42 things I’ve learned

August 6, 2018

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. 

A confession: The biggest mistake I’ve made as a parent (so far)

June 28, 2018

If I’d just purchased pretzel twists instead of pretzel sticks, we never would have had a problem. 

Here’s what happened instead. 

Everest whined for a snack, and I tossed a bag of pretzel sticks to him in the backseat. Not the healthiest snack, to be sure. Also maybe not the safest to have in the car. But it was a 40-minute drive from our house to the child care facility, and that can feel like 40 days when a child is profoundly unhappy. 

“Mommy, look!” he called to me from the backseat. 

I didn’t want to look because I was driving.

“Look,” he urged. “It’s our savior.”

At that point, I LOOKED.

Everest held two pretzel sticks in the air, arranged like a lopsided X, more like a cross. 

“Our savior,” he said again. 

You know when you get a migraine and your vision sparkles and blurs at the edges, and the world becomes sharp and throbbing? It was like that, but rage. A ragegraine. 

“Our savior?” I said. “Where did you learn that?”

“At school.” 

White hot rage with a little bit of blue fire at the center. 

I want my child to learn about Christianity eventually — I believe it’s a necessary foundation to understand a lot of literature, art, history, so on — but I want him to learn it in the context of other world religions. 

“Our savior,” Everest repeated. “I like our savior.”

Honestly, I had hoped to delay this part of parenting. I don’t feel equipped to teach my child about religion, because I continue to struggle with spirituality myself. My own belief system is constantly in flux — currently a bizarre Buddhist Hindu Quaker amalgam, informed by a childhood steeped in the Lutheran church, plus a dash of Catholicism. And I was furious that someone forced me into that situation when I wasn’t ready. 

“What do it mean?” Everest asked, and I didn’t have any answers.

Just a few months earlier, our beloved cat passed away. Everest struggled with the concept of death and continued to ask about Kung Pao Kitten daily. How could I possibly explain what the cross symbolizes without having another difficult conversation about what it means to suffer and die? 

From the school parking lot, I contacted a few parents who also had children in that class, and I told them about the “our savior” thing. They were shocked — but they insisted their children never said anything even remotely similar. 

Then I tried to casually discuss it with the teacher: “Everest said the funniest thing today … do you know where he could have picked that up?”

After the teacher denied having any religious discussions in the classroom, I had a meeting with the school director, who also assured me that the facility is religion-free. 

He must have learned it from another kid, I decided. 

“I bet it was that asshole Beckett*,” I texted to a friend.

On the way home that afternoon, Everest said it again. And again, I stewed. 

I brought my child to school the following day, but it was only to gather his things. We’d had enough. There were other issues, so it wasn’t entirely about “our savior” — when Everest moved from the toddler ladybug room to the older geckos, he never really warmed up to his new teacher. Several items of his clothing went missing. Twice he came home wearing some other kid’s underwear. And once that asshole Beckett called me a “sick pervert” for giving Everest a kiss goodbye. 

So I pulled Everest from the school. 

We found a new school, one that’s only a 7-minute drive away, not 40. He’s happy there. The place doesn’t have an enormous outdoor play area or a garden like his former school, but it makes up for that with a terrific staff, a great program, and some really wonderful families. I’m grateful we were able to find a spot there. 

It’s been about 9 or 10 months since Everest switched facilities — long enough that the current place isn’t his new school anymore, it’s just school. He’s bigger now and more developed. He’s learned so much. His vocabulary is expansive, and he can enunciate far more clearly.

Recently, I gave Everest pretzel sticks as a snack. 

“Mommy, look!” he said. Again, he had the two sticks positioned like a cross. 

Not again, I thought.

“It’s an X,” he said. “Like my friend at my old school. Xavier.”

That’s when the reality of what I’d done hit me with a gut punch. I pulled my child from his school for saying the name of his friend. X-avier.

Not our savior.

 

 

 

*Name has been changed to protect the real a-hole toddler

Resistance for introverts

June 19, 2018

It’s time to get serious about actively resisting the cruel and inhumane policies of this administration. But what if you’re not the kind of person who wants to be on the front lines, marching and phone banking? Is there a place for introverts in all this?

Hell yeah. Come on in, the resistance is fine.

I’ve jotted down a few ideas here, but this is certainly not a comprehensive list. See what you can do. Then read some articles about incarcerated babies as young as 3 months old who have been stolen from their families … and get angrier. And then do a couple more things.

Here we go:

Make a phone call. 

Just kidding. Phone calls are terrible. I only speak to three people on the phone, and one of them brings me food. But if you DO want to make a phone call, use a script! The person on the other end will never know, and phone calls do make a difference  — elected officials keep track of how many constituents care about a particular issue; one major gauge is how many phone calls they receive. 

The ACLU has a great script here. Make it fun by pretending you’re an old-timey person who actually uses a phone to make calls. 

Reach the Congressional switchboard at 202-224-3121. Or use an app like 5 Calls to streamline the process. 

Fax someone. Seriously.

Have you ever wondered who has a fax machine anymore? The answer is Congress!

That hunk of equipment actually makes for a very easy way to reach your representatives. Resistbot will help you contact them via fax, and you don’t even have to download anything or use an app. In under 2 minutes, you can send a very real message.

Bonus: Imagine the halls of Congress going “Beeeeeep. Blorp. Blorp. ZZZZZZZMZZMZMZZ!!” all day long. #Satisfying

Sign a petition. They’re everywhere.

Write postcards to your elected officials. Sometimes I do this in bars because 1. It discourages people from talking to me. 2. It gives me something to do. 3. Alcohol makes it very easy to let the words flow.

Attend a rally on June 30. Find the closest one to you here.

If you are a person who can’t do crowds for whatever reason, it’s okay. Really. 

My friend Karen was at a protest last year when she came across a woman having an extreme anxiety attack. Karen hoisted the woman on her shoulders and carried her through the crowd into an open space, where the woman could finally breathe and rest. But Karen is a 6-foot tall Norse goddess, and Norse goddesses are in short supply.

You don’t have to put yourself in a situation that compromises your own health. While I firmly believe that protests and demonstrations should make everyone a little uncomfortable —the purpose is to agitate, after all — it shouldn’t give you a panic attack before it even starts. There are other things you can do instead. 

So marches aren’t your thing. Do you know someone who will be demonstrating on June 30? Support them. Pack lunches for people who will be going. Donate your babysitting services. Show up at your friend’s house this week with poster board and glitter pens and make signs. 

Give money. Give as much as you can to organizations that are on the ground and doing the work we can’t. Here’s an easy way to split your donation between several worthy causes. Slate is also keeping an updated list of organizations that need support.

Give time. Maybe you don’t have money but you have some free time. Are there any organizations that are fighting for immigrant justice near you right now? They might need services or goods that you could provide. 

Are you super talented at something? Of course you are! Trade your talent in exchange for donations to your favorite charity. It’s simple. Tell your friends that you’ll give a free manuscript consultation, edit an essay, walk a dog, embroider something, bake a magnificent cake, whatever, if they donate at least XXX amount to your charity of choice. 

Reach out to others. I keep a stack of index cards and some markers in the glovebox, and sometimes I leave friendly notes on the windshields of cars with progressive bumper stickers. My messages don’t say much more than “Stay strong!” or “Keep up the good fight!” or even just “Thank you for supporting Hillary.” Resistance is exhausting. It helps morale to get a nice note every once in a while. 

Shop at immigrant-owned local businesses and eat at immigrant-owned restaurants. 

Refer someone. Do you know an immigrant who could use legal services? Direct them to this list here. Offer to drive them to the office or volunteer to stay with the kids while they go. 

Read books and stay informed on the issues. The more knowledge you have, the less likely you are to remain silent during uncomfortable discussions. 

Take a self-defense class. Of course I don’t advocate fighting anyone. But it is incredibly empowering just to know you could throw a punch if the situation should arise.

Vote. 

This vacation I will wear white

June 12, 2018

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 were portioned out one cup at a time.

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_preview

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.

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Fine. You guys are enjoying your champers and a hilarious joke at a hotel. I’ll let these white clothes pass.

 

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But you. How are you not covered in dirt?

 

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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.

But not linen. Screw linen.

Prince Lyrics for Paisley Park Employees

June 7, 2018

Paisley Park, the estate and production studio of the late Prince, recently had an opening for an archives supervisor. When I thought about the work environment, I imagined everyone communicating solely through Prince’s words. The result is this handy list of Prince lyrics for Paisley Park employees. 

Turning in a report on a Monday morning:

“I was dreaming when I wrote this. Forgive me if it goes astray.”

Late for work the third day in a row:

“I never meant to cause you any sorrow. I never meant to cause you any pain.”

When you can’t decide if you should take the stairs or …

“Are we gonna let the elevator bring us down?”

Drunk at the company holiday party:

“We’re all excited, but we don’t know why. Maybe it’s ‘cause we’re all gonna die.”

Annual performance evaluation self-assessment:

“I’m not a human, I am a dove. I’m your conscience, I am love. All I really need is to know that you believe.”

When Brad from accounting forgets to pick you up on his carpool day:

“How can you just leave me standing, alone in a world that’s so cold?”

Hitting on Brad during the company retreat:

“I want to be your fantasy. Maybe you could be mine? You just leave it all up to me, and we could have a good time.”

Brad is into it:

“Your face is jammin’, your body’s heck a-slammin’.”

Seriously into it:

“Now move your big ass ‘round this way so I can work on that zipper, baby. Tonight you’re a star, and I’m the Big Dipper.”

OK, Brad is getting a little freaky deaky:

“Something about a little box with a mirror and a tongue inside.”

When Brad cooks breakfast the next day:

“Starfish and coffee, maple syrup and jam, butterscotch clouds, a tangerine, and a side order of ham.”

Monday morning work email from Brad:

“I can’t disguise the pounding of my heart, it beats so strong. It’s in your eyes, what can I say? They turn me on. I don’t care where we go, I don’t care what we do, I don’t care, pretty baby. Just take me with you.”

Ugh, another email?

“Could you be the most beautiful girl in the world? It’s plain to see you’re the reason that God made a girl.”

Goddamn it, Brad:

“I’ll give you head ’til you’re burning, head ’til you get enough, head ’til your love is red, head love ’til you’re dead.”

Your breakup note to Brad:

“I guess I should have known by the way you parked your car sideways that it wouldn’t last.”

Before the awkward spring potluck:

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to get through this thing called lunch.”