that have nothing to do with their mind-set: diabetes, cancer, spina bifida, paraplegia, multiple sclerosis, and so on. Sawyer should at least give credit to his gene pool and good luck, as well as his positive attitude.

Sometimes illnesses descend on people out of the blue, no matter their lifestyle or outlook. It’s how they cope with those illnesses that is the true test of a positive mental attitude.

I was greatly moved by Jeffrey Sawyer’s ability to overcome the fear and insecurity of having no property, income, or savings. I envy his non-attachment to outcome, and his faith that the universe will provide. I am bound by financial concerns, attachments, and lack of faith, myself.

As I tried to imagine being in his shoes, however, it occurred to me that it would be very difficult, maybe even impossible, for a woman to take to the roads alone, sleep in the open, and so on. My husband, who is black, commented, “I probably wouldn’t make it past the Midwest.” Though I admire Sawyer’s courage, I submit that only a white male can safely venture into a relationship of trust with our society.

I thoroughly applaud Jeffrey Sawyer’s trek. As a compulsive planner, I am envious of his ability to toss aside everything familiar and venture out without a concrete plan. As an employee, however, of a nonprofit hospital that treats everyone, regardless of ability to pay, I take exception to his statement: “A year before I set out walking, I canceled my health-insurance policy. On that day I became 100 percent responsible for anything that happened to me.”

Hospitals and Medicaid programs spend millions of dollars a day on emergency medical care for people like Sawyer, who are able to afford health insurance but consciously choose not to buy it. I and other working Americans are, in fact, taking 100 percent responsibility for Sawyer’s health, because our tax money will bail him out in the event of a catastrophic injury.

So before he goes patting himself on the back for taking responsibility, he should thank the insured and the working members of our society, who pad the Medicaid cushion in the event that his health should take an ugly turn. Only when he walks in a Third World country with no significant healthcare safety net is Sawyer truly taking personal responsibility.