One interesting and occasionally brutal thing about my son, though, is that he tells me exactly how a story resonates within him. Like, within his body.
“That was so funny, mom, I felt it all the way up here,” he’ll say, drawing an imaginary line from his toes to his mouth.
“You scared me to here,” he’ll say, motioning to his hip. Then he’ll put his hand next to his chin. “Next time see if you can scare me to here.”
A couple of my tall tales were so bad, they didn’t even rank. “That story fell on the ground. I didn’t even feel it,” he said. “It didn’t touch me.”
It’s strange to be edited in real time by my own 6-year-old child, yes. But his feedback made me fiercer in my telling. I went bolder and weirder and wilder, all for the sake of garnering a reaction.
The body is more than 60% water, which is why music, chanting, and sound therapies have such an impact on how we feel. They change the vibration within us. (Think: That glass of water in Jurassic Park when the T. rex approaches the car, only you’re the cup of water.)
But I also like to believe on some level we’re made up of stories — at least 60%, if not more. So I can’t help but thrill at how my child receives a narrative and considers it a full-body experience. The stories are in his heart, up to his neck, even pooling on the ground around him.
I recently celebrated a birthday, and it’s weird. Even though I’m officially middle-aged, I still feel like I’m arriving late to my own life. There are so many things I wanted to have accomplished by now and places I imagined I’d be. At the very least, I thought I’d be the benevolent but firm dictator of a tiny country.
So I’m still trying to catch up, but I did figure out some stuff along the way. Here are 42 of them:
1. Creating a network, whether it’s professional or more personal, is a matter of quality over quantity.
2. Floss every day.
3. You will smoke like you are invincible, because that’s how young people smoke. It is something you are successful at: puffing, dragging, clicking and flipping a Zippo, lighting cigarettes in the wind. And when you quit, you will miss it. So just don’t start.
4. If you work best in the mornings, stop trying to be a night owl. And vice versa.
5. People who dance at parties almost always have more fun than people who don’t.
6. Wear what makes you feel good.
7. But not jumpsuits.
8. Imposter syndrome is a real beast. The only way to fight through is to “fake it ’til you make it,” which is a cliché, but it’s a cliché for a reason.
9. If given a choice in a public restroom, never use the first stall (it’s overused) or the last stall (where people hide to poop). Go middle stall or go home.
10. There’s no shame in making money or asking for what you’re worth.
11. Put something beautiful and something strange on every page. That’s writing advice from Megan Mayhew Bergman, but it easily expands to become something more like a lifestyle. Be purposeful in finding something beautiful and something strange in each day.
12. You had that one friend who split dinner checks down to the penny. (Everyone had that friend. Emphasis on the had part.) Don’t be that person.
13. Stop apologizing for what you want, for the space you take up, for living your life, for what you enjoy, for what you know to be true. You are not sorry. There’s nothing sorry about you.
14. You cannot understand the place you come from until you leave it.
15. Try everything. At least one bite.
16. You’ll never heal in the same environment that made you sick. (I either read this in a tweet or on a teabag. Either way, it’s true.)
17. Take your ego out of the equation.
18. But maintain a tiny bit of ego. You’re great.
19. Push yourself until it’s impossible to turn back and there’s no other option but to move forward. (This lesson comes courtesy of day three on your four-day hike to Machu Picchu.)
20. There is no better bean than a chickpea.
21. If you have the opportunity to be selfless, take it. Remember that extending care to others is really a form of caring for yourself.
22. Comfort kills creativity.
23. Walk until you find the answer. Author Jenny Offill rattled off the Greek phrase for this, which you can’t remember and can’t find with any amount of Googling, but anyway that’s not the point. The point is to take a hike whenever you can’t figure something out, and keep walking until the solution surfaces.
24. Self-consciousness wastes valuable energy that could be better used for dancing.
25. Say yes more often.
26. Own your mistakes. Like, if you’re in spin class and your shoelace gets tangled with the pedal and you fall off the bike, it’s better to throw your hands in the air and pretend you just did a fancy dismount than to slink away in shame. NOT THAT IT’S EVER HAPPENED TO YOU.
27. Treat everyone you meet like it’s their birthday.
28. A few things to carry because you’ll never know when you’ll need them: A packet of tissues, chewable Pepto tablets, plastic bags. If you’re traveling, also bring a wedge-shaped door stopper, a whistle, and a flat rubber sink stopper.
29. Follow your curiosity. It will drive you to weird places.
30. Indulge the weird.
31. Set fair, realistic goals. And when I say “fair,” I mean fair to yourself. You’re probably never going to be a champion surfer. But you could take a surf class.
32. Take notes.
33. Let go of your expectations. They inevitably lead to disappointment. That’s not to say you should minimize your hope or anticipation — those are great things to have. But whenever you expect a location or an event or a person to be something epic, something soul-shattering, it can’t possibly live up to the hype. Kind of like prom. Prom is built up to be the most magical moment of a young person’s life, and it actually kind of sucks.
34. Vote in every election.
35. Just take the leap. Back when you were a skydiver, only one part of the jump frightened you — getting out of the aircraft. You had to play mental games with yourself and pretend you were Angelina Jolie’s stunt double, that kind of thing. But once you were in the air, you relaxed into it and let the sky hold you up, which is the most glorious feeling in the world. So do whatever it takes to get out of the plane. You’ll be happy you did.
36. Nobody cares how your thighs look.
37. Decisions made purely out of fear only lead to more chaos and upheaval.
38. Almost nothing is meant to last forever. Not material goods, not relationships, not a perfect trip. Let things go before holding on to them suffocates you.
39. Have a map. Literally and figuratively. You’re guilty of wandering around until you get yourself lost, which is fine — sometimes it’s actually the best. But often things would have been easier if you’d have just carried a map. This goes beyond travel and into your personal and professional life, where your wise, knowledgable friends would be happy to help guide you.
40. Whenever you feel the most frightened, you’re on the brink of something amazing.
41. Every scary thing prepares you for the next scary thing.
42. There is more good in the world than bad. This is the absolute truth.
My life as a backpacker was a lot of things. Exhilarating. Challenging. Sometimes lonely.
But not clean.
I was a very dirty backpacker — like, actual filth — and not by choice.
Basic hygiene can be hard to come by when you’re sleeping on overnight buses, bus station benches, or saggy mattresses in moldy hostels. It’s even more difficult if you visit some of the places where I traveled, where water was precious.
I became a master of the bucket bath, which involves the same kind of bucket you’d use to build a sandcastle at the beach, plus just enough water to fill that bucket, and a small ladle or measuring cup. Here’s how it works: Dump a cup of water over your body, soap yourself, then rinse with another cup of water.
It’s like a day at the spa, if that day was portioned out one cup at a time.
Some towns were simply out of water, so bathing wasn’t an option at all.By the time I arrived in Villa Tunari, Bolivia, the town hadn’t had flowing water for weeks. In Arba Minch, Ethiopia, the townspeople said they hoped to see water any day. Two days later, I looked like Pigpen in a Peanuts strip and lost all hope.
When showers were available, they often weren’t comfortable. Some were cold enough that my lips turned purple and my body shook; others were so hot I thought my skin would blister.
Laundry became the height of luxury. About once a month I brought my dirty clothes to a real laundromat, but in between I rinsed my clothes in sinks. As I dunked, soaked, and swirled the fabric, the water turned a murky brown, like making mud tea.
If you travel slow enough, you take on a bit of each place you visit, and the things I wore were proof.
Sink laundry in Luang Prabang.
I didn’t really envy the tourists I encountered — the ones who stepped out of air conditioned vehicles, took selfies and trotted through museum tours before they were whisked to another location — but I admired how they looked.
They were crisp. They were clean. I bet they smelled nice.They wore WHITE.
My clothes were dingy, dark tees and khaki hiking pants, clothes designed to camouflage grime as I absorbed the world. But those tourists were confident in their fuck-it-all white. They moved through the world as though nothing could soil them, as though there was laundry service waiting for them at the end of each day (because … well, there was).
Sometimes they even wore linen, which is a fabric I just don’t understand. Some people can pull it off. Me? I look like a crumpled Kleenex.
White clothing is something I always notice when I look at travel photos now, and I say that as someone who stalks a lot of travel accounts on Instagram. More than a magnificent hotel backdrop or a gorgeous cocktail hoisted in the air, a white shirt screams opulence. You’ve achieved a level of travel luxury that I never have.
Fine. You guys are enjoying your champers and a hilarious joke at a hotel. I’ll let these white clothes pass.
But you. How are you not covered in dirt?
Gurrrl. You are about to get dusty.
But wait. All of this is about to change.
This summer I’m taking another journey. I’ve worked very hard and saved to be able to take my son to Southeast Asia.
When I traveled through Thailand and Cambodia before as a solo backpacker, I daydreamed about what it would be like to make that same trip as a mother. I was curious how it would shift the dynamic when I met people, how they would respond to me as a mom, how my child would respond to them. So it’s not an exaggeration to say this is a trip I dreamt about long before I ever gave birth.
I’m going to bring my son to the elephant sanctuary where I volunteered. I’m going to show him how to kneel and pray in the temples that made me weep. I’m going to give him bowls of slurpy noodles and let monkeys jump on his head. We are going to get filthy.
This time around I’ve budgeted enough to pay for laundry service as we go. And you can bet the first thing I’m packing is a crisp, white shirt. (And a white dress. And a white bikini.) I want to travel in white just this once, to have a taste of something I’ve never had before.
My focus word for 2017 was “abundance,” and I spent all year trying my darnedest to cultivate that.
And failing. I failed so hard, you guys. My failures were abundant.
Financially, it was one of my driest years since I started freelancing. There were long and seemingly endless spans of time where nothing was accepted or published, even though I wrote, pitched, queried, and followed up obsessively. At one point I read an article that advised writers to aim for 100 rejections per year, and I cackled like a mad woman in a Brontë novel — I was hitting about 100 rejections (or non-responses) per month.
It was depressing. It felt like I was trying to climb a mountain, and even though I was doing my part, I couldn’t quite get there. I researched the trail, I showed up in hiking boots, I carried all the right gear, I had the motivation and desire to put in the work. Then mere steps from the top, I toppled for whatever reason, forcing me to start all over again.
Just when I considered calling it quits, I attended the Cambridge Writers’ Workshop in magical Granada, Spain. It helped recharge my batteries on just about every level, from inspiring me to write new things and look at my work in a different way to satisfying my itchy feet and proving I can still travel solo.
Soon after, I placed some of my favorite pieces, like this essay for LitHub about Silent Book Club, a piece about wildflowers and making my own roots in the desert for Palm Springs Life (the online version is a little wonky with some repeated paragraphs, but you can see it here anyway), and a funny/sad essay about a rat for Mutha Magazine.
I also started hosting a radio show about books with Tod Goldberg. I received an acceptance from an outlet that has been on my byline bucket list for decades. I registered for the Erma Bombeck Writers Workshop, because I want to find my way toward humor writing again. I read 51 books.
Other good things happened: A road trip to Vegas, a quick jaunt to Portland, a terrific visit with my sister. I reconnected with old friends and made some new ones. As a family, Jason, Everest, and I slept in a tipi under the stars in Pioneertown, hiked through a couple of Canada’s spectacular national parks, and explored Vancouver, now one of our favorite cities.
Also Everest turned 3, and he has grown into someone I genuinely love to hang out with. He’s funny and weird and makes me laugh until I wheeze. We have dance parties, take silly selfies, and haven’t found a trail yet that we don’t want to explore.
In November Everest and I hiked 30 miles together, and most of those were quiet morning jaunts, clambering over rocks, scraping up knees, and listening to birdsong. I cherish every one of those miles.
Now we’re ending on a high note. We just finished a family road trip that was just about as perfect as those things get. We started by seeing the Yayoi Kusama exhibit at The Broad in Los Angeles, and stayed the night in Solvang, a quirky Danish-themed town. Then we spent a few easy days at Morro Bay, listening to seals bark, running on the beach, and sipping hot cocoa as the sun sank.
Our last morning in Morro Bay is a memory that I hope lasts, as it seems to sum up the whole year for me. It’s Everest, barreling down the pastel beach, gathering sand dollars by the handful. He carries them to me, holds these urchins to his chest, makes careful piles of them. He tosses some into the ocean; the rest he tucks into the pockets of my old college sweatshirt.
This is abundance. My pockets hang heavy with sand and salt and shells, and my heart is so full it’s buoyant. I am sand dollar rich, and I have all the things that matter.
Travel is very important to The Husband and me. But so is saving money, especially now that we have a baby on the way.
So while we did want to indulge in a babymoon — our last getaway as a couple before our boy is born — we also wanted to keep enough cash in the bank to afford diapers when it was all over. We decided to ditch the traditional advice, since an all-inclusive in the Virgin Islands was simply not in our budget, and plan our own luxury-on-a-shoestring excursion.
Here are five easy questions we asked ourselves. Use them to plan a babymoon, or any kind of vacation, of your own.
1. What do you want to do?
Are you seeking action or something more leisurely? Want nightlife or nature? Sightseeing or sunset gazing? Determine the kind of vacation you’d like to have. Once you figure out your priorities, you can whittle down the destination options.
Even though The Husband and I typically enjoy more adventurous excursions, we desperately wanted to relax and recharge. We decided to look for a beautiful location where we could hike and take long walks, as well as a nice room where we could curl up together.
2. How will you get there?
Decide how you want to get where you’re going. Think about what will be the best for your budget AND the most hassle-free. We all know how to get a cheap flight, but if you have to drive a few hundred miles to catch a redeye or endure a 7-hour layover somewhere, is it still worth it?
While The Husband and I love to fly, we knew driving would be the easiest and most frugal way for us to travel. Depending on where you live, though, you might find some terrific air travel deals that are both time-saving and low-cost.
With the goal of a one-tank trip in mind, we looked at locations within a five-hour driving radius of our home. Our options included Las Vegas, coastal California, southern Arizona and northern Mexico. I’m not crazy about Vegas (I know, I know — I’m THE ONE person who doesn’t care what happens in Vegas or if it stays there), and we’ve already spent considerable time vacationing throughout California and Arizona.
We figured Mexico would give us a new locale to explore, and our money would go farther there. For instance, for the price of two nights at a beach hotel in California, we could afford four nights in Baja.
3. What time of year is your vacation?
This sounds so simple, but you’d be surprised how often it slips past when planning a getaway, and it can actually make or break your vacation. Ask yourself: What’s the weather like where you’re going? Do they have any festivals or major events happening when you’ll be there?
There are plenty of travel articles that will tell you vacationing off-season is a great way to stretch your budget, and that’s true. But really think about where you’re going, consider the potential risks and determine your comfort level, which is particularly important when you’re pregnant. Are you willing to brave Miami in the midst of hurricane season? Will you still enjoy Costa Rica if it rains every day? Will you be comfortable in the desert if it’s 120 degrees? It’s fine if your answer is yes; just arm yourself with this information in advance and plan accordingly.
Now look at what else will be happening in your destination while you’ll be there. To use an extreme example: Say you end up babymooning in Rio during the World Cup. Not only will you be battling crowds for tables at restaurants and places to stay, you’re also going to face severely inflated prices. You’ll probably still have a great time — but it might not be the getaway you originally envisioned.
In our case, The Husband and I were a little apprehensive about heading to Mexico during spring break. But since we decided to stay in a sleepy, seaside village and not anywhere with a Señor Frog’s, we didn’t have any issues with drunk fraternity brothers.
4. Where will you sleep?
Think about what kind of accommodations will make you most comfortable. Do you want to stay in a big hotel with a lot of amenities? Or are you looking for a boutique hotel with a lot of personality? Do you want a pool, a gym, a restaurant on site? Or are you looking for a totally unique experience, like a B&B? What’s important to you? I’m not much for room service, but I have some friends who consider it one of life’s greatest pleasures.
The Husband and I like to use Airbnb, an accommodations website with unique listings all over the world — anything from private rooms to entire houses. (Even clock towers and treehouses!)
For this vacation, we wanted an entire apartment to ourselves. It was also important that we have our own kitchen, because we both have special dietary needs, and we wanted to keep costs down by making some of our own meals. (We tend to cook two of our own meals a day, eat one nice meal out.)
What made this place special is that our host gave us the kind of personalized experience that you rarely find from a hotel, unless you’re paying top dollar. Cathy organized our Mexican car insurance for us in advance. She booked our massages with a trustworthy and experienced professional. She welcomed us with a tray of fresh-basked cookies. And she gave us invaluable advice on places to go, things to do and what to eat.
5. What else will make you feel comfortable?
This will be different for everyone and will depend on your situation.
I had two major concerns about leaving the country for my babymoon: Medical care and clean water.
Again, our Airbnb host was incredibly helpful. Cathy is an American who has been living in Mexico for 12 years, and she assured me of the quality doctors/hospitals located near her rental. She also offered to give me a list of physician names and phone numbers.
Her place does have filtered tap water (and all the restaurants nearby use filtered water too). That said, I’m very, very careful when it comes to water, so I purified it anyway. I use a SteriPen Adventurer Opti, which is my constant travel companion. It’s portable, it’s easy, and it works. And it’s saved me thousands of dollars over the years, because I never have to buy bottled water, no matter where I go in the world.
Here’s the final breakdown of our babymoon, which you can read more about here:
* The price of the suite rental came to $320. ($300 + cleaning fee).
* Our Mexican car insurance, required by law, was $40.
* Before we crossed the border, The Husband and I took out $200 from an ATM to pay for our food, massages, tolls and other assorted expenses — and we returned to the U.S. with $10 in our pockets.
So our grand total for five days was $550. (Plus one tank of gas, but I factor fuel into a different place in my budget.)
I’ve definitely traveled cheaper, but our priority here was comfort as well as a budget. We could have done without massages or some of our pricier meals, or we could have stayed at a smaller place off the beach. But we wouldn’t have quite as many beautiful memories — and those, of course, are priceless.
