Meet The Shadowy Future My travel mantra - "Go forth to meet the shadowy future without fear and with a manly heart." - Longfellow.

It's Autumn 2011, the seasons are changing and people are changing too. Americans, frustrated with the poor economy and inept government, have reached a boiling point and taken to the streets to vent their anger. I’ve come to New York to see the frenzied demonstrators who are dominating the news right now: the protestors of Occupy Wall Street.

I take the subway from Brooklyn to Manhattan. The train is dirty and reeks of stale sweat, making my stomach queasy. I quickly notice I’m severely out of place. I’m the wrong color person this time of night and keep my head down to avoid the questioning stares. I’m fidgeting and can feel my stress rising. Why am I here? “This is crazy” I think, “Its after dark, I’m on a train in one of New York’s roughest parts, going to the world’s most famous protest.” I have a decision to make: embrace the unknown or go home. Suddenly my attitude changes. This grimy train ride is an adventure not a prison.

My stop comes, I exit the train and go up the stairs. Manhattan engulfs me. I feel the city’s pulsing energy and my adrenaline surges. I’m lost but it doesn’t matter, the moment is exhilarating. My wandering search carries me through the city, past homeless people with outstretched arms, tempting food stands and night clubs thumping music. I hear a faint din and drumbeats as if nearing a jungle village ritual. The beats grow louder, joined with voices. I turn a corner and halt, shocked at the sight of Occupy Wall Street.

Blazing lights reveal a bizarre, surreal circus. Crowds shout at cameras and riot police with vicious German Shepherds mingle among hotdog carts and musicians. Excited and bewildered, I struggle to regain my senses as though acclimating to higher elevation. Unsure of what to do, I weave my way through police barricades and TV trucks and come to the park entrance. I stand there restless, clutching my pack and sleeping bag.

"You just get here?" A guy about my age with tangled dreadlocks and a plate of food walks up. If Ralph Lauren ever wanted to make a cologne called "Revolution" he would be the model.

"Yeah. Just got in tonight." I say with a trace of anxiety.

He quickly puts his food down and surprises me with a warm, friendly hug.

"Welcome brother. Glad you came."

That hug instantly dissolves my remaining apprehension, replaced by the quiet confidence of the explorer. I smile, savoring my moment of success. I’m not alone. I’m welcomed as a brother. I’m glad I came.