I haven’t yet organized my thoughts on the past few months. I haven’t digested it. I’ve hand written basic life updates into my journal, but it has been weeks since I’ve sat down and written about (read: processed) what has transpired and how I feel.

When you go too long without processing… hello brain constipation!

And that’s why I ended up crying on Facetime last night, blubbering about my overwhelming desire to get these lived experiences onto paper. But so much has happened, and also maybe not much has happened at all. Some of it feels too personal to share, and most of it feels either so good that I worry it may come across as bragging, or so uniquely un-relatable that one may read it, mutter something about first world problems, and continue on their way.

I’m unsure how to get everything out of me and into a piece that allows me to feel that I’m moving forward, that I’ve worked through my brain constipation, but also make that writing interesting, applicable, and something that someone else may read and feel inspired by.

My Facetime last night was with Haley, my not-girlfriend-but-basically-my-girlfriend (never thought I’d have one of those!) who I met while traveling in Thailand and wrote about in my last piece. Haley listened to my tale of woes and told me that there’s no need to have a through line for a piece that isn’t yet written. She reminded me that it would probably feel good to just GET IT OUT, even if it’s a mess, even if there is no through line at all. She gently added that I was putting a lot of pressure on something that won’t be graded.

“There’s no way to get it wrong. The only way to get it wrong is by not doing it at all. Other than that, there are no rules, this is your creative practice, and how about you let it move through you before judging it?” She said with a smirk. Touche.

So I brought my ass to the library. And I’m listening to the new Phoebe Bridgers album for the first time. And I want to clear up this brain constipation. And I don’t know if we have enough time to dive into all of it. But we can try? Since we last spoke…

Haley and I decided our adventures in Asia weren’t over, so we met up for another 10 days in what they call the Maldives of Thailand.

A week or so later, I flew home from Asia, wrapping up a total of five and a half months on the other side of the world.

The day after my return to the states, I went to my high school best friend Rory’s wedding shower. (How? How is this possible??!?!!?)

That weekend, I decided it was time to cut my hair shorter than it’s ever been. I must give some credit to Haley for putting this idea into my head. The short hair suits how I’m feeling these days.

Then, in the spirit of lifelong love, I went wedding dress shopping with my friend Rachel. (How??? How is this possible?!?!!?!?!)

Only a few days later, I packed my things back into my suitcase, and flew to Ireland. I was there for a wedding I was asked to officiate and I can’t remember the last time a request touched me so deeply. Tara and Ava’s wedding day was an absolute dream. We had a blast, and I can’t thank the two beautiful brides enough for giving me the opportunity to honor their love on such an important day.

As someone who has spent years of my life worrying that I am harmful to the LGBTQ+ community (thanks, OCD!), it was deeply healing to play a role in THE lesbian wedding of the century.

After the wedding, I traveled around Ireland: eating fish and chips, holding baby sheep, getting a four-leaf clover tattooed on my ankle. Then I flew to London where I crashed with Rory (whose wedding shower I mentioned) and her foster cat, Bug.

I made it to London just in time to go to the Arsenal parade after they won the Premier League. This made up for the fact that I was abroad when the Knicks won the NBA Championship. Not that I care about sports, but I want to be a part of the hullabaloo! Thank you, Arsenal, for giving me that opportunity. Go gunners!

Following the Arsenal parade, I cat sat for 10 days at a gorgeous home about 40 minutes outside London. The kitty was named Tula and although she did give me a heart attack one morning after she didn’t come running at the sound of her breakfast being poured, she was otherwise a cuddly angel and I enjoyed playing the role of her mother for a few days.

The last day of my stay with Tula, Haley arrived in the UK. Can you believe that? On her way home from her own six-month escapade around Asia, she flew to the UK to spend time with me: to explore London, to celebrate my birthday, to take a road trip around Scotland. How on earth did I get so lucky?

So, yeah. Two more weeks abroad with this special person. We thrifted, went to comedy shows, and for my birthday, I rented a house in Weymouth right on the Jurassic Coast. Haley was there for my birthday, as was Rory, but it took the birthday weekend to a whole new level to have Lucy and Ellie, two British ladies I had met during my travels, join us as well. The weekend was astonishingly fun. We went to the sauna, we swam in the sea, we hiked, we danced, we ate GOOD, and I spent a lot of time wondering what I did in a past life to deserve to be surrounded with so much love.

That Monday was my actual 28th birthday. That day, we hiked Durdle Door, made our way back to London, had sushi for dinner, and scored free tickets to a sold out Oxis show. Rory and Haley sang me happy birthday with a Colin the Caterpillar mini cake at 11 pm and I went to sleep that night feeling like my heart was going to burst.

The next morning, Haley and I left for our Scotland expedition. On the train there, we noticed the serendipity in an upcoming artist who we both love, Annabelle Dinda, playing a show in Glasgow that night as an opener for Lola Young, so we obviously went. Speaking of constipation… a bird seemed to take care of his own right onto my head as we were walking to the concert. They say that’s good luck, right?

The Scottish highlands are as otherworldly as we had heard. We even got up close and personal with a Highland cow. The highlight of Scotland was Edinburgh. What a magical city! Our time there overlapped with Edinburgh Pride so we got to watch the parade, see Cher Lloyd perform, make friends with hilarious, queer Scottish folk, and spend the most joyful day surrounded by lots of joyful people. I had one too many Buzzballs. I think I’m set on Buzzballs for the rest of my life.

After Edinburgh, Haley and I made our way back to London, spending a magical two nights at a tiny home nestled in the farmlands of England. When we made it back to the Big Smoke, it was time for Haley to head home. The next morning was the start of Rory’s bachelorette party: a weekend spent laughing in a ginormous countryside house with Rory’s closest friends. Home-cooked meals, a hike to “Dick Ball Meadow” (yeah, don’t really have an explanation for that one), a talent show, and a Murder on the Dance Floor themed party. The only thing that could’ve made the weekend better would be winning the talent show. Which I did. With my “Rory through the years” powerpoint presentation that ended in a dance party. I love to win, so that was great.

Does it feel like I’m speeding through the retelling of these events? Then I’m sure you can only imagine how quickly they passed by my eyes in real life. What felt like minutes after it started, Rory’s bachelorette party (or hen-do, as they call it in England) came to an end, and I was off to Finland. There, I met up with Emily (do you remember Emily from this story?) and Katya. Katya is another high school friend, and her parents recently moved back to Finland, so we spent a few days at their house in the Finnish countryside, doing what the Finnish do: enjoying nature, sauna sessions, swimming, and watching Moomin.

The next thing I knew, it was mid-July, and I was back in New York. I reconnected with friends and family at home, found the perfect dress for Rory’s wedding, went to Rachel and Matt’s housewarming, picnicked in the park, frequented the gym, went to a tie-dyeing party, rose the ranks of the Peloton leaderboard, and before I knew it, August had rolled around and I was in Texas to visit Haley for a week.

Outside Dallas, we ate Tex-Mex. Haley made me Turkish eggs (my favorite breakfast) three days in a row. We swam. We spent time with her friends. We went to Haley’s favorite activity: her ecstatic dance class. For those of you familiar with ecstatic dance, you’re probably surprised to hear I participated. For those unfamiliar, ecstatic dance is a free-form movement practice where attendees dance freely for hours to what can be a very intense DJ set. No phones, no talking, just dancing. You don't need to be a Capital D Dancer to enjoy ecstatic dance, but as someone who finds dancing deeply uncomfortable, the ecstatic dance session was a challenge for me. On the other hand, it was very moving to be surrounded by so many people who, for at least the two hours that we were in there, were completely free and unencumbered by judgment. Tears were brought to my eyes and especially considering I felt uneasy for most of the experience, I really enjoyed my first ecstatic dance class and the after party that happened later that night.

The following day, we celebrated the Lion's Gate Portal at an event with her friends from dance. I showed up wearing cat ears. Being with Haley makes me feel like I can do anything, including showing up wearing cat ears to a spiritual event where I knew zero people. I’ve never received so many compliments on an accessory before.

When our week together came to an end, I flew home, and went immediately to my friend Cooper’s lake house for our second annual Lake Weekend with some of my best friends. I don’t think I went five minutes without laughing the entire weekend. And now I’m at the library, Phoebe Bridgers in my ears. And this coming weekend I’ll be in Vermont with Emily. And when I’m back from Vermont, Haley will be visiting me here in New York and we have a packed schedule, including a wedding in Ohio. I mean truly: does the fun ever end?

Phew. That’s what you’ve missed. That’s where I’ve been. It feels good to catch you up. Now maybe I can write about how officiating Tara and Ava’s wedding has allowed me to begin deconstructing years of negative beliefs about myself. Now maybe I can share about how I’ve been anti long-distance for as long as I can remember, but I’ve changed my tune now that a special someone lives in Texas. Oh, and also, she’s a woman. Talk about changing your tune!

Now that you know what I’ve been doing the past few months, perhaps it’s time I shared how proud I feel of the life I’m living right now, and how the high school version of myself wouldn’t believe for a second that this is actually my life. Maybe you’ll want to know that although everything is wonderful and I am so lucky, I am also struggling with a feeling of aimlessness. Maybe you’d be interested in this poem I wrote while cat sitting Tula?

I don’t want to say the wrong thing, so I say nothing at all. In fear of making the wrong move, I lay down on the floor and sprawl.

I sit and I think and my head is at war. The life I have is abundant, why bother asking for more?

I’ve gotten so lucky already, to deserve it I don’t know how. Yet I know it’s not just luck; hard work and risk-taking I must allow.

I don’t want to seem ungrateful for the hand I’ve been dealt, as I sit and wonder and worry about what comes next on the conveyor belt.

But what if there is no such thing as a wrong decision? There’s just the decisions you make and how you shape the vision.

You follow your interests and passions and joy, and trust that leading with love builds a life you enjoy.

I must take the first step, the destination is secondary. All I can do is take action, I don’t get to write the final itinerary.

Today I will relinquish my desire to know if my choice is right, for what difference does it matter, as long as I’m alright?

I will move towards the course that I feel is best, even if I don’t know where it leads me, old versions of me are impressed.

I’m choosing to jump without knowing where I’ll land, I’m still scared, but I’m brave, and I’ve learned this firsthand.

It feels good to have this all written down, and I’m proud of myself for taking the time to work through the brain constipation. At the very least, I now have written memories to remind me how special the last few months have been. I’m still searching for the perfect concluding paragraph for this piece, but maybe that’s the point?

Perhaps sharing without a clear conclusion or through line is itself the jumping without knowing where I’ll land. There is an abundance of sweetness in my life right now and I want to memorialize it even though I can’t seem to find the life lessons to wrangle and list in a way that reads both earnest and thoughtful.

What I can do is put my words into the world, my recollection of this magical summer, and hope that it inspires you to commemorate your own life as it’s happening as a gift to your future self. I know I’ll be glad, even just a year from now, when I look back and see that I captured this moment in time even if the ending felt lackluster.

Lackluster ending? Maybe. An enchanting few months that have challenged me and reminded me how much joy there is all around? Definitely.

This time tomorrow, I’ll be at JFK waiting for my flight to the Philippines. All I have to do is sit in a tiny seat on a heavy, metal piece of magic that flies through the clouds for 17 hours (my lucky number, by the way) and then I’ll be in Southeast Asia again.

From the Philippines, I’ll board another flight and, a mere three hours later, land in Bangkok, Thailand! I only left Bangkok 80 days ago. And now I’m headed back.

I like that I’m picking up where I left off. This feels like a continuation of my last adventure, but I’m headed in with a different mindset.

At least 80% of my last 80 days were spent with loved ones, at the gym, reading, writing, or in therapy. As I was wrapping up my time in Bangkok, I knew that it was important to get back into therapy or some type of coaching when I got home. As I’d hoped, my year of bravery shifted my perspective. It suddenly felt possible — likely, even — that the knotted, frayed balls of yarn in my mind could be untangled with the help of someone trained to do so.

Upon returning home, I logged onto my insurance website, filtered for providers taking new clients, wrote a template email, and blasted it off to at least 50 different LCSWs/LMHCs/PsyDs. The next week, I had three introduction sessions. The second seemed promising. I felt understood by her, and she confidently told me she could offer the support I was in search of. I decided to take her word for it.

Since then, we’ve been meeting twice a week.

Much of our work has focused on Judge Judy: the critical, disapproving voice in my head that has something to say about nearly every move I make. I named her years ago, finding it a helpful way to put some distance between her and me. By recognizing Judge Judy as an other, as a ruffian who stumbled upon affordable housing inside my wrinkliest organ, I can witness her judgment and let it pass instead of mistaking her criticism for my own.

Sometimes.

Completely separating myself from Judge Judy is a lifelong process that takes time, patience, and effort. It is a daily undertaking. Some days I am completely entangled with Judy; other days, I can clearly see how she holds me back. It’s been a rollercoaster, but I feel hopeful approaching her alongside someone new.

My recent therapy sessions have opened my eyes to how much there is to gain by speaking to myself with even a little more kindness.

If I allow myself the same curiosity and excitement I offer others, my capacity for positive experiences seems to expand tenfold. As I imagine what the next few months will look like, I’m eager to bring that softer version of myself along for the ride.

Wednesday, March 4th at 10pm - JFK Airport, Queens, NY:

My credit card grants me airport lounge access. I’m here now, which is wonderful because the lounge offers an odd, slightly unsettling buffet of unappetizing foods all for free. And we’re at the airport, where things are notoriously expensive, and so if it’s free, it’s for me. I’m thrilled about that.

I’m also tired. I was lulled to sleep on the drive to the airport by Duane and Gregg Allman, with my dad singing along. Or not really singing, because “Jessica” by the Allman Brothers has no words, yet he was singing somehow, on our drive to the airport. And I was sleeping.

The day itself felt calm. I started with an iced crumb cake coffee, then went next door for a pedicure. I do not like going for pedicures. I find the experience moderately traumatic as I am not fond of my toes. They’re frequent characters in the spiteful story Judge Judy loves to tell.

What I’ve come to know about shame is that the more light you shine on something, the less power it holds. So: hey everyone, I don’t like my toes. Now it’s out in the open and we can all move on, even if I’m the only one who needed to move on in the first place.

This is the same nail salon I went to when I first got home from Bangkok. The very same woman who removed my Thai gel polish 75 days ago, Annie, gave me a pedicure today. I told her about my upcoming travels and introduced her to the concept of hostels. She shared some recommendations for when I make it China someday and honestly? Having such a lovely conversation while my alien toes were out to play was healing for me. Thank you, Annie <3

Friday, March 13th at 1:30 pm - DMK Airport, Bangkok, Thailand:

I’m back in the airport lounge. I just had a surprisingly delicious Massaman curry, enjoyed a complimentary 15-minute massage, and I can’t wipe the smile from my face after an incredible week in Bangkok.

Like last time, my experience was shaped, if not completely made, by the people I met.

Hostels make it easy to connect, but it doesn’t always click. A lot depends on who happens to walk through the door.

As soon as I entered my dorm at Jam Hostel, located conveniently near Khao San Road, I was greeted by a bubbly Brit named Lucy. She invited me to join her at the hostel’s night market event that evening and we were fast friends. That night market is where we met Jack, an Australian, and Haley, a fellow American.

For a few days, the four of us were inseparable. Together, we tried luk chup, a Thai dessert made of beans. We cheered Lucy up when her wallet went missing. We posed for pictures on Jack’s film camera. We swam in the above ground pool on the roof of our hostel. We ate and we laughed and we made friends with the man working at the dispensary.

Then Jack left for Chiang Mai. Lucy followed a day later. Suddenly, it was just Haley and me.

Two days later, when it came time for my flight to Cambodia, I realized I wasn’t yet ready to say goodbye. I debated myself, wondering if it was absurd to move a flight to spend a few more days with this endlessly intriguing Texan girl. Changing my flight would cost less than $100. Wasn’t the whole point of this journey to do what I wanted to do? To follow my instincts? To take risks and see where they lead me?

So I moved my flight back two days. Together, Haley and I soaked up more of Bangkok’s magical chaos. A sprawling, electric city where tuk-tuks and motorcycles seem to lead the rhythm, we spent hours at Lumphini Park, spread out on towels we took from our hostel. I did my best to fill Haley in on what she missed in the first 27 years of my life. I listened intently as she took me through her childhood, where she was homeschooled in a suburb outside Dallas. The extra time was a gift.

Tuesday, April 7th at 1:30 pm - Lot10 Mall, Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia:

That day, I flew to Cambodia.

A day later, Haley followed.

And just like that, our Cambodian adventure began.

Three weeks of eggs and toast for breakfast. Of rounds and rounds of card games. Of soju taste tests. Of swimming in clear blue water with our newly purchased goggles. Of waking up early for sunrise, and finding the best spots to watch the sunset. Of conversations that felt eye-opening as we were having them, and still swirl in my head weeks later.

It felt impossible to write about our time together as it was happening, but we said our goodbyes yesterday and it doesn’t feel any easier today.

Haley flew back to Thailand. I’m in Malaysia now. My original plan for today was to hit the ground running to keep my mind busy. Unfortunately, I hit the ground at the airport last night and sprained my ankle. It’s puffy, black-and-blue, and I have a compression wrap on. I’m at a coffee shop in an air conditioned mall not far from my hostel and will be taking it easy the next few days.

“How lucky am I to be gifted with an injury that forces me to sit still and process this past month?” I say through gritted teeth.

The truth is that even with a bruised ankle and time on my hands, to succinctly and thoughtfully wrap up my time with Haley into a neat package with a bow is an undertaking that feels overwhelming.

I’m ready to move on from this piece. I want to type into a clean document. I’d like to send this one off. But I need to write about Haley. And Haley fits really well into the themes of this entry because meeting Haley allowed me to meet a version of myself who felt almost completely untethered from Judge Judy. I spent a month straight (and definitely not straight, if you catch my drift) with someone new who really caught my attention and with myself in an environment where softness and kindness came easy.

I need more time to come to clear conclusions on our month together. I don’t feel ready to dive into all the details here, especially because in order to understand the weight they hold, I’d need to explain not only the history of my relationship with myself, which I occasionally feel comfortable writing about publicly, but the history of my relationship with my sexuality which, as you may assume, is something I hold a bit closer to the chest.

Like my toes, there is some shame hidden underneath the surface. I understand conceptually that sexuality is something you can spend your whole life exploring. I recognize any effort spent trying to categorize myself, to find the perfect label, is an effort in vain. Yet, I can’t help but feel like I should have some of this figured out by now. For someone who processes my life with words, it’s frustrating to not have the right ones for something that feels so important.

The fact that Haley and I met at all, let alone that we met on my first night back in Bangkok, feels like an extraordinary stroke of luck. That we both quit jobs to travel. That we chose to stay at the same hostel in Bangkok. That I felt comfortable enough to let myself be drawn to her. That time allowed for us to spend a month together. All of it feels like the universe giving me a pat on the back, saying, “Keep going! You’re doing it right!” And for once, Judge Judy is left speechless.

It was my intention to make writing a consistent practice while I was away. While I did manage at least bi-weekly journal entries (twice a week, not twice a month, though isn’t it strange that the word can mean either?), my plans for narrative writing fell flat as soon as I realized how much more exciting it is to sit chatting with strangers at a hostel than to sit alone at a cafe, squinting at the ceiling and searching for the right words.

It makes my heart ache to wonder if any of the incredible adventures I’ve had these past few months—the moments that made me feel so alive, so connected—have already slipped quietly from my memory and into the past. That fear itself is a compelling argument for keeping a daily writing practice.

As it turns out, the amount of fun I had far surpassed the amount of writing I did. So here I am, back home, with a completely blank document that I imagined by this point would be overflowing with stories. So I’ll let myself off the hook and shift to bullet points. As a reader, I love lists. I also find that lists make it easier to cover more ground without getting stuck writing transitional sentences (what a waste). Besides, travel stories always feel more like snapshots than sagas anyway.

Vietnam

Recommendations:

• First and foremost: spend as much time in Vietnam as possible. My 30-day visa flew by.

• Travel from south to north (fly into HCMC and out of Hanoi) and end your trip with the Ha Giang Loop, a four-day motorcycle journey in the mountains of northern Vietnam. I foolishly thought there was no way it could live up to the hype. It surpassed the hype. The Loop will be unforgettable whenever you do it, so saving it for last makes sure the rest of your trip doesn’t struggle to measure up against impossible expectations.

• Make sure you have your passport sorted so you don’t spend two days at the U.S. Embassy. There were a few days in Vietnam where it was looking like my travels were going to come to a premature end because *someone* didn’t do her homework. Thankfully, emergency passports exist, Thailand accepts them, and I beg you to learn from my mistakes instead of making your own.

• At least one pho and one bánh mì a day. Try other things off the menu because you really can’t go wrong, but this is a good place to start.

• Put the helmet on and get on the back of that bike. I’m not sure there’s anything better.

• Get your nails done and leave a nice tip! I got the best gel manicure of my life, each nail artfully decorated, for less than $20.

• Egg coffee, salt coffee, and coconut coffee. Try all three, and then try them again.

• This tour specifically. I was crossing the street in HCMC when I started chatting with a Polish woman who gifted herself a year of solo travel for her 50th birthday. She recommended the tour to me, and it ended up being one of my favorite days in Vietnam. I’ve been spreading the word wherever I go.

• Try your hand at shooting at the Cu Chi Tunnels range. It’ll be loud, fun, and the rest of your tour group will be shocked that it’s your first time shooting a gun. “Aren’t you American?” They’ll ask. Fair enough.

• Sign up for the family dinner at your homestay in Dalat. It may be the best meal you have all month.

• Check out the Mr. Bean Bar in Hoi An. They have a BOGO cocktail deal, plus free shots and free shisha. Don’t ask me how they make a profit with this business model. Next thing you know, you’ll be sitting on the side of the road with two new friends passing around two bottles of wine!!!!! It will be a blast!!!!! You’ll do karaoke!!!!! You’ll feel like shit the next day in a way that brings you back to your 2016 college dorm.

  • Bonus tip: Apply the skills you learned in college by staying in bed almost the entire next day, rising only for a warm baguette around 3 p.m. that breathes life back into your body.

• The Memory Show in Hoi An is unlike anything I’ve ever seen before! Definitely a must, along with the water puppet show in Hanoi.

• If you decide to visit Da Nang, stay on the beach side (as opposed to the city side) and wake up early one day for sunrise. My hostel roommate’s 4:30 a.m. alarm woke me and I decided to join her at the beach instead of rolling over for a bit more shut-eye. I simply could not believe how many Vietnamese septuagenarians were already practicing calisthenics when we arrived minutes before 5 a.m. It was a slow, cotton-candy sunrise until the world was showered in a yellow glow.

• In Phong Nha, let your friend Clea teach you how to ride a motorbike. Then, when you’re in Ninh Binh, you’ll be able to spend the day riding around, admiring the landscape of limestone mountains rising from rice paddies.

  • Bonus tip: In the spirit of learning from my mistakes, do not go down any long, unpaved, muddy roads. Stick to the main streets. I learned this the hard way, and I am thankful for the Vietnamese man who seemingly fell from the sky to help me pick my bike up from the mud and point me in the right direction to the Hang Múa Viewpoint.

• Hoi An is a great place to indulge in your fashion designer dreams. It’s a small city on the central coast known for having a wide array of custom tailors. I met lots of people who left Vietnam with personalized garments, made-to-fit and just as trendy as they looked on Pinterest. I skipped this to-do due to my lack of bag space, but I’ll definitely have something made for me when I return :)

• Take a cooking class. We made vermicelli noodles, a mango salad, spring rolls, bánh xèo (Vietnamese pancakes), and a fruit juice. It was delicious, there was enough food that it filled me up for lunch and I had leftovers for dinner as well, and I had a great time learning different cooking techniques. I now know how to cut a carrot into the shape of a butterfly.

• Mini handheld fan. That’s it. That’s the recommendation.

• The sleeper buses are a really convenient way to get around. I found the VIP buses worth the investment as I laid down in my pod, wrapped in a blanket, watching the world pass by. You can save on a night of accommodation by taking the long rides overnight, though I found myself nauseous and uncomfortable when the bus dropped us off at 4 a.m. in a new city. I enjoyed the daytime rides a lot more. Not the best use of my limited time, but at my big age, sleeping in a bed as opposed to a bus just can’t be beat.

  

People to meet:

Bo. We met on my first sleeper bus. Waiting alone on street corners with my bags late at night was the only time during my travels that I truly envied people traveling with a buddy. Thankfully, Bo introduced herself as we were waiting to load the bus from HCMC to Dalat. We spent the first twenty minutes of the bus ride chatting until my exhaustion hit and I fell asleep. It was seven hours later when I woke up to Bo hitting my leg and telling me we made it to Dalat. Legend has it that if Bo didn’t wake me up, I’d still be asleep on that bus today. She told me she tried to wake me up at one of the rest stops but I was out cold. I’m not sure what happened there because I didn’t sleep through a full bus ride for the rest of my time in Vietnam but either way, Bo got me off the bus that morning and her excitement helped clear the sleep from my mind. She spoke to the bus driver in Vietnamese to ensure I made it onto the right shuttle bus, and we met up the next night for some street food and more chit-chat. We ate chicken feet and laughed as we moved from topic to topic, recognizing our similarities despite our differences. She also introduced me to sữa gạo, a sweet rice milk drink that was so delicious that we were left with no choice but to go back for a second cup after finishing our first.

Dat. Earlier this year, during a Reddit scroll, I signed up to get free access to the premium version of a travel app that had just launched. It’s called nomadtable and it’s a great resource for solo travelers looking to meet people. I had two nights in Nha Trang with nothing planned and opening up the app landed me at a restaurant with Dat, a local who ordered us a meal so delicious that I couldn’t believe my luck. We hit it off fairly quickly, but things really sparked once we started talking about music. Dinner turned to dessert, and next thing I knew we were clinking coconuts while sprawled out on bean bags at a beach bar. We spent the rest of the evening mapping out the remainder of my Vietnam trip. It felt like I had so much time left but as Dat and I walked through all the stops I wanted to make, it was clear I needed to get a move on. I decided to cut a night in Nha Trang and take the night bus the following night straight to Hoi An. Before my night bus, Dat and I met up for dinner once more. As we wrapped up dinner, Dat gifted me a silver fish bracelet to remember him by. As if I would ever forget him.

Shaye, Hannah, Taylor, and Madison. Thanks to the recommendation from a couple I met at the aforementioned cooking class, I ventured to a silver-making class in Hoi An. I left with a ring—a thick, silver band studded with gemstones—and some new friends. The room was small, so it was a tight squeeze with the four Canadians and I. Luckily, we got on quickly. We made our rings while singing, laughing, and taking turns sharing travel anecdotes. One of my favorite parts of travel is finding yourself part of a group that you fit into seamlessly. Hannah ended up engraving the inside of her ring with the initials of those closest to her: her three best friends that she travels with, and AB for the friend she made in the class. To know my initials will forever live on the inside of that ring makes me unreasonably happy.

Thailand

Recommendations:

• If you choose to rent a motorbike, make sure you know what kind of gas it takes.

• Be sure that the elephant sanctuary you’re visiting is ethical. There are plenty of places to see elephants in Thailand, and they don’t all have the elephants’ best interests at heart. The sanctuary I went to was a small family farm. They had only three elephants, each rescued from inhumane conditions, and the only interaction I could have with them was feeding each of them a few small watermelons as a snack. No petting, no bathing, no riding. Just watermelons.

• There are lots of options for fun treks to do in northern Thailand! I ended up doing a six-hour trek. It was only me and a sixty-something woman from Australia who signed up, and about a quarter of the way in, she had to turn back with the guide. I continued on with the guide’s mother, who didn’t speak a word of English. We hiked together for the next four hours in mostly silence, giggling and nodding as she pointed things out along the way with no way to explain to me what she meant. We ended up at a waterfall, and she set up her camera on a rock to take videos of us jumping beneath the falls.

  • Bonus tip: If you do this trek, you will have to cross a rushing river by stepping between small, wet rocks and holding on to a rope that hangs from one end of the river to the other. Do this carefully. I did not, pulling both me and the sweet Thai woman into the water. I apologized profusely, and she had tears in her eyes from laughing so hard.

• A fresh pomegranate is a really delicious street food.

• 7-Eleven sells travel sickness medicine. This will save your life on the notoriously curvy highway from Chiang Mai to Pai, which has over 700 bends. It will also come in handy when you take the ferry around the southern islands.

• If you visit the Phi Phi Islands, Reggae Bar is a must. It’s a rowdy, energetic spot and the cost of entry is one drink. There’s a boxing ring set up in the middle of the bar, with chairs and tables scattered about for onlookers. You grab your drink, take a seat, and watch tourists box each other in the ring for a free bucket of alcohol. Headgear and gloves are provided, but the fights can get intense. While I am famously a lover, not a fighter—this was a damn good night out.

• Another Phi Phi rec: Love Beach. It is a bit of a trek from the town, though not as far as Long Beach. We walked here two days in a row, both times finding a perfect spot underneath a tree that provided a bit of shade. It wasn’t too busy and seemed a bit off the beaten path. There's also a swing that makes for a great photo op.

  

• MANGO. STICKY. RICE. MANGO STICKY RICE MANGO STICKY RICE MANGO STICKY RICE!!!!!! Need I say more?

• Befriend the kitties. I was lucky enough to meet a cat named Dollar and another named Money. If you go to Thailand and meet “Cents” the cat, please let me know immediately.

• If you’re a woman and plan on doing any temple hopping, wear pants or a long skirt and bring with you something to cover your shoulders. Thankfully there was only one time when I found myself ill-prepared to enter a temple, so I sat it out and went to get some Thai tea instead. Not a horrible fate, but something to keep in mind.

• A rain jacket or a poncho stashed in your bag at all times is a smart move.

• Eating at the small, hole-in-the-wall spots will not only give you the best bang for your buck, but likely the best meals you’ve ever had. Keep in mind, though, these are not large commercial kitchens. If you show up late for dinner, they may be out of food. Shockingly, this happened to me more than once.

  

• Do not leave northern Thailand without having khao soi at least three times. It’s a coconut curry noodle soup garnished with onions, pickled mustard greens, and crispy fried noodles. It is unreal.

• It’s on you to keep yourself busy if, for a full week of your time in the islands, it is pouring rain. May I recommend card games?

People to meet:

Bang. The trek I did in northern Thailand was hosted by Bang and his family. It was his mom I pulled into the water on our hike, and it was their house that I stayed at that evening. That night happened to be Halloween and Bang asked if I wanted to join him at his friend’s party. I hopped into his truck, we stopped to pick up some SangSom (a Thai rum) on the way, and drove the windy roads to his friend’s house. It was full of people seated around a large table, all clearly drunk and giggly. Halloween is not a typical Thai holiday, so I couldn’t believe my eyes. Every person in an elaborate costume, down to the face paint—a big friend group and they each dressed up as a Thai ghost. The host was actually a Scottish girl who visited Thailand over ten years ago and never left. Three years ago, she built a house with her Thai partner. With a big love for Halloween, she hosted the party, and even included a costume contest with a stuffed animal prize for the winner. I was touched by the effort everyone put into their costume, and we spent the night laughing, chatting, and most importantly: taking turns on the karaoke machine.

Kadir. My hostel in Phuket was not conducive to making friends. There was no common space, and as far as I could see, no other guests, either. My first full day there, I walked myself to what I knew to be the “party hostel” and hoped to make some friends there instead. Almost immediately upon entering, I found myself sitting with a group of three: a man from Turkey, a girl from Turkey, and her British man candy. We laughed through the next few hours, playing cards and eventually taking cover from the rain. The next day, Kadir came by my hostel on a motorbike and we were off to Paradise beach. Within the 15 minutes that it took to get there, the sun left the sky and was replaced by dark gray clouds. We managed a quick dip in the ocean before the downpour started. Kadir and I took cover at the beach bar and he shared with me that in Turkish culture, rain is associated with bereket—abundance and prosperity. It was a few hours before the rain stopped and by that time, my cheeks hurt from smiling.

The main thing I’m taking away from my first time in Asia is summed up well by a note that was left for me in my journal. As the Ha Giang Loop came to an end, I requested that everyone in my group leave me a note for memory-keeping purposes. Each note was perfect—a mix of funny and sentimental. My driver, Tommy, wrote a long message in Vietnamese, which Dat graciously translated, while Brady drew a picture of the three muskaweers, the name we gave ourselves because the three of us just had to check out the bathroom at every stop. Lucy’s note, though, brought tears to my eyes: “Amy—you have shown me that being totally yourself is freeing. I admire how you came into this group alone and made every one of us fall in love with you.”

Authenticity has been a value of mine ever since I was asked to pick from a list in a therapy session as an anxious fourteen-year-old. Long before I was comfortable with who I am, I felt that it was important for me to show up as myself. The idea that the way I move through the world could inspire someone to be themselves more fully is a huge motivator. It’s something I keep in the back of my mind whenever it seems easier to play it cool or act a certain way—anything that isn’t truly me.

As I look back on these past few months, I am overwhelmed with gratitude for all of the incredible people I met. It feels unbelievable to have come across so many kind-hearted, honest, hysterical, adventurous, inspiring individuals. It’s validating to remember that I am a mirror for every person I meet, and that I attract the right people when I choose to be myself in full.

While I have closed the chapter on my first (and definitely not last) trip to Asia, I can only hope that this is the beginning of a long life shaped by curiosity, connection, and courage. Thank you to everyone who made it what it was, and to all my friends and family at home who cheered me on long before I boarded the plane. I’m really, really lucky.

Tomorrow marks the end of what was undoubtably the best family vacation we’ve ever taken. Not long from now, my mom, dad, and sister will wrap me in one last hug before boarding a nonstop flight to New York. Meanwhile, I’ll make my way to the metro that takes me to Hakone, a mountain town known for its onsen and view of Mt. Fuji. This is where I’ll kick off over 2 months of solo travel around Asia.

If that sounds intimidating to you, we have something in common. Alas, if I’ve learned anything in the past year, it’s that the risks worth taking are always going to be a little scary. I’ve built the confidence that I can handle the challenges that inevitably will arise, and there is a fire of excitement in my belly as I wait to find out what landscapes I’ll see, what people I will meet along the way, and what lessons (and trinkets) I’ll bring back home with me.

I feel blessed not only to have the opportunity to travel, but to have a family that will fly 14 hours to send me off. To memorialize this incredible family trip, I want to take you through some special moments from our last 11 days.

I have to start with Japanese convenience store culture. It was always part of the plan to get my hands on one of those egg salad sandwiches with the crusts cut off that I’d seen online. We did so within three hours of landing in Japan which is impressive, considering it took an hour and a half just to escape the airport. Japanese 7/11 has quite the buzz, and even with my high hopes, I was blown away. The amount of fresh, affordable, tasty options for meals and snacks is something you’d have a tough time finding at even a grocery store in the US.

I made my way to a 7/11 at least once a day, stocking up on the goods: water, Pocari Sweat (an unfortunately-named electrolyte drink), gummies of surprising flavors, ice cream sandwiches (I can’t recommend Morinaga Chocolate Monaka enough—vanilla ice cream and dark chocolate encased in a waffle cone shell designed to stay crispy and keep the ice cream cold), bandaids for poorly timed blisters, cooling face wipes to beat the heat, and even fresh fruit. While the food impressed me again and again, a trip to the convenience store (or konbini, as they call it here) was also a welcomed, air conditioned respite from the heat.

A few weeks ago, I questioned what could be so special about a convenience store. One trip to Japan later and I know that any US 7/11 I walk into for the rest of my life will be dull and lacking—to say the least.

We took the metro, which is clean and fast and on time. We marveled at the endless number of vending machines offering cold, fun drinks, as well as crisp, delicious water, for less than a dollar.

We visited Nara, where deer roam freely. As a deer lover, this was so touching that I am choosing to brush over the experience as I am unsure how to find the words. It was magical.

I bought my first pair of Onitsuka Tigers in silver, and I’ve been in search of a silver shoe for some time now. We did a lot of thrift store browsing in the Shimokitazawa neighborhood and Kimmy, my sister, found great stuff while I kept finding Mets t-shirts. Nothing wrong with a Mets t-shirt, but not exactly what I’m shopping for when I’m 6,000 miles from Queens.

We went to a revolving sushi restaurant. I discovered a love for modanyaki, an Osaka-style dish that combines okonomiyaki with yakisoba. Unsurprisingly, I also love okonomiyaki and yakisoba on their own, separate from their joint slay that is modanyaki. I drank a lot of mango juice. We tried Habushu, otherwise known as Okinawa snake wine. Shots were poured from the vat of liquor with a snake inside. It tasted like Fireball! Who would’ve thought?

I stood in line for shaved ice in Kyoto, a beautiful city famous for its cultural and historical significance, along with the Phoebe Bridgers song. Our 48 hours here were jam packed. The Fushimi Inari Shrine was a highlight, as well as the Arashiyama Monkey Park. We ate dinner at a hole in the wall called Siba. Our family of four took up half of the seats in the place, and a younger woman ran the bar while who I assume was her grandfather prepared for us our meal. We all got engraved chopsticks. When in Kyoto, right?

We couldn’t have made a better (or more fun) use of our time, and yet my favorite moment happened in line for an icy treat. I look to my left and see two older women reading the menu and discussing in Japanese. One of the women removes her wallet from her purse and I notice it is fully beaded. There must be 40 different types of small beads, all blue and green in color, used to make up this large wallet which she opens to pull out some cash. I turn to her, point at the wallet and signify that I like it. I used a mix of words, a big smile, and a thumbs up. She gets the point, which I can tell immediately when the smile on her face beams. She explains to me in English (far better than my non-existent Japanese) that she made the wallet herself. Despite looking brand new, this was an arts and craft project from around 20 years ago. We go back and forth a bit longer: it’s always been a dream of hers to visit New York, I’d buy the wallet if she started selling them, apparently this coffee shop/shaved ice venue is a favorite of hers. I get called to the counter to order. We say goodbye, and I am left with another item on my bucket list: make my own beaded wallet.

After a few hours of wandering the Umeda district of Osaka, we began our 20-minute walk back to the hotel. The heat of Japan was heavy on our shoulders, the sticky air clinging to our skin, and every few steps we found ourselves ducking into a store to feel the blast of an air conditioner. This time, it wasn’t a store we were passing, it was a pancake house. My mom, eager to try the famous fluffy soufflé pancakes, suggested we stop in. Although we debated coming back for breakfast the next morning, we decided there was no better time than the present.

Less than 20 minutes later, two plates of pancakes arrived at our table: one plain with whipped cream, one with banana and chocolate syrup. We also ordered a Japanese fruit cake roll. It goes without saying that these treats were perfect: light, airy, and sweet in a way that wasn’t overbearing. The pancakes melted in our mouths, and we laughed as we noticed the time—5pm—and wondered what our hunger levels would be come dinner.

Shortly after, we were back in our hotel, showering and laying down for a brief break before heading out for the evening. Kimmy showed me videos of clubs we could check out, much to my dismay. I don’t typically club, and the fanciest shoes in my backpack are a pair of worn-out Birkenstocks.

The next thing I knew, my alarm was going off. Kimmy and I had been fast asleep for well over an hour, but it was 8pm now, and we had planned to meet in the lobby at 8:30 to explore more of Osaka. We groaned at the sound of thunder. Moments later, lightning flashed. We texted our parents to suggest staying in. They gladly agreed.

The storm outside felt like an excuse to let the world go on without us for a while. As the rain beat against the windows, we let go of our plans. We surrendered to sleep and twelve hours later, when my alarm blared once again, we chuckled. It’s not every day that you get the best sleep of your life in a hotel in Japan.

Golden Gai is a historic nightlife district in Tokyo’s Shinjuku area. Within just a few narrow alleyways, you’ll find over 200 tiny bars, most of which only seat a handful of people. We spent an evening wandering the area, eventually climbing a slim, steep staircase to a bar on the second floor. The bar was almost completely full with all of three people inside. We squeezed in beside them and ordered the bartender’s suggestion for a drink.

Every year, his grandmother makes two casks of plum wine, known as umeshu, by steeping ume fruit in either sake or shochu, along with sugar. The end result is tart, aromatic, and while delicious, fairly low in alcohol content. He poured us four glasses, nearly finishing one of the casks completely. We toasted amongst ourselves, and then with the three Las Vegans to our left.

When my parents mentioned they’d recently been to Vegas to see a Dead & Company show at the Sphere, my dad was dismayed to learn that the chattiest of the bunch had never even heard of the Grateful Dead.

This is how my dad ended up on aux, playing “Eyes of the World” over the speakers of a compact, upstairs bar in Tokyo. He sang along loudly, proud to share the music of his favorite band with both the bar’s owner and the uninformed traveler from Vegas.

The Vegas man followed up on aux with Careless Whisper by George Michael.

We all sang along to that one.

For our final dinner together, we sat at the bar of an upscale omakase restaurant and were served course after course of fresh sushi. The flavors were creative. My eyes popped and my eyebrows rose with every bite, tasting combinations so new to me.

It was a bit of an emotional evening as I stared down the barrel of my extensive solo trip ahead. Every few courses, my eyes welled with tears as my mind ran rampant with worst-case scenarios. My mom rubbed my back, and we’d move on to the next mouth-watering bite.

There were only nine seats at the bar, so naturally, we began exchanging pleasantries with the couple seated next to us. We came to find they were both from Thailand. Excitedly, my dad shared that I’m headed to Thailand on my trip. The woman smiled warmly and asked if I had an Instagram, promising to send me some of her favorite spots in Bangkok.

The meal continued, and my dad said, “It feels so kismet to be seated next to someone from Thailand. It might seem silly, but it makes me feel okay to send you off, like you’re going to be safe.”

When the check came, I excused myself to the bathroom. Upon my return, I saw my parents engaged in an animated conversation with our waitress. As it turns out, she was from Vietnam, the other country on my itinerary. She was overjoyed to hear I was headed to her home, and she recommended that I visit Sapa. I pulled up my itinerary to show her it was already on the list, and asked her if she had any favorite Vietnamese dishes I should try.

On our walk home, we laughed at the absurdity, and the synchronicity, of the people we met that evening. It was one of those moments that affirmed to me: I am in the right place, on the right path, taking the right steps. There are always signs if you look for them.

It has felt easier to be kinder to myself, which feels important to note.

Turns out the key to feeling like a friend is to treat yourself like one.

Back in November, I wrote this in my journal:

• How do you feel settled with a risky choice when you’re not a natural risk-taker?

• Once I quit my job, I’ll have officially pushed the ball down the hill

  • The ball that leaves me without a stable job

  • The ball that pauses a joyful relationship

  • The ball that decides not to resign my lease in New York

  • The ball that rolls me away from friends and family for a bit so I can chase something different

• It feels like I am putting off making a decision because it solidifies the start of the end, and I am not ready for the end

• Are you ever ready for an end? How do you prepare for the end of something good?

• What if I can’t handle it? What if it is too much change and instead of making me flexible, it just breaks me? What if it is so far outside of my comfort zone that it doesn’t become a new beginning—just the end of any stability I ever built for myself?

Now it’s July, and I want to wrap November Me in a big hug!

I left the job. The apartment. The relationship. And the version of myself who felt like she was wading through mud. To say these past few months have been a gift is an understatement, and it’s hard to comprehend that the adventure is just beginning.

Of course, the part of me that wants to “feel settled in my risky choice” is still present. But she’s buddied up with a new part of me: the part who understands that there are lots and lots of wonderful feelings to experience besides settled. My life these days feels fun, exciting, dramatic in a really good way, and most importantly, like something I am actively building.

You know what feels wonderful? Surprising yourself. Doing something you didn’t know you could. Making a choice that a past version of yourself would’ve never made. I am tempted to list of all the times I’ve astonished myself since we last spoke, but then I’d feel a pressure to not miss a single moment and pressure is the opposite of what I’m hoping to conjure up by gathering my thoughts here. Instead, I will simply share this video of me jumping off a ledge 300 feet off the ground, free falling for about 150 feet, and then screaming my head off once it was clear that I had survived the endeavor.

As someone who has historically run from any sign of discomfort, recognizing the moments where I decide to push myself has absolutely tickled me pink. I’ve found the world opens up when you feel the fear and do it anyway.

If you have a minute, you may enjoy this video about existential courage. Emmy van Deurzen is a philosopher from the Netherlands and I stumbled upon her channel not long before my first solo trip I took abroad back in April. Her belief is that “the more you live life, the better it will get, the easier it will become, and the stronger you will feel.” My experience thus far has proven this to be true.

I know what it’s like to be shackled by fear. While it is not a linear progression, I’ve noticed that taking small steps to bypass that fear, to validate the fear and make the move anyway, builds momentum. Days pass, experiences unfold, and little by little, those shackles loosen. They still jingle, but these days I’ve found the jingle to be a friendly taunting. Yeah, I’m scared! That no longer means I’m incapable. That means I need to take a big breath, remind myself that I am steadily making my life grander, and step off the ledge.

I am both uplifted and exhausted by my constant desire to be heard. It is important to me that I express myself, document my life, and share the conclusions I come to. I want to be a space of connection for those around me. I’ve realized that while Instagram is the easiest way to scratch this itch, quick fixes rarely meet our deeper needs sustainably.

This has led to brainstorming ways to relieve the pressure of Sharing My Thoughts And Feelings Publicly Online For Anyone To Do Whatever They’d Like With. When I write frequently, I am able to find story fuel everywhere—a skipped yoga class, getting dressed, a conversation with a supportive friend. Alternatively, when I don’t write for a while, returning feels like a compulsion to “catch up” all at once, to unload everything I’ve missed processing, rather than letting each moment breathe.

I haven’t yet reached a final conclusion on how I want to share things moving forward. My gut reaction is to delete Instagram, tell everyone to keep up with me here, and call it a day, but I know that’s not realistic. I love seeing what my friends are up to! I love chatting with people I meet on the road without giving everyone my phone number. I love posting pictures of nature alongside a great song. Speaking of, here are a few:

For now, I want to focus less on sharing every little moment as it’s happening in real time, and instead jot down the creative fodder to noodle on a bit more.

I’ve had this draft sitting here for at least three weeks. Do I post it? Why exactly do I want to to air out my thoughts long form as opposed to letting them live for 24 hours only on my stories, competing for dopamine through likes? Do I want to have this be my main online space? Do I need to make a website? How do I make a website?

I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.

I know that I had similar thoughts when I posted my first Substack, and now it’s almost a year later, and I’m glad I published that instead of figuring out every piece of minutiae first. I hear the jingling of those old shackles telling me I’m a fool to share anything without a well-organized plan for what comes next.

I’m going to take my own advice.

I’m going to take a big breath.

I’m going to trust that imperfect action is a step toward growth.

And I am going to step off the ledge.

• I saw A.G. Cook, The Garden, Geese, and LCD Soundsystem in concert

• I saw Teeth (Off Broadway) and The Louis Armstrong Musical (On Broadway)

• I met my new family member Madison Paige! <3

• I tried rutabaga (a delicious root vegetable) and fell in love with rutabaga

• I finally made it to Hoboken

• I treated myself to the Bose QuietComfort Headphones when they were on sale (game changer) (thank you Cooper and Rachel for the push)

• I used the squat rack for the first time

• I went to 3 museums (the Cooper Hewitt Design Museum is so cool and I loved their “Making Home” exhibit which is up until August 2025)

• I read 9 books (and loved The Wedding People by Alison Espach, Interesting Facts about Space by Emily R. Austin, and The Friend by Sigrid Nunez)

Also:

• I quit my job

My last day at my job was January 7th.

I’ve been hesitant to write lately as I feel it necessary to pick up from where I left off two months ago, but with that comes a blockage: I don’t know how to put into words what I’ve been feeling since then. It is particularly difficult to find the words for what it means for me to have quit my job.

Quitting a job is a radical act. For me, it is an active step toward a life I am excited for, proud of, and am actively taking part in. In this economy, it is also an extreme act of privilege. I wish I could gift all my friends and family the freedom to step away from their jobs and recalibrate. I am not blind to the fact that most people can’t afford this luxury. Nearly half of Americans say they live paycheck to paycheck and the reality is that all of us, as people living in today’s Capitalist Hell, deserve a break. There are so many people, who through no fault of their own, face far greater obstacles than I do. There are people who work harder for less and those who, due to systemic inequalities, face daily challenges based on their identity.

Viewing my time off through the lens of privilege feels necessary. Not only would it be out of touch to ignore the fact that I’m in a position many others can only dream of, but it would be dishonest. These conflicting emotions of guilt (embarrassment, even?) are present in my mind and are something I’m actively confronting. At the same time, I’ve worked for this.

Four years in a high-stress corporate job, living with my parents for part of that time, has allowed me to save enough to step away for a bit of space. I feel incredibly fortunate. I’m grateful for the lessons I’ve learned, the opportunities I’ve had, and ability I have to do this.

I don’t have a plan for what’s next. My plan is to shake things up. I hope to get clear(er?) on what I want for my future. I want to use this time away from a typical 9-5 to switch up my daily routine, make more time for self-care, explore new places, meet new people, gain new perspective. I plan to move out of the city and home base with family so I don’t have to worry about rent for a while, which I am so fortunate to have as an option. I hope to discover other ways to sustain myself into the future while doing things differently.

It feels bold to quit my job. It’s exciting, risky, scary and silly in a really good way! It’s anxiety-inducing and mysterious and completely uncharted territory for me. Historically, not knowing what’s coming next would dissuade me from making the decision that precedes the unknowing. In a way, the point of quitting my job is to prove to myself that I can do the scary thing, I can trust myself to let go of what I know isn’t right and that I’ll find my way to where I need to be. For right now, I’m okay with this decision being nothing more than a leap of faith. I’ll keep you posted on the road ahead as it appears before me :)

A few other things to note:

• A good friend of mine broke her ribs (!!!!!!???!!!!) — very scary and I’m glad that the injury wasn’t even worse. She is resting and will be back to full health in no time, but this is your PSA to be careful when going down wooden stairs with socks on. Please hold on to the bannister or throw on some house shoes!!!!!!

• Diamond art is a fun pastime! I picked up a few crafts for my aforementioned friend with broken ribs and we put together these diamond art bookmarks. I got the kit from Michael’s for $10 and it entertained us for a few hours

• Anyone want to make this Tortellini with Mortadella & Peas recipe with me? If you’re intrigued and live in the NYC area, let’s have a date night

• I was very pleased to see a small New York City youngin (small enough to wonder why she’s walking anywhere alone) wearing a backpack (maybe she’s on her way home from school?) waving brightly at a construction man eating a banana in his car, and his enthusiastic wave back

• You should be using the Too Good To Go app. I picked up 18 fresh bagels from Black Seed (along with two containers of cream cheese!) for $6. The app allows you to reserve surprise bags of food that would otherwise be thrown out by the restaurant for an insanely discounted price. Not only are you helping the environment by reducing food waste, but you’re also your helping your wallet and your tummy. What more could you ask for?

• I’ve been so into graphic novels recently! I Was Their American Dream by Malaka Gharib is on my want-to-read list

• Pomelo, cousin of Grapefruit, is the largest citrus fruit. I had my first recently and it had a bit of a cleaning solution-y taste to me but I know some people are about it so I’d be willing to give it another shot

• The Dj Streaks Remix of Grin by BAYNK played on repeat as I cleaned my apartment this morning and it was so jolly. A good pair of headphones (callback to the Bose QuietComfort) and a happy song really make scrubbing surfaces so much more enjoyable

  ---

Saturday, October 26th - Travel Day:

My alarm went off at 3:15 a.m. EST, and for the next three hours, I was a buzzing ball of energy—awake, alert, a bit spooked, but excited. My Uber to JFK cost way too much, and the solitude in the early morning at the airport felt a bit odd. According to my camera roll, I was seated on the plane, a few tears falling from my eyes, at 6:23 a.m. Anxiety was bubbling inside, and I couldn’t help but wonder if I had made a huge mistake (and wasted a good chunk of change) in planning this random, unchaperoned excursion.

The flight was fine. I sat in 19C, an aisle seat, which I prefer for long flights so I can stretch my legs and not bother anyone when I inevitably have to pee. The guy across the aisle from me watched the Joe Rogan/Trump interview for most of the flight and looked exactly like what you’re imagining.

Landing in SFO brought instant relief. By 11 a.m. PST, I was in my rental car, and by 11:45 a.m., I had a burrito larger than my head in front of me. A quick search led me to Taqueria San Bruno, where I got a Steak + Shrimp Super Burrito. The speed at which I devoured it was nothing short of impressive. Having landed safely, with a rental car in my possession and a burrito in my tummy, my nerves were easing. I knew my drive down Highway One to Monterey was going to include lots of stops, so it began!

Stopping at Pacifica, home to the most beautiful Taco Bell in the world, I marveled at how quickly I’d left the urban sprawl behind. I stood on the Pacifica Pier, watching people fish, laugh, and smoke meat. Seriously—I was taken aback by how many men held their fishing poles in one hand and seasoned a rack of ribs in the other. Chicken, steak—you name it, they’re smoking it.

I only made it another 15 minutes down Highway One before stopping by Shelter Cove, parking my car, and hiking up a big hill to a lookout spot where I met Keren and Evan, friends who have lived in Belmont, CA for five years. They were out of breath, having hiked up from the beach where they’d been (unsuccessfully) fishing. Keren, originally from Brazil, had taken a solo trip to Manhattan last year, so we chatted about that while Evan was drawn into conversation by an older man sharing the history of the lookout spot.

Next stop: Montara State Beach. There, I saw a man pacing the shore with a metal detector, which I did not realize was a real thing that people did. It made me laugh, and it does seem like a smart way to get steps in. Why take a long walk on the beach and leave with zero metal when you could take a long walk on the beach with your metal detector and leave with metals and other assortment of items? I hope he did well.

It was around 3 o’clock by this point, and traffic was building up on Highway One. I banged out the drive to Santa Cruz. Nostalgia rises in me as I remember being here in May 2023 with Jamila when we spent a day at the Boardwalk, which is supposedly recognized as the best seaside park in the world. I can’t believe my best friend lives in this area. I can’t believe I’m going to see her later this week!

Nostalgia is a dangerous feeling when you’re exhausted. I’d been traveling for 16 hours at this point—by Uber, by plane, by car. Watching everyone on the boardwalk enjoying their time with loved ones was kicking up dust in me. I pulled into a parking lot, and tears were falling before the car was in park. As many people do, I struggle to sit with my emotions. I run from discomfort, sometimes evading it before I even recognize that I’m feeling it. The confidence to feel my feelings is one of the ~big goals~ I have for this trip, a driving factor in my desire to travel alone.

I was surprised how quickly the tears stopped once I let them fall. That’s the funny thing about feeling your feelings—you get so used to running from the knots in your stomach, the noise in your head, that one day, when you’re brave enough to pull up a chair and let them have their moment in the spotlight, just as quickly as they pop up, they sneak back into the recess of your mind.

After a quick breakdown in the car, I was back on my way. It felt like my mind’s windshield had finally cleared, revealing just how exhausted I was. Rest was what I needed. I drove the 50 minutes from Santa Cruz to Monterey in silence, with no music. Windows down, I let my thoughts pass in and out, examining the faces of drivers beside me. Ten minutes from my Airbnb, I pulled over to Monterey State Beach.

I arrived just as the sky began changing. I alternated between a seated position on a rock and walking up and down the beach for the next 45 minutes as the sky transformed. Blue to yellow. Yellow to pink. Pink to a deep, fiery orange until the sky was so bright and beautiful that the color bounced off the water and the waves crashed on the shore and I noticed a sense of calm that I hadn’t yet felt. The vibrant display seemed to be telling me that I was where I was meant to be.

I love sunsets. I seek out a sunset spot everywhere I go, and in my flooded mind, I wasn’t even considering that the sun was about to set. So when I found myself on the beach, watching the sky put on a show, it didn’t feel coincidental. It was the perfect end to a day that was exciting, scary, and overwhelming—the first of what may be many future days of traveling alone. It was an alarm in mind: this is right. It’s strange, you’re alone in this beautiful place, and that is exactly how it should be. This is right.

As the last of the light dipped below the horizon, I made my way to the car. The peacefulness from the beach lingered as I drove the quiet streets to my Airbnb—a cozy room with an en suite bathroom in a family home. I showered, brushed my teeth, and curled up with the heated blanket, a delicious added touch. I couldn’t keep my eyes from closing. Day one was a success.

Sunday, October 27th - Big Sur Day:

I woke up relaxed. No plans in place, except for a bakery I had in mind. Donned in jeans shorts, Birks, and my King Gizz shirt, I headed off to Alta. I enjoy leaving the house and hopping in my rental car—a two-door 2019 Honda Civic where CarPlay works perfectly. It’s so unlike my routine to start my day in a vehicle, and I find it refreshing to have the wind in my hair, play my music as loudly as I want, and, most importantly, avoid being packed into what I call a “Sardine Car”—the L train that takes me to work most mornings. Today, no sardine car for me, just a white coupe with tinted windows.

There was a line out the door at Alta, immediately affirming my breakfast choice. When I reached the pastry section, I was greeted with freshly baked cinnamon blooms, rose pistachio swirls, pear and ricotta milk buns, strudels, croissants, and more. I chose wisely: a savory milk bun with squash, Gruyere, and pumpkin seeds—unlike my typical pastry pick. Once I saw the steam rising from the soft bun, I knew I had made the right selection.

For the next hour and a half, I sat in the backyard, eating pastry, drinking coffee, people-watching, dog-watching, writing this entry, and reading my book. The sky was blue, the clouds were whispy, and I was perfectly comfortable in my jean shorts, which I greatly appreciated.

What happened after that felt almost out of my hands. I hadn’t planned anything else for the day, but as I hopped back into my car, clarity struck: I had to take advantage of the perfect weather. I plugged in McWay Falls, an 80-foot-tall waterfall on the coast of Big Sur, and set off. As long as I stayed on Highway One, I knew there would be plenty of beautiful stops between here and McWay Falls, and so I drove.

I was right. My first stop, not even 30 minutes into the drive, was Garrapata State Beach. After a short but steep hike down to the shore, I dug my toes into the sand. I noticed a man fishing by the water’s edge. A father, with his son’s arms wrapped around his neck, preparing a kite. An Australian Shepard darting in and out of the waves, its owner laughing as they play. Two groups of people were spread out on blankets, braving the wind for a picnic.

It’s almost incomprehensible to imagine a world where a Sunday picnic on the beach could be a regular occurrence. I tucked that thought away to reflect on later.

When I made it back to the car, I realized I’d left it running. Thankfully, this didn’t ruin the day with a dead battery and a tow truck ordeal. Even now, considering the fact that I had no cell service, I’m reminded of how easily things could have gone south. I made a mental note: Turn Off The Car When Leaving The Car. Got it!

Still chuckling at myself, I pulled up to Bixby Bridge. My research informed me that once you cross Bixby Bridge, you’re officially in Big Sur. The bridge, with its concrete arch 218 feet above sea level, is as terrifying as it is magical. I hadn’t yet gotten used to driving on the narrow, one-lane roads where one wrong turn could send you flying off a cliff into the Pacific.

After a few moments of serenity mixed with nerves (is that an oxymoronic feeling?), I hopped in the driver’s seat and crossed over the Bixby Bridge, keeping my eyes on the road ahead and not on the ocean to my right or the mountains to my left.

The next hour was a series of pit stops, stunning views, wind-blown hair, and constant reminders to sllllloooooow dooooowwwwwn. A million and one places to stop, each view slightly different, but never enough hours in the day. I had to remind myself that I had all day here (and tomorrow if I wanted to return!), and I was better off spending a few extra moments at each stop, even if that meant seeing one less place along the way.

I’m pleasantly surprised by how comfortable it is to be doing this alone. Heading into this trip, I was concerned—this was the longest amount of consecutive time I’d ever spent with *just* myself. I worried about the feelings of loneliness, about wanting someone to talk to during the drive or someone to marvel at the scenery with. Not only was l satisfied admiring the views alongside other traveling strangers at each pit stop, but I felt a tinge of pride when I planted my feet firmly on the ground. This is right.

I drive by glass houses and wonder who lives inside. I drive by cows and wonder who cares for them out here. I drive by a deer, then pull off to the side of the road to watch him for a bit. Shortly after that, I couldn’t help but giggle as I saw the Henry Miller Library sign.

Back in September, I went to a Mali Velasquez show and spoke with a guy who recently moved to New York from Portland, Oregon. In my search for common ground, I told him I was headed to Big Sur at the end of October, and his face lit up. “Make sure to stop at the Henry Miller Library! Such a cute and strange place,” he told me.

In his honor, I walked through a garden that led me to a small wooden structure hidden amongst the Redwoods. It was a delightful mix: part bookstore, part concert venue, part outdoor movie theatre thanks to an old projector, and an eclectic space for vagabonds of all kinds. I was pleased to see such a thing. I almost bought this book. I am drawn to graphic novels, but I never read them.

I meander the shop, small but stocked to the ceiling with books, both used and new. After browsing, I exit through the back door into their stunning backyard space. Trees labeled as “Poet Trees” had books hanging from the trunk, a creek flowed gently nearby, and a cat crossed my path. From inside, I heard the owner call out, “That’s our cat, our very own Jack Kerouac!”

I could’ve stayed there all day, but with the sun shining bright, I continued my drive, making it to McWay Falls and then Partington Cove. Soon, I was seated in an Adirondack chair placed in a babbling brook. I kicked off my shoes, dipped my feet into the cold, rushing water, and read my book until my feet were numb and I felt the familiar itch to continue the journey. Drying off, I noticed it was nearly 5:30 pm. As I got back on the road, fog began to appear where it hadn’t before. The mountains to my right seemed to shoot up into the sky, their peaks obscured by clouds, and the ocean to my left was hardly visible. The landscape had turned damp and moody, and I was glad to see this side of Big Sur.

A few more songs played from my playlist before I exited Highway One, a sense of accomplishment tingling beneath my skin.

Determined to make the most of the remaining hour of daylight, I drove to Cannery Row. Named after the 1945 John Steinbeck novel, Cannery Row is a waterfront tourist destination that used to be home to now-defunct sardine canneries.

At the parking lot, the attendant tells me it’ll be $10 to park, then quickly asks if $5 sounds better once I give him a small pout. He takes my fiver and tells me to stay as long as I’d like. He also points me in the direction of “1,000 sea lions” to which I am unsure whether he is being literal or figurative. I follow his direction and find, much to my surprise, that he is being literal. Hundreds, maybe thousands, maybe millions (okay, okay, probably not millions) of sea lions lay piled on top of each other in the park along the shore. Makeshift fences keep them in place close to the water and not roaming freely through the streets, but the animals are stacked high, some even lounging comfortably atop picnic tables. They arf and sneeze and I stand and watch until the sea lion smell becomes too much.

I then walked from tourist shop to tourist shop, resisting the temptation to purchase a souvenir sweatshirt or keychain. I made it out of the shops that I typically fall victim to and walked into Grotto Fish Market. Here, I indulged in oysters and their house specialty—the clam bake. Satiated, I paid my bill, tipping generously because my waiter never left my water cup empty. To me, there is no better sign of a good waiter.

Monday, October 28th - Beach Day:

It wasn’t yet 7:30 a.m., and I was lying on my back on a beach blanket at Asilomar State Beach. I’d heard the spot was perfect for sunrise and sunset, so I sipped a hot coffee, book in hand, watching birds graze the water as the sun peeked over the horizon. As I envisioned the day ahead, I decided I’d try my hand at “going with the flow,” spending as much of the day outdoors as possible.

As I’ve mentioned before, I’m a girl with a plan. I prefer to keep myself busy, and a full day with nothing on the agenda tends to strike me as overwhelming as opposed to freeing. Instead of seeing it as a blank slate full of endless possibilities, I can feel the disquiet seep into my mind, like syrup spilling across a freshly mopped floor—the fear that I’m going to waste the day, or that I’ll look back on this day in the future and wish I had spent it differently.

Reflecting on this, it’s hard to say whether I was having an anxious morning that happened to coincide with a free schedule, or if the open hours ahead, unclaimed and mine for the taking, stirred up some unexpected nerves. After the sun rose, I headed to the Butterfly House. I stumbled upon this historic villa during my pre-trip research, thinking it was a kitschy, cutesy stop, and it was! But it was also a touching testament to love:

Newlyweds J and Sonja purchased the house in Pacific Grove in 1977. In the early 1990s, Sonja slowly started losing her eyesight due to a degenerative eye disease. One day, J crafted a painted wooden butterfly as a gift for Sonja, and they realized that Sonja could make out the bright colors. J mounted the butterfly to the front of the house, explaining that it would help her find her way home after walks along the shore with her seeing eye dog. Over the next 25 years, they transformed their home into the Butterfly House. J passed away in 2020, and Sonja lived in the Butterfly House with her seeing eye dog until she passed in 2022. Today, the house stands as a celebration of love, and inspiration to pursue artistic visions.

A quick drive and I’m handing my sandwich order on a slip of paper to the man behind the deli counter. More pre-trip research led me to Compagno’s, the “best sandwich shop on the West Coast,” and I had to try that for myself. I quite like their system—before you even step foot in the store, you’re reading the menu and writing down your order word-for-word on a sheet of paper. This was particularly satisfying for me as someone who worries every single time I order a sandwich from the deli counter that they’re going to forget the lettuce. Or the onions. Or the mayo. That would be a disaster, and I appreciate Compagno’s preemptively removing a concern from the list of minor anxieties floating around my head.

I left the store down $20 which isn’t a bad price to pay for a ginormous sandwich, a Diet Coke, and 2 deviled eggs. I know what you’re thinking: Deviled eggs? Yes, my friend, deviled eggs. I take my goodies to Carmel-by-the-Sea, a quaint seaside town boasting household incomes inching towards $200k. Free parking wasn’t hard to find, and I parked across from a massive house with multiple Trump 2024 signs on the lawn. On my way to the beach—a dogs-allowed, off-leash beach, which rocks—I passed a woman with her off-leash dog. She clocked the Trump sign, sighed, and muttered, “Jesus Christ. Donald Trump. Why don’t you drop dead?” Hell yeah, lady. I smile at her, though she doesn't notice; I think she’s muttering additional profanities.

I laid out my beach blanket, took a bite of my sandwich, and took a deep breath. I alternated between bites and breaths until I’d polished off half the sandwich and half the Diet Coke. Then, of course, I had to pee. Carmel-by-the-Sea not only has free parking, but public restrooms too. I left my blanket, Diet Coke, and foil-wrapped sandwich half behind and joined the bathroom line. Just as I was about to enter, I watched a seagull land near my blanket, check for onlookers, snatch the rest of my sandwich, and fly far, far away. I hope he enjoyed it.

Back on the beach, with an empty bladder and no more sandwich, a slight tightness crept into my chest. I’m surely not as relaxed as one would hope to be while sitting on a beach. I read my book but couldn’t shake the feeling that I should be doing more. I packed up my things, returned to the car, and started driving along the shore. I do so until I find another free parking spot and exit the car once again. No visible Trump signs this time.

I walk on the promenade, repeatedly telling myself that I am making the most of my time. I sit on a bench and wonder if I’d feel better at the aquarium, thrift shore, or even at a spa; if I need some sort of activity that goes beyond watching the waves crash on the shore. No, I love to watch the waves crash on the shore, this is a great place to be. I get up and keep walking, unsure why this idea that I’m wasting the day away is still lodged in my head. I sit down on another bench, frustrated. It was around this point that I physically placed my head in my hands—the dramatics! It was maddening to be in a beautiful place, with no responsibilities, the whole world at my fingertips, and feel so uneasy. Heart pounding, stomach twisting, and the neverending slew of internal dialogue telling me that I am wasting my day, wasting my trip, and need to figure out right now not only what to do with the rest of my time here, but with my entire life. No pressure!

I’m still learning how to stay calm in these moments, so I reminded myself that I was exactly where I needed to be. I told myself to sit still, breathe, and trust that there was nowhere else I needed to go. Scanning my surroundings, I noticed a couple on the shore pointing toward the water. Two boats were close together, and I saw a mist rising from the sea between them. Grabbing my binoculars, I focused in on the spot and stifled a yelp as I saw a whale fin slapping back into the water. I’d bought binoculars for this trip solely with the hope of seeing whales, having dreamt of them frequently lately.

I whale-watched from the shore with my binoculars for some time, feeling a familiar, comforting sensation—a sign I’d been waiting for, a reassurance that I wasn’t messing this up. It hit me: this is right. I’m right where I need to be. I’ve been anxious today, and that’s okay; that’s how it goes sometimes. But I’m doing all of this exactly right. I have proof—THE WHALES!

After a mini scoop of Milk and Cookies ice cream from Revival, I drove myself back to Asilomar State Beach to end the day the same way I started it.

Tuesday, October 29th - One Last Day:

I had to leave my Airbnb by 10 a.m., so my morning included a quick shower and my classic end-of-vacation routine of searching the room four times over for any items I may have left, even if I know for a fact that I didn’t.

The rest of the day flew by, thanks to a drive up the coast, back to San Francisco, and multiple beach naps along the way, which I’d really love to add to my daily routine. I finished my book, started a new one, got a burrito, could only eat half of it, and by the time the sun was setting, I had made it safely to my friend’s apartment in Redwood City. I’d stay until my journey continued to Chicago for my cousins’ wedding shower.

Back at my kitchen table in New York, I’m exhausted from my week of travels and excited about my next adventure. A short trip across the country taught me a number of things, the most important of which is that I can handle being on my own for extended periods of time. Who knows how this translates when I’m on my own for more than a few days, or when I’m on my own in a place even farther from home.

For now, I’m celebrating the fact that I enjoyed my first solo trip and putting plans in place for what comes next. I’ll know next time to check into my Airbnb before it gets dark, to turn the car off when I’m not in it, to buy the graphic novel, to pout at the parking attendant for a discount, to not leave my sandwich on a beach blanket while I go to the bathroom, and to never leave home without my binoculars. I’ll know next time to search for signs that tell me I’m on the right path, to take advantage of sunny days, to enjoy each viewpoint instead of constantly preparing for viewpoints down the roads, and to ride the waves of my feelings as they pass through me in an empty parking lot.

• I’ve come to learn that some of us are external processors, while others are internal processors, and we’ve likely been this way our whole lives

• An external processor is someone who thinks and problem-solves out loud—each thought leads to another, and another, and another. To you, it may sound like I’m rambling, but to me, I’m following a train of thought, and hearing that train rumble out loud helps clear the cobwebs in my head. I talk to think

• On the other hand, an internal processor thinks before they speak—they work through ideas in their heads, processing them privately before sharing anything vocally

• A theme I’ve been reflecting on lately is that personality traits aren’t meant to be stacked up against each other. I find it helpful to sort through the noise by bouncing my ideas off the person in front of me, and this doesn’t make me better or worse than someone who prefers to think quietly before expressing their thoughts

• I feel like my smartest, most productive, and most clear-headed self when I am taking the jumble of words in my head and forming them into coherent ideas. Whether I’m sharing with a friend or putting words on paper, there is nothing wrong with the way I process information. My ability to work things out in real time is what makes me the honest, vulnerable person that I am, and it feels good to recognize that as a strength

Barebells Protein Bars

• I don’t eat enough protein. If I had to guess, you probably don’t either. Unless you’re my friend Camille, she’s got the whole protein intake thing down

• I’m no stranger to the world of protein shakes and protein bars. I’ve tried my fair share, including some that shouldn’t even be classified as food. I am here to share with you the best protein bar I’ve ever had: Barebells Protein Bars. With 20 grams of protein and no added sugar—and I don’t even care about that stuff!—these guys are genuinely TASTY. Paired with a coffee and an apple (or whatever fruit I’m feeling that week), they make for a perfect, filling breakfast

• You can find Barebells just about anywhere—Foodtown, CTown, my local bodega that I call Geo’s (because the sandwich guy works quickly and Gets ‘Em Out), but I’ve noticed that they’re cheapest at Trader Joe’s, so do with that what you will

Herbert Von King Park

• One of my biggest gripes about living in Brooklyn is the lack of accessible nature. This applies to city life in general, but I feel my best when I’m surrounded by grass, trees, or the ocean—far away from the bustling concrete jungle I’ve signed a lease to live in. Curious how that works…

• Earlier this month, my friend Miranda introduced me to Herbert Von King Park, a 7-acre oasis smack-dab in the middle of Bed Stuy. For a city park, this one has it all: green space, baseball fields, playgrounds, barbecue areas, a dog run, a small but mighty amphitheater, and bathrooms. It’s less than an hour’s walk from my apartment, which I’m thankful for because it’s not super convenient via subway

• Not much tops a park day for me. My essentials? A sandwich and snacks, a comfortable blanket to sprawl out on, my Kindle, my journal, and either headphones or a small speaker depending on who is joining me for the day

Zach Zucker

• I was supposed to go to a comedy show in August headlined by David Cross, Bob Odenkirk, Sarah Silverman, and Fred Armisen. It got rained out, and rescheduled for September. To everyone’s dismay, the entire lineup couldn’t make the new date. Instead, the show at SummerStage in Central Park ended up being David Cross, Jason Sudeikis, Ilana Glazer, and a bunch of other random comedians I’ve never heard of

• Not that it mattered much to me—I don’t keep up with the comedy scene, and my friends were way more excited about the original lineup than I was. Still, we made the trek to SummerStage, ready for a night of outdoor comedy. Apparently, outdoor comedy is harder than indoor comedy because of the acoustics… or something

• Anyway, I wouldn’t recommend a comedian if it wasn’t well deserved because stand-up often makes me uncomfortable, especially when they dive into crowd work. But Zach Zucker? Cooper and I had tears in our eyes. His set was probably the best stand-up set I’ve ever witnessed. I won’t spoil anything (because I can’t find a YouTube clip that does him justice) but trust me—if you ever get the chance to see him live, do it. I’ve never laughed so hard at ~some guy~ on stage

Tomato-poached fish

• Here’s the recipe. You’re welcome.

• A few Fridays ago, I hungout with my friend Meg at her lovely apartment. She made me a deal I couldn't refuse: if I picked up drinks and dessert, she’d handle dinner. After confirming that I eat fish, it was game on. I grabbed us fancy seltzers and sweet treats, and headed over to her place

• When I arrived, dinner was nearly ready, and the kitchen smelled amazing—shallots, tomatoes, and something savory bubbling on the stove. As Meg put the finishing touches on the dish, we caught up, laughing and chatting and saying goodbye to her roommate who was headed off to work at the Renaissance Faire that weekend (very cool, very cool)

• Soon enough, I was sitting in front of a bowl of fluffy white rice and perfectly cooked fluke swimming in a rich, tomato-y, stew-like base. A squeeze of lime on top and I could not believe the explosion of flavor in my mouth

• I tried my hand at the recipe not even a week later, swapping the fluke for cod. It came out delicious. Quick, easy, filling, and warm, it’s the ideal dish for a chilly winter’s night. This one’s definitely staying in my recipe rotation

  

Vivid dreams

• My mind has been running wild while I sleep! Lately, I’ve been dreaming of the most random people—coworkers, people I haven’t spoken to in years, and even friends of friends. What’s interesting is how easy it’s been for me to wake up and remember these dreams vividly

• I’ve been dreaming about whales. So far, I’ve had at least five dreams where I’m standing on a dock, watching massive orcas leap out of the water, not far from where I’m standing. The dreams feel lifelike. I’m heading to Big Sur in less than a month, and I’m hoping to see something similar with my eyes, while I’m awake, but for now, seeing it in my dreams works for me

• Of course, dream interpretation isn’t an exact science, but I’ve enjoyed reading about the significance of whales appearing in your dreams. Some recurring themes I’ve noticed:

  • Dreaming of orcas can symbolize a great opportunity on the horizon, as if they’re telling me to stop doubting myself

  • Dreaming of orcas can mean I’m going through a challenging period, but I’ll overcome it

  • Dreaming of orcas can signal that it’s time to embrace my desire for something exhilarating and new

• The common thread in all these dreams is the excitement I feel when I see the whales. I don’t feel fear or get the sense that they’re threatening me. Instead, I’m breathless, in awe of their beauty. So, I’m holding onto the hope that these whales are visiting me with a message, and I’m keeping that close to my heart

Sweater vests

• Turns out, I’m a fan of sweater vests. I’ve never really gravitated towards them, but I snagged one on sale this month and I find myself frequently reaching for it, a great piece for the changing seasons

• As we know, I prioritize comfort while getting dressed and this feels like an attainable balance. It’s an easy, low-effort way to look put together while still feeling like I’m wearing a T-shirt, which is almost always what I’d prefer to be wearing

• Now that I’m dipping my toes into the world of sweater vests, I’m spotting so many that catch my eye. Like this vintage one and this checkerboard one. Maybe I get this one in honor of the tomato-poached fish recipe?

Climbing onto the roof (even though I’m scared)

• If you’ve been reading my writing lately, you might have noticed a recurring theme: overcoming fear (shout out and her piece, 3 signs you're ready to push past fear!)

• These days, I’m actively pushing myself to do things that scare me, hoping to expand my threshold for discomfort and strengthen my ability to see myself as a brave person

• I’ve struck up conversations with strangers, entered a hot sauce contest that brought literal tears to my eyes (MAN, that hot sauce was no joke!), and—perhaps the biggest feat—I finally climbed onto my roof

• I’ve lived in this building since April 2023, and the roof has always intimidated me. To get there, you have to climb a tall ladder and then hoist yourself up. I’m not usually afraid of heights, but there’s something about ladders that makes my legs shake every time

• Last week, on a whim, I decided to take the plunge. One rung at a time, I made my way up to the roof. The skies weren’t blue—it was actually quite overcast—and my legs were trembling. As soon as I made it up, I was anxious about the inevitable climb back down. But I forced myself to take a deep breath and appreciate the bravery it took just to get up there, without downplaying my accomplishment

• I spent about 20 minutes enjoying the view before carefully making my way back down. It wasn’t an Earth-shattering moment, and I’m sure I’ll still be nervous the next time I climb up, but now that I’ve done it once, I can do it again. I can do the things that scare me. I am brave

The barista chuckles as he calls out my order, “Graham cracker latte—alm-oat.” I had my headphones in, missing his pun completely. He looks at me and laughs, and I take out a headphone. “Alm-oat. Get it?” He repeats. I giggle, taking my drink from his hand. “Good one!” I say, walking out the door of the coffee shop with a smile on my face.

Loudie is my favorite NYC hack for free concert tickets. If you make an account, you’re required to have a few followers before you can start winning tickets. Follow me (amydointhings) and I promise to follow back.

This past weekend, I won free tickets to see Built To Spill at Webster Hall. They were celebrating the 30th anniversary of their second album, There’s Nothing Wrong With Love. Sadly, my favorite Built To Spill song, “Goin’ Against Your Mind,” isn’t from that album, so I didn't hear it that night. I’ve had it on repeat since; please enjoy it in my honor:

Since I didn’t pay for concert tickets, I find myself in line for merch. By merch, I mean two stickers for $5—perfect for pasting into my journal to remember the evening. My friend Austin stands loyally by my side, asking me which T-shirt I like best, and I can’t help but notice the man in front of me. His head practically touches the ceiling; he must be 6’7”. Somehow, that isn’t even what stands out about him most.

It smells like he has an air freshener (or three) in his pocket. Cologne, maybe? But in New York, where pleasant scents are rare, this shocks me. The intensity is almost nauseating, but still, I find myself breathing deeply, snickering at the unlikelihood of an “enjoyable” smell at a crowded indie rock concert.

The man, towering and fragrant, went on to purchase not one, not two, but three Built To Spill T-shirts. A bit excessive, I think, and so is the way he flirts with the lone woman running the merch stand. It seems like overkill, but he swipes his card for $120 without hesitation. As he walks away, T-shirts in hand, I catch one last whiff of his air fresheners, the scent still lingering in my nose as I approach the table to purchase my stickers.

One night this week, after a long and, honestly, quite stomach-turning conversation with someone I love, I walked back to my apartment in tears. I did the only thing I could think to do: pick up the phone and call my Mom.

I’m blubbering to her, word-vomiting, spewing all the thoughts in my head, walking down the street, a mess of salty tears and snot—likely a concerning sight to passersby. I walk right by a girl with a huge backpack on, and as I do, she asks, “Do you need a hug?” In shock, I blubber/laugh back to her, “I’m okay, I’m on the phone with my mom, thank you though.” She doesn’t move. "Please can I give you a hug?” She asks. And then there she is, arms around me, her backpack in my face, my tears dripping onto her hair. It doesn’t last long, she lets go quickly. “I hope tomorrow is better." She says as she scurries off.

The next night, I am sitting in the nosebleeds of Forest Hills, my favorite concert venue in New York. The War On Drugs just finished their set.

Next to me is my friend Maddie. I haven’t seen her since the start of the summer, despite us texting each other constantly in hopes of making plans. She is glowing: her hair in a slicked-back bun, a new tattoo on her bicep, and a glistening ring on her finger. My friend Aidan, her boyfriend of seven years, is now her fiancé. We discuss her upcoming wedding. She starts with, “You’re invited, of course,” which clears up any confusion that may have come if she didn’t indeed confirm that I’m on the guest list. We have a lot to catch up on, both of our summers having slipped by in a blink.

As we chat, the sun is setting, and birds slice through our line of vision, so close it feels like they could graze our hands. We’re sitting high up, almost level with the sky, and my stomach twists into familiar knots. It’s an uncomfortable, common sensation dating back to the nights I shared a room with my sister, both of us under the age of eight. When the sun goes down, my nerves rise, and a strange unease settles over me. Everything feels darker, not just outside, but inside too.

It doesn’t happen every night, but when it does, it’s a sure sign that I need to give myself some extra care. I’ve come to recognize it as a clear indication that my stress levels are running high, a warning bell that it might be time to distract my mind, or maybe just go to bed early. As I take a deep breath, Maddie picks up on it. People often do, though their reactions vary. Friends who’ve known anxiety, as I have, tend to nod in silent agreement when they hear that breath and say, “I feel that.” Others who may not share the same struggle lean in with concern, asking, “You okay?”

It’s a funny dichotomy—the understanding between two people whose nervous systems are always just a little elevated, and the instinctive worry from those who don’t live with that undercurrent of tension.

Up next is The National. This is my third time seeing them, and I’m relieved to hear that Maddie has seen them before as well. As the band takes the stage, I start to worry about my longevity for the evening. The knots in my stomach turn to nausea, and my usual pre-concert excitement feels more like dread. The National begins, great as always, and it feels like a funny joke that I’m at a concert listening to some of the most melancholy music of all time as I battle nerves like I haven’t in a while. The world works in mysterious ways and all that…

I turn to Maddie and let her in on my thoughts, “We should leave a bit early to beat the crowds.” Keep in mind that we’re only five songs in. Her response is perfect: “You let me know when you want to leave. I’m ready whenever.” I glance at her, trying to figure out if she’s just saying that to appease me. I think she’s being genuine, but I’m not entirely sure. “I’m serious,” she adds, clearing it up.

Two songs later, tears prick at my eyes, and I turn to her without saying a word. “Let’s go,” she says, standing up. “Yeah?” I ask, my voice shaking. “Let’s go!” And before I know it, we’re clomping down the stairs, making our way out of the stadium.

We exit the venue and I thank her for her willingness to leave. It’s a bit of a trek from our Brooklyn apartments to Forest Hills, and we didn’t even make it an hour into The National’s set. I haven’t voiced any of my deeper unease, but there’s no doubt she can sense I’m not myself, and her readiness to go really touches me. “That’s actually one of my best traits,” she remarks. “I am always, always down to leave. Sometimes you just need to leave the place you’re at. And I’m always the girl for the job.”

As Matt Berninger of The National’s voice fades into the background, Maddie starts telling me about her recent ClassPass venture to a “twerking workout class” and a wave of comfort washes over me. I’m struck with gratitude for my friend who walks beside me and who is always, always down to leave.

Four events I’ve had to dress for recently. Four events that I’ve prepared for by ripping outfit after outfit off my body—the dress I always wear, the jean shorts that I love but are too informal for the function, and the skirt that remains relegated to my room. Each time I whisk off one outfit for another, the cloud of shame and frustration doubles in size.

I value looking put together, but realistically, I tend to prioritize comfort while getting dressed. My approach to dressing is often shaped by the unpredictability of living in New York. When I leave my house in the morning, who knows when I’ll be back! Living in a city where I might be out from morning till night, I don’t want to find myself out and about in uncomfortable shoes or, worse, with chub rub.

The word “chic” sends shivers down my spine. I am many things, but even on the days when I see myself in the brightest of lights, I know “chic” isn’t the best way to describe my wardrobe. I admire those who embody chicness. Whether they’re strolling by on the street, standing in line behind me for lunch at work, or gracing my Instagram feed, they seem to have it all figured out.

Logically, I understand that someone’s mastery of a flawlessly neutral color palette does not mean they are better than me. Illogically, actually, no, I do not understand this. Lately, I’ve been measuring my worth against those who exude effortless style.

Even my feelings about my own body temperature are being questioned, thanks to those who stay ahead of the latest trends. Layering seems to be in vogue, and that sucks for me: I run warm. The classic elegant-girl look—like a sweater draped over the shoulders—is more of a hassle than a statement. I typically do not need a long trench coat over my cashmere pullover, nor do I require other accessories that would both elevate my look and also keep me Marked Safe™ from the dreaded slight wind chill.

Enter my new motto: TGINAM—Thank God I’m Not A Model. Though I am known to dabble in self-deprecating humor, there is none of that to be found here. It’s not a dig at myself, nor is it a slight against stunning models all over the world; it is simply the truth. Models are paid to walk runways, pose for cameras, and attend events, all while representing a brand through their clothing. Their job is to look good; it’s written into their contracts. There is an expectation placed upon them that they will look good upon arrival. My job puts expectations on me as well—that I show up on time, that I take a certain number of calls each week, and that I respect my colleagues. With that in mind, there is no expectation about what I wear. Fashion is not written anywhere in the contracts I’ve signed, I get to decide the role it plays in my life.

Recently, I’ve found this motto to be a breath of fresh air. Whether I’m heading to a concert, or the park, or the US Open, or a funeral, I have no obligation to show up in a specific way. The experience I have at [insert place here] will likely be unaffected by the garments I wear—unless, of course, I’m uncomfortable. Cue the comfy shoes and chub-rub-terminator clothing. Absolutely non-negotiable.

This motto reminds me that what I bring to the table has nothing to do with the clothes I put on my body. Allowing frustration and guilt to take over when I can’t find the perfect outfit isn’t just unfair—it’s a colossal waste of time. It's easier said than done, and I understand. The comparison game is ingrained in human nature, and with social media, it feels like we’ve advanced to level 1,000,000. It’s a daily battle, and it’s harder for some than others, particularly for those who face additional pressures due to discrimination and societal standards.

Two people who look exactly the same may experience the act of dressing in completely different ways. Complexities and pressures vary from person to person, influenced by factors like background, skin color, body size, and self-perception. Acknowledging the privilege you have is essential.

There are plenty of events on the horizon, and the same old, same old in my closet. There will be days when finding the right thing to wear feels like a massive undertaking. On those days, I can use TGINAM as a snap back to reality, as a grounding message, and as a reminder that my worth isn’t stitched into the seams of my clothing, it’s woven into the choices I make and the way I choose to live my life. So here’s to comfy shoes, a chub-rub-free life, and the freedom to be anything I want (but probably not a model).

I often ask, "How fun can something be if you don’t have someone to share it with?” I have the loveliest people in my circle (if you’re reading this, that includes you!), and it’s a joy to experience life with them.

I’ve trained my mind to believe that the only reason to do something alone is because no one else is available to join me. I imagine that sounds a bit sad, and it feels that way for me too. I wish solitude came naturally to me. I admire my friends who effortlessly do things on their own without needing anyone else’s company.

Recently, as I’ve been thinking about my plans for the future and what I want the next year of my life to look like, I’ve come to understand that to achieve some of my biggest goals, I need to embrace solitude.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: “You’re never alone<3 You have friends, family, and a boyfriend; we’re all cheering you on!” Yep, but unfortunately, if I decide to jet off, you’ll be cheering me on from afar. I’ll feel your love, but physically, I’ll be by myself—far from those I know and cherish. There will be opportunities to meet new people, sure, but I’ll be arriving alone and navigating day-to-day life—activities, dinners, and transportation—on my own.

In preparation, I’ve been micro-dosing the act of enjoying my own company by taking solo day trips. For example, I’m writing to you now outside Textbook Café. I have an iced oat latte to my right, my headphones in, and I'm listening to “Secret Love” by Stevie Nicks, which I shamelessly Shazamed from one of the recent episodes of The Bear.

I took the bus here, something I typically only do with a friend. The weather is gorgeous, and once I finish this draft, I’ll pack up and head to a bench in Fort Greene Park to continue reading The Bee Sting by Paul Murray. It’s a hefty novel, clocking in at over 640 pages, and while it took 60 pages to hook me, I think I’m enjoying it so far. I’ll report back.

As I reflect on the ways I hope to grow and improve throughout my life, being comfortable with being alone stands out as a significant goal. To be at ease by oneself is to be at ease with oneself—a quality I greatly admire in others and aspire to develop.

By embracing solo experiences—exploring new places, meeting people, and embarking on adventures—I’m gradually reprogramming my mind to recognize that I don’t need others by my side to enjoy life. It’s daunting to instill a new set of beliefs into your brain; we are creatures of habit, after all. But, once again, I’m reminded that the most intimidating challenges are often the ones most worth pursuing.

I’m optimistic that the ideas stirring in my mind are emerging because they’re worth pursuing, because I’m capable of making them happen, and because, in doing so, I’ll become a more self-sufficient version of myself.

As I continue to spend more quality time alone (and that means more adventure and exploration as opposed to laundry and the Stairmaster), I hope to find blue skies and green grass, the same curiosity I have for others about myself, and the strength that comes from seeking comfort in the uncomfortable.

If Malcolm Gladwell is right, it’ll take me 10,000 hours to master solitude. That number feels insurmountable, but two years ago, I had no desire to even try. With each new experience, I’m reshaping my relationship with myself—no longer a last resort, but a place of peace and fulfillment. That’s growth in itself, little by little. I’m working my way there in 4-hour increments and look forward to seeing where the road takes me, myself, and I.

• If you’re lucky enough to live somewhere with a Just Salad, you’re welcome in advance. Just Salad is a make-your-own salad chain, similar to Chopt or sweetgreen. They’re all very alike to me, and to be real with you: I usually prefer Chipotle or Cava if we’re talking bowls. That is until I met the Crispy Chicken Poblano

• Extra Crisp Romaine + Shredded Kale, Crispy Chicken, Grated Cotija, Hass Avocado, Roasted Corn, Overnight Pickled Onions, Crunchy Tortillas, Fresh Lime, with Smoky Poblano Ranch

• Are you… kidding me???? I got extra pickled onions because that’s just who I am, and I think it may be the best salad I’ve ever had

• I recommended it to my gluten-free sister who swapped the crispy chicken with grilled chicken and the tortillas for cucumbers and this was her feedback:

My friend didn’t give me a hug in a time of need

• You read that right. I was in crisis mode (I choose to say this as opposed to “I was having a crisis” because I objectively was not having a crisis, but I was in crisis mode) and found myself tearful with a friend

• She stood there with me, patiently listening as my mind raced a million miles an hour. Then, with the kindest expression, she places one hand on my shoulder and says, “I don’t know if you’re a hugger.” And I laugh, “I’m not.” And she goes, “I know.”

• It was a quick moment, and when thinking back on the night, I’d venture to say she doesn’t even remember it. Most people love being wrapped up in a big hug as the tears fall from their eyes, but I felt so cared for by her approach—to be loved is to be seen and all that

• As much as I wish I were, I’m not a huge hugger. I enjoy a hug as a greeting or a goodbye, and I do love hugging my boyfriend, Jon. But when it comes to support from friends, more often than not, a hand on the shoulder is the perfect amount of touch for me

Man in the park offering $15 haircuts

• There’s a park nearby—not very big, but three laps around make a mile, so I often find myself doing loops there whenever I need a breather

• On my most recent loop, Jon and I walk side by side with our headphones in. We exchange a glance when we see a man holding a sign that read “$15 haircuts” and decide to check it out. Jon has this fluffy, blonde hair that grows so fast, I can’t help but be jealous. The man with the sign is probably a foot shorter than me. It’s worth noting that I’m tall, but either way, his height only adds to his charm. Jon asks the man what his schedule is, “Are you here every day? What’re your hours?”

• I urge Jon with my eyes to sit down and get the haircut right then and there, knowing his occasional forgetful tendencies. He either didn’t catch my eye speak or he chose to ignore it—likely the latter, but I’ll pretend it was the former. The man smiles shyly and mumbles something in Spanish while pulling out his phone. He hands Jon his cell, revealing a translation app. Jon types in his question, and the app translates the man’s response in real time: “Estoy aquí todos los días, de lunes a viernes, de 9 a 6… I’m here every day, Monday through Friday, from 9 to 6.”

• We nod and smile, “Thank you! Gracias!” Jon says as we turn to continue our loops. I’ll be sure to remind him this week of the man who waits, scissors in hand, every day from 9 to 6, ready to exchange his skills for $15

Hairstyles for cleaning

• The other night, I came home from work with an insatiable urge to clean my room. It had been at least a month since I last swept or Swiffered the floors, and it showed—items were scattered all over, and a fine layer of dust had taken up residence on my desk. It was close to 9 p.m. when I started, determined to tackle the mess. I began my usual cleaning routine:

  • Take items off the floor

  • Sweep the floor

  • Swiffer the floor

  • Put items back in their homes (some still returning to the floor)

  • Take items off the desk

  • Wipe down the desk

  • Put items back on the desk

  • All done! Clean enough!

• Or so I thought. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you see it), I wasn’t satisfied with just doing the bare minimum. I knew there were things lurking under my bed that I’d tossed there to get them out of sight, not to mention the dust bunnies multiplying by the minute. In my small Brooklyn room, my bed is wedged into a corner, locked into place between the wall and my desk, making it a real challenge to move around and clean underneath. What followed was a series of contortions—moving, ducking, laying, standing, squeezing, sweating, and grunting

• Before I knew it, I had a hair tie and two claw clips in my hair. First, I threw it into a ponytail. Then, I wanted it off my neck, so I used a claw clip. Finally, I was just about ready to chop off my bangs in frustration, so I grabbed another claw clip to pin them out of my face

• My roommate passed by my open door, undoubtedly having heard my groans. When she saw my hair, she burst out laughing. “I was just talking to someone yesterday about the funny hairdos girls do when they’re cleaning,” she said, and we both cracked up

Rice Cracker Medley

• Behold my new favorite Trader Joe’s snack, lovingly introduced to me by my friend Jenna, who shoved the bag in my face and insisted I try. This gluten-free (Kimmy, listen up!) snack mix is a delightful medley of rice crackers, each flavored with soy, salt & vinegar, chili, and the unmistakeable kick of wasabi peas

• I’m nothing if not honest: I could do without the wasabi peas. I’m just not a wasabi fan, and I admit I toss these out—or feel a tiny pang of distress when one sneaks into my mouth. That’s JUST ME THOUGH, to each their own

• As for the rest, I’m obsessed. My top picks are the salt & vinegar white round rice cracker, the seaweed-coated rice cracker, and the rice cracker that has a styrofoam consistency. They keep me comin’ back for more, and I cracked open a new bag as I wrote this

Watermelon Merge Fruits Puzzle iPhone game

• I went to the US Open for the first time this month, and it was definitely an experience. Walking around the grounds with my friends was a blast, especially when they offered me sips of their Honey Deuce cocktails (thank you for your generosity!). We indulged in freebies like La Roche-Posay sunscreen and FAGE’s new Lemon Meringue yogurt. The weather was gorgeous, the food was predictably overpriced (and I was glad to have eaten dinner beforehand), and since I hadn’t watched much tennis before, the whole event felt novel and exciting. We even scored seats in Arthur Ashe Stadium to watch Djokovic play!

• As it turns out, there’s a reason I haven’t spent much time watching tennis. I may or may not have had my Kindle out during the match, and I may or may not have been sneakily watching the girl sitting in front of me play a game on her phone

• The game was oddly fascinating—something about combining fruit to make bigger fruit, all to clear space for more fruit. It makes more sense when you’re watching it, trust me. Either way, I had no choice. I tapped her on the shoulder and asked what the game was. Initially, she gave me the confused and slightly offended look you give a stranger when they tap you on the shoulder, but once she registered my question, she smirked and said, “Watermelon.” I downloaded it immediately. Soon enough, I was turning bananas into oranges and oranges into apples, all against the backdrop of cheering fans. Tennis may not be my thing, but who knew a fruit-combining game could be so much fun?

“Legs” by Annie DiRusso

• I’ve liked Annie DiRusso since 2018 when she released a song called “Jonathan.” I’d completely forgotten about it until just now. I just revisited it, and though I am now dating a Jonathan, the lyrics don’t hit as hard as they did when I was daydreaming about a (different) Jonathan who placed me in the friend zone and didn’t let me leave. In hindsight, it was a good move on his part. He was a close friend all through high school and into college, and I’m glad we didn’t venture elsewhere. That said, a song about “unrequited love” when you’ve got a big, fat, unreciprocated crush, just feels GOOD. I’m glad my Jonathan crush is now fully reciprocated :’)

• On August 23rd, Annie dropped a new song called Legs, complete with an iMovie-made music video. I can’t get enough of it. She describes the song as capturing “a hot summer night in the south” and confesses that she has “an instinct to control,” “hates not knowing things,” and is “loosening the grip, and letting it all play out”

• Cheers to that. Apparently, “Legs” is a nod to an upcoming, unnamed album. If the rest of the songs are anything like this, catch me at my nearest Annie DiRusso show

“The World Is Your Oyster”

• As I mentioned in a story about spontaneity, I am a planner. It’s rare for me to wake up without a clear idea of how my day will unfold. But lately, I’ve been leaning into the part of myself that craves unpredictability, purposely keeping a weekend day open to decide, in that moment, what feels right

• A few Saturdays ago, I woke up with a strong desire for adventure. Without hesitation, I texted my friend, Cooper, hoping she hadn’t already filled her day with plans, and I was in luck. We agreed to meet at Prospect Park. She had a few errands to run first, so I was going to arrive an hour ahead of her, which was fine by me. I made my way to the subway and began my journey

• On my second of three subway transfers, another friend texted me to say he was at the Brooklyn Flea. In that instant, the allure of spontaneity took over. I decided to switch things up and texted Cooper to suggest we meet at the flea market instead. As the minutes ticked by without a response, that familiar worry crept in—had my last-minute change irritated her? But then, Cooper replied with, “Sweet, I’ll meet you there. The world is our oyster!”

• A few hours later, after scouring the Brooklyn Flea for treasures, Cooper and I decided it was time for a treat given that there were five ice cream spots within a stone’s throw. Cooper was set on Brooklyn Ice Cream Factory, a place she’d visited before and loved. “Just so you know,” she warned, “they only have the basics: chocolate, vanilla, strawberry, coffee…” My expression must’ve given me away—I was hoping for something a bit more exciting, maybe mint chip, cookies and cream, or, ideally, a glorious combination of both: mint cookies and cream. My favorite flavor of all time

• Sensing my hesitation, Cooper, ever gracious, asked if I’d prefer to try somewhere else. Then, with a twinkle in her eye, she said, “Actually, circling back to the world being our oyster, who says we can’t get a scoop from Brooklyn Ice Cream Factory and a scoop from another place of your choice?”

• Now that was more than just a compromise. That was pure genius.

I didn't touch my book, but I walked 9.4 miles, and I spoke to a friend on the phone for a little over four hours. This friend, I'll call him B, and I are playing a constant game of phone tag. Sitting down at the picnic table, feet from the calm Hudson River, on the first sunny day in about a week, I thought, "Now's as good a time as any," and I gave him a ring.

He picks up, and it begins. B, for as long as I can remember, is someone that I can expect to be exhausted by. While the word exhausted may have a negative connotation, I can't think of many traits I appreciate more than the ability to tire me out—the innate desire to ask layered questions, to request context, to ensure that I'm telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. He can take the tangled web of yarn in my head and unravel it alongside me. It's a trait that one may expect to find in a therapist, and I'm lucky to have access (for free!) to a friend like this. Especially one who reminds me that this isn't a chore for him. He seems to be untangling his own yarn throughout our conversation.

B knows me well. Alongside one another, we've tackled life's lemons. Not necessarily making lemonade but squeezing out the juice together for the sake of not having to do it alone.

I ramble on and on, then fall silent, handing B the ends of three different threads, hoping he'll untangle them for me. I confess, "And on top of that, I feel bad even whining about this to you. You've been through so much the past few years, and all my complaints are trivial." He sighs loudly into the phone and takes a beat, letting the weight of my words sink in.

“Why are you telling yourself that you only have the right to feel bad if something truly catastrophic happens to you? That’s cruel.”

Talking to B is like this—a series of mic drop moments I wish to record and replay whenever I need to hear them. Our conversations wind and weave like the trail ahead—sometimes shaded, sometimes sunny. We follow one thread of thought, drift to another, introduce new topics, and skillfully tie everything back together with a remark like, "which relates to what we were saying earlier…"

How comforting it is to have my feelings validated by someone—not just by anyone, but by someone who has encountered one or two of these catastrophic circumstances and yet doesn’t hold it against me. Instead, he uses his experiences to inform his worldview and invites me to see my world through his eyes.

He tells me how fortunate he feels to have witnessed my growth since we met in 2014 through a game of Words with Friends. He shares with me what he knows about caterpillar soup. Are you familiar with this?

Caterpillar soup refers to the viscous substance that a caterpillar becomes during its metamorphosis into a butterfly. B, a master of analogies, uses this imagery to describe my disoriented, overwhelmed, chaotic state. Not only does it make me feel less alone, less like a problem to be solved, and more like a human experiencing a tough time, but it also gives me hope. One can only wish to, at some point in their life, feel themselves becoming the gelatinous goop that is caterpillar soup as proof that we are changing.

At one point, B is fervently discussing my need for a break. He delves into the concept of burnout, describing how it insidiously takes hold, fatigue blurring the immediate reality before your eyes. Using one of his trademark analogies, he compares this feeling to wandering in a desert, desperately searching for water.

Funny enough, as he speaks, it hits me that this search isn't just a metaphor—I'm parched. Glancing at my watch, I realize I've walked four miles, and we've been on the phone for over two hours. I'm feeling slightly dizzy, and I need water.

I remove one of my headphones, leaving B to continue his monologue, and listen intently. I hear the faint sound of an announcer speaking. Though I can’t decipher the words, it’s clear that an event is taking place, and an outdoor affair usually comes stocked with something to drink. So, I decide to follow the sound.

I continue down the path, exiting the State Park, and find myself walking on the shoulder of a long main road. It’s not long before I recognize that the announcer’s voice is coming from my left. Walking parallel to a dense forest, I know I'll need to clomp through the underbrush to reach the voice.

I make my way through the woods. It’s not a long journey, but there’s no clear path, and by the time I emerge, I’m hunched over, examining my ankles for ticks. I shake off any lingering pests and debris that may have found a temporary home on my skin, then take a moment to assess my surroundings.

Good news: there is a bustling fair right before my eyes! The announcer’s voice is now loud and clear. I can see at least eight vendor tents set up, many of which I assume are likely to offer water. A crowded parking lot buzzes with families unloading their cars and gathering their belongings.

Bad news: a swift stream completely blocks my path. To get to the fair, I’ll either need to leap over this unknown depth of water or find another way around. My earlier dizziness returns as I spot a woman approaching. I ask B to hold on a moment while I figure out my next move.

“Do you need help?” The woman asks, her age evident in her calm demeanor. As far as I can tell, she has emerged from thin air. She’s holding hands with a sweet, smiling young girl. I chuckle awkwardly, “Um, I’m okay!”

As she extends her hand across the creek, I weigh my options:

1. Take the stranger’s hand and risk both of us falling in

2. Politely decline her offer, thank her, and search for another way around

3. Retreat through the woods and hope she doesn’t question my odd behavior

“No, really, I’m fine. I’m just… I just am looking for a place to buy water!” I admit, feeling self-conscious about my predicament. “Do you happen to know if there’s somewhere nearby where I can get some?” My voice carries an edge of desperation as if I’ve been wandering the wilderness for days. “No worries if not!” I add. Classic.

She smiles warmly, like offering a comforting hug from a distance. “Stay put,” she says, heading toward the fair with the young girl in tow.

“I think a really nice woman is going to get me some water,” I tell B as I lower myself to a seated position by the stream.

He snickers, and I can practically hear his eyebrows raising. “So, the universe delivered exactly what you needed, right when you needed it, while I was making a metaphor about roaming a desert on a quest for water. Got it.”

I pull $20 from my wallet as she returns with three ice-cold water bottles. She tosses two across the stream to me and hands the third to the young girl, who throws it my way with a cheerful grin. I stretch out to give her the money, but she waves me off with a smile. “It’s not a problem, baby. Just do something nice for someone else in return.” I ask if she’s sure, and she nods, her smile unwavering. I thank her before sitting back down and cracking open the bottle—a Poland Spring has never tasted so good.

“Have a lovely rest of your day,” she adds before disappearing back into the crowded event.

The walk back to the trailhead was effortless: I was hydrated and grateful for the kindness of a generous stranger. Though I had to trek the four miles (and then some) back, my phone call with B lasted the entire time.

He encouraged me to start believing that good things are always happening to me, and he’s right:

• A day to myself to walk in the sunshine by a body of water

• A four-hour chat with a friend who I don’t catch up with enough, but when I do, it’s like no time has passed at all

• Words of affirmation from a positive force in my life who understands me so well yet doesn’t make assumptions

• Ice-cold water from a gentle, unknown person right when I need it most

Good things are always happening to me, and I am deserving.

In hindsight, I should’ve known that scheduling Verizon to set up the Wi-Fi on the same day of move-in would be a disaster. Too many cooks in the kitchen. Alas, it was the plan I made, and I intended to follow through with it. I arrived at the new apartment with a big truck of my belongings and following only a few feet behind were the Verizon technicians, ready to access the backyard to hang lines from trees and perform their other magical tasks.

Oh, the joys of living in New York! Yes, my building does have a backyard, but no, I do not have access to it. Yes, some people do have access to it, but no, I do not know the folks in 1L or 1R who hold the keys to this elusive place. To get into the backyard, the Wi-Fi magicians will need to be let into someone’s apartment to navigate through their space with ladders and their clunky boots. It seems that 1R is not home, and 1L is unwilling to let anyone—boots-wearing or otherwise—into her space.

Fast-forward 15 minutes, and that’s how I found myself standing outside my apartment building, begging and pleading through 1L’s window for her to grant the technician access to the backyard. Surprise, surprise: most people do not enjoy being told what to do by strangers making frantic requests from outside their window.

The Verizon guys ended up leaving. We were left without Wi-Fi until 1R came home, we coordinated a time to provide entry to the backyard through his apartment a few days later, and that was the end of that. However, it has been 15 months since I felt it necessary to scream through my neighbor’s open window, and that neighbor and I have exchanged nothing except for a short “hello” if she is smoking her morning cigarette on the steps as I’m leaving for work.

I take full responsibility for making a less-than-ideal impression that morning. I have my reasons, and though I do believe there is a world where the neighbor could’ve found my course of action endearing and funny, that is not the world we live in. Fair enough.

We’ll fast-forward again, and it is August 2024. I’m once more standing outside my apartment, waiting for the Verizon magician to acquire gear from his car. The tropical storm that swept through the city on Saturday tore our wires to shreds, and here I am, again, like a fool, Wi-Fi-less, needing backyard access, and making myself available for clunky boots-wearing men to enter my home. I know better now; I coordinate everything through 1R.

But there she is—sitting on the stoop, smoking her morning cigarette, bright pink eye masks under her eyes. She asks me what’s going on, and I turn to face her. This is the most we’ve ever spoken. I need to be charming, yet relatable. Normal, yet quirky!

I tell her the story, and she nods. She then asks, “You’re Amy, right?” I say something strange about how it’s so crazy we “haven’t met yet” and as soon as she goes along with it, I can feel the tide changing. I mean, we have met—plenty of times. We met in April 2023 through her window and we’ve met as I brush past her and mumble hello, being transported back each time to my embarrassing first day. What I meant was that it’s so crazy we are acknowledging each other by name and having a conversation. I dip my toe further into the water, asking her how long she’s lived in the building.

“It’ll be four years in September. I moved here during COVID and I’ve watched so many people filter in and out.”

“Are you going to re-sign?” I asked.

“Psh, I’m hoping so. These people will raise the rent any chance they get, but my renewal is coming up in September, and they haven’t told me the price yet, so I think, at this point, I’m in the clear. When is your lease up? Are you going to re-sign?”

I exhaled. Even if you know, with 100% certainty, that you plan on renewing your New York apartment lease, it is still a stressful question. “I’m not sure,” I say. “I don’t think so, but I don’t know. I’m not positive yet what my plan is. I’ve been missing nature a lot. There’s not a ton of that around here, and I’m feeling the effects.” I laugh, it comes out stifled. This is one of the things that my mind has been going, going, going, going about recently.

“I hear you. Where’s home for you?”

“Not far. About 40 minutes outside the city. You?”

“Oh! I’m from Nyack.”

“No way! I was just at Nyack Beach State Park this weekend! Oh my goooosh, it was so lovely.” (It was, seriously, so lovely. I have another piece in the works about my day there.)

“Right on the water. So many trees. I bet you only saw like 10 people there the whole time.”

“Exactly.” I look up and to the left and see a friendly face, a curious calico cat, staring back at me. “Is that your kitty?”

“It is. That’s Kiki! It’s her apartment, really. She loves hanging by the window, I’m sure you’ve seen her before?”

Making conversation with someone new is a dance: at times, they follow your lead, at times, you follow theirs, and for most of the experience, you’re wondering when you won’t feel so stiff. (Note: I am, historically, not a dancer. This may not be everyone’s experience with dancing.)

I’ve found that, in most cases, the more of yourself you’re willing to share, the more open the other person will be as well. Timidly, I reveal, “I’ve seen her… I actually grew up in a cat-hating household. It’s only this year that I’ve tried to change my ways and like cats a bit more.”

I am so satisfied when she throws her head back, howling, “I grew up in a cat-hating house too! Seriously. Up until Kiki, I had no interest. But when therapy became too expensive, and I was dumped, I needed some relief. I fostered Kiki for a month, ended up adopting her, and can confidently say that she has saved my life.”

“How so?”

“There is nothing better than snuggling your face into soft, warm fur when it feels like everything is too much. Plus, she taught me a lot about boundaries. She’s sweet but it took some time to build our relationship. She has an attitude. She’s a lot like me.” She chuckles. “Plus, we had a mouse once. Since Kiki has joined my world, no mouse in sight.”

She explains that mice can smell a litter box, and once they do, they stay far away. Suddenly, I need a cat of my own. The Verizon man returns, carrying what looks like a tire but is actually a very tightly wound mass of wires that I assume will give me internet access. “Ready?” he asks. “Let’s do it,” I reply.

He heads up the stairs into my building, and I tell my neighbor that it was great chatting with her. She agrees and adds, “Feel free to take down my number. I’m happy to share my schedule if, for some reason, the guys can’t fix it today and they need to come back.” I add her as a contact in my phone, and head inside.

An hour later, the internet is back and I am sitting alone in my apartment. I pull out my phone:

A few takeaways from this experience:

• People are full of surprises: The longer you know someone, the more likely they are to catch you off guard.

• First impressions aren’t everything: If you bomb your first meeting, do better the second time around.

• You can find common ground with anyone: Even with mortal enemies. Not that she was a mortal enemy but, ya know.

• Don’t procrastinate on neighbor relations: Waiting 15 months to mend fences with your downstairs neighbor might mean missing out on their wisdom and possibly a fire pit!

This morning, as I stepped out of my apartment with a basket full of dirty laundry, I spotted her sitting outside near the building door. In a way, it felt like a scene from our usual routine: she was enjoying a cigarette, and I was heading somewhere.

However, this time was different. My "hello" was clear and cheerful, free from the mumbled clumsiness that used to accompany our encounters. We exchanged warm smiles, and five minutes later, I found that same smile lingering on my face as I tossed my laundry into the washing machine.

My friend Emily met me outside my apartment and we sauntered over to the warehouse where the class is held, catching each other up on our weekends. We both commented on the weather. It’s been brutal in New York. Not just hot, but humid. As you take each step, you can practically see the boiling water droplets rising from the concrete (that’s how humidity works, right?). This particular evening was still slightly steamy, but there was a breeze, and it was closer to 70 degrees as opposed to the 90 degrees we’d grown accustomed to.

Don’t ask me why I thought we needed 30 minutes to walk to the studio (Google Maps tells me it is a 6-minute walk from my place), but we arrived, looked at our phones, and decided to sit outside instead of waiting indoors for 25 minutes until the class began. Our weather talk ramps up at this point. The sky is bright blue, a stark difference from the grey week we’ve had, and the clouds are whisps in the sky. Emily sighs longingly. We look at each other knowingly.

Emily and I have made watching the sunset a routine. Over our 10-year friendship, we’ve consistently scoped out spots across multiple zip codes that provide complete visibility as the sky transforms from blue to pink to orange to purple.

“How badly do you want to go to this class?” She asks me. I laugh. This is the closest I’ve come to making it to yoga in at least eight weeks. I’m sitting outside the studio, mat in hand, and I know in this moment that I’m continuing my eight-week streak tonight. I tell her I’m open to skipping yoga in exchange for a sunset on her roof, contingent on a fresh fruit salad landing in my lap. She nods, and without a word, we begin the walk back to her apartment, stopping on the way at the grocer that sells inexpensive fruit.

Two peaches, a nectarine, strawberries, and two mangos for $8. We turn a blind eye to the bruises and scuffs, applying pressure to the fruit’s skin, hoping for a squish as an indication of ripeness.

Produce in hand, we’re energized and speed-walking back to Emily’s cutting board to prepare our dinner. We make it home and grab knives. I snatch a mango, and Emily takes a peach. Right before we slice open the fruit, I ask if we can switch. Thankfully, Emily has a knack for preparing mangos.

By 7:30 pm, we are positioned on the roof. I’m on my yoga mat (it did get some use!) and Emily is on a tie-dye blanket. We have a huge fruit salad in front of us and we each have a glass filled with ice and LimonCello La Croix. The sky has already started to shift in color and I feel the wash of relief that comes from a familiar place.

It’s my first night back in Brooklyn after three weeks at my parents’ place. I’m back in my own space, and it’s meaningful to spend the evening with someone who knows me deeply. Someone who knows me well enough to ask, “How badly do you want to go to this class?” instead of “Want to ditch this and watch the sunset?” because those are two different questions. The latter is blatant while the former leaves room for interpretation, the understanding that we both know what we’d do on a night like this if we skipped yoga.

As a type-A planner, I tend to be stuck in my ways. I know what I want. I have high expectations for myself, and once I set my mind on something, it’s not easy to change my plans. Simply put, go-with-the-flow isn’t a term I’d use to describe myself.

This is a lesson in flexibility, in making the choice that feels best in any given moment as opposed to rules previously set. Allowing our plans to morph into something new is how I ended up on a roof, watching the sky twirl and twist, enjoying the most delicious mango. As always, Emily and I covered our bases. Under the setting sun, we discussed our careers, family, dating, and how funny it is that we’re living lives we used to dream about while now craving so much more.

We chewed on our big dreams from four years ago and how much bigger they’ve gotten recently. That’s how dreams work, isn’t it? You dream big, and the next thing you know, you’re living the dream. Almost instantly, those big dreams feel small, and your ambitions grow that much grander. To avoid falling into the hamster wheel of nothing ever being enough, it’s crucial to reflect on how hard you worked to achieve what you had wished for just years prior. There’s more for you ahead, but look how far you’ve come.

I’m grateful for my friend who doesn’t let me forget that I’m living out my dreams. She reminds me that I wouldn’t be wishing for more if I didn’t push myself to get where I am today. With love in her voice, she urges me to be patient. To trust the timing of my life. To remember that everything works out when it’s supposed to, that I’m not falling behind, and that my best is much more than just good enough.

I hope these words resonate with you, and aid in reflecting on what you’ve overcome to be here today. I can’t wait to see where you go.

I mean, to be fair, my mind has been going, going, going, going since I was the ripe age of 6 but recently, I’ve been stuck in a loop of all-consuming thoughts regarding who I am, what I’m meant to do, how I can live a satisfying life, and what the hell needs to change in order for me to be proud of what I bring to the table and find more enjoyment in my days. Questions like:

• How do I go about spending each day in a way that satisfies me?

• What do I need to do to make space in my life for creativity?

• Why am I feeling so unfulfilled?

• Is it possible to lead a creative life?

  • (Am I creative?)

    • (Am I special?)

      • (Do I deserve to live a life that feels full and prolific?)

        • (Do I even know what the word prolific means??????)

I have a history of obsessive thinking. I know what it feels like when I’m grasping at straws, digging a hole deeper and deeper in search of an answer to a question that I haven’t yet put into words, running in circles day in and day out, trying to give my thoughts meaning, turn that meaning into action, and create the change that I am so desperately in search of.

It feels like I’m on the brink of something. Change is imminent. Or at least, the thought of change is starting to feel more palatable in comparison to not changing a thing—what I am doing right now isn’t working. I need more room. I need space. I need to take a step back and see the makeup of my life from a different perspective. Does that sound dramatic? Imagine how much the drama is amplified in my head.

I’ve been reading a lot lately. My friend Sydney’s newsletter, Gentrifier Olympics, hits my inbox every Monday and I devour each word. My friend Miranda turned me on to Substack—I had an account already but once I subscribed to Monthly Musings, I began to dive deeper into this world of creative people and felt the pull to join them in their bravery. My uncle graciously added me to his Apple One family plan, giving me access to Apple News+ and I’ve found myself on the couch, scrolling on my phone through magazines, excitedly reading the articles but wishing I had paper versions to cut and collage with.

On top of these short-form articles and newsletters, I’m making my way through four books right now:

• Pretty Girls by Karin Slaughter. A psychological thriller girly through and through, this is doing it for me. Recommended by multiple friends, I will say this: if you’re squeamish or easily disturbed, there are plenty of other thriller options that I can recommend. I’m about 75% of the way through and I can only imagine what the end has in store.

• The Perfectionist’s Guide to Losing Control by Katherine Morgan Schafler. As a self-proclaimed (and other-proclaimed, for that matter) perfectionist, this book has been eye-opening. In fact, the quiz that kicked off the book labeled me a messy perfectionist with Parisian perfectionist tendencies. I figured I’d run with that, posting my first Substack without a clear idea of what I want the title of this newsletter to be, what long-term vision I have, if I am going to write on a specific cadence, or any of the other questions that I usually “have to answer” before getting started on anything. Something is better than nothing. I can lean into my inherent desire to be better than I was yesterday by spending time writing this first post and sharing it even though I don’t know when or if I’ll post again. At least I’ll have posted this.

• Financial Feminist by Tori Dunlap. I wanted to better understand my own finances, so I posted a poll on Instagram asking if anyone wanted to join an ~all-girls~ finance book club. This is our first book; we’re three chapters in, and the bi-weekly Zoom calls have been honest, refreshing, and so darn sweet.

• The Art of Non-Conformity by Chris Guillebeau. After finishing Julia Fox’s audiobook last week (that was a doozy), I was quick to check this audiobook out of the Libby library and give it a go. I’ve been loving Guillebeau’s Substack, A Year of Mental Health, and it seemed that his book touched on some ideas I’ve been having recently.

I wake up and I listen to my audiobook while I get ready. I take breaks from the day on my phone, scrolling Apple News+ and Substack. I take breaks from the day on my Kindle (I can probably write a whole post about why I love my Kindle so much…) to read my books, alternating between fiction and nonfiction until my eyes become tired. Once I’m tired, I put on my shoes, turn back on my audiobook, and head out for a walk. With all this consumption, I feel called to create.

My radio show, Newfound Sounds, has been on hiatus since June. I’ll get back to it soon. I put a pause because I’ve been too busy. Or at least that’s what I tell myself. At first, I was traveling, then I was celebrating my birthday, then I was visiting my grandma in the hospital, then I was grieving my grandma, and now, I’m wondering why my favorite creative outlet was the first to get cut when trimming the fat on my busy days. I love finding music, sharing music, storytelling about what I’m listening to, and discovering artists on the rise. Somehow, it felt like investing time in a hobby, especially when I feel swamped and bogged down by the quest to uncover the meaning of life, was foolish.

Here are three songs I’ve been loving:

1. A new single from the London singer-songwriter duo IDER. I’ve been a fan of the two for a while, even playing another song of theirs, You’ve Got Your Whole Life Ahead of You Baby, on Newfound Sounds earlier in the year. They remind me of the band Oh Wonder, who I couldn't get enough of in college.

2. The funky baseline and vocal distortion are likely what have me replaying Free by SAULT nonstop. Jon’s roommate, Nick, recommended this one to me, and I'm very pleased that he turned me on to this British music collective that mixes R&B, urban gospel, disco, and even house music at times.

3. This song is unique. When I saw it came out in 2018, I was shocked. Connan Mockasin is a New Zealand musician described as “a psych-funk oddball” and this song is supposedly about Charlotte Gainsbourg.

It’s not easy to write—to verbalize and make public our dancing ideas. It’s courageous to herd thoughts like sheep and align them in a way that gives a direct line of sight into the inner workings of our mind.

“If it’s not scary, it is not worth doing.” - Rhys Ifans

Herding sheep keeps the flock safe and calm. It creates a sense of unity in the herd and empowers them to find good pastures. The same can be said about those of us seeking meaning. Writing and inviting others into what can feel like a head full of clutter keeps us safe and calm and brings us together. It empowers us to hunt for good pastures, the places and spaces where we feel most at home.