Gypsy Nurse

In February, I finally fulfilled my two-year contract at my hospital in Denver and also the necessary two years experience of nursing before one can travel nurse. I wasted no time and left a couple weeks later. 

In case you are unfamiliar with travel nursing: I work with an agency who sets me up with jobs and is who gives me benefits and health insurance. I tell my recruiter where I want to go and other criteria I may have. The more flexible I am, the more jobs I will find. Then she e-mails me available jobs as they come up — tells me the hospital, shift, pay, etc. The assignments are usually 13 weeks long. The hourly pay is low but the rest of the pay comes in an untaxed stipend. Travelers typically make more than double than the regular staff nurse, which is why travel nursing is so appealing. There are lots of disadvantages to travel nursing too and moving every few months is certainly not for every one, but it’s pretty perfect for me. 

I was hoping to travel with my friend Molly, who I worked with in Denver, to southern California, but we ended up finding ourselves in San Francisco. At first, I wasn’t even considering living with strangers. I would either live with Molly or alone. But after searching and searching, alternative options were the only options in my price range. Half the reason I’m traveling is to save money so I didn’t want to spend so much of it on rent. There was a couple weeks between me and Molly’s job offers, plus our hospitals are quite far apart, so we ended up living separately, both renting a room in a house. We’ll get to that later…

Packing. Moving. Kind of daunting. But kind of what my dreams are made of. When I’m anxious about something, looking forward to it, especially when it involves preparing and organizing, I really have a hard time sleeping and lie there thinking about getting ready for it. There’s no better example than packing to move. I love keeping minimal things and moving is the best time to narrow your belongings down. Each piece has to deserve to go to the next place with you.

I have a large cargo box on top of my car. I thought I’d have no problem fitting everything I needed to live with indefinitely in there and the hatchback. (I do have some things at mom & dad’s that I want to keep for the future but don’t need to travel around with.) I really thought I was going to kill this packing lightly, living with less, living out of my car thing, but I was actually packed to the brim. There’s several things I brought, like kitchen stuff and bedding, that I’ll only need if I get an unfurnished apartment somewhere, which may never happen, so I think I will get rid of a few of these things. But another reason I brought a lot of kitchen stuff is what if I stay in a mostly-stocked kitchen but they don’t have a blender? Am I just supposed to not drink a smoothie for thirteen weeks? Or not steam my veggies if they don’t have a bamboo steamer? Or not spiralize my zucchini? I’m not an animal.

So, we packed, said goodbye to Denver, and headed west. We camped in the Mojave Desert, which has to be one of the coolest terrains to me. The next day we explored Joshua Tree (same terrain) then headed to San Diego. We met Molly there and stayed with her parents for a couple of weeks. We both really wanted to stay in southern California. It was hard leaving.

San Francisco. Maybe if I wasn’t a nurse and it wasn’t my job to take care of the city’s crazy people (did you know crazy people are hospitalized WAY more than normal people?), I would see far less of this demographic and SF would be more appealing. But alas, this is my job and this city is CHOCK FULL of crazies. The homeless problem is out of control and homeless/drugs/alcohol make up a majority of my patients. They’re a rough crowd and not my favorite to take care of. Also, I work FIVE days a week so it just feels constant. Besides that, the city is pretty great. Except for where I live. 

These first six weeks I’ve been staying in Bayview-Hunter’s Point. I knew going into it the neighborhood was a little “ghetto” but I was okay with a little less gentrification. It wasn’t until I got there that I learned the neighborhood is gang-ridden and truly unsafe. Day 1 I checked my lease to see when the hell I could get out of there. Day 2 Molly and I found an apartment together, but it wasn’t ready yet and we had both already paid for a month’s rent anyway and didn’t want to waste that. The first week I tried a few times to take Henley on walks, with my fist holding an open knife in my pocket. I gave up on that and found a nice park a 10 minute drive away and a wonderful beach a 20 minute drive away. Six weeks of dealing with the owner of the house visiting every day (who doesn’t live there and I thought I wouldn’t see), her outdoor cat that got surgery and became an indoor cat, stepping over a crackhead on my front steps most nights, asking for money after I just came home from dealing with trying to take care of people like him (with zero cooperation or appreciation), and even heard a round of gun shots and a young man’s last moans. (Sorry, Mom & Dad. Waited ’til I got out of there alive to tell ya that, though!)

But today… today is MOVING DAY and I couldn’t be happier. I’m sitting at a coffee shop with Henley with a few hours to kill before I can go to the new place. He’s sitting underneath the legs of a woman at the table next to me, wearing her long dress like a nun’s hat. It’s a beautiful day! I’ve been dreaming about going to a florist today and carrying brown paper-wrapped flowers up to our new apartment. It’s the simple things, like fresh flowers and no murders, that make a house a home. 

           

Thoughts on Thirty

I am admittedly one of those people who fears aging and therefore, birthdays. It may have started on my seventeenth birthday when my dog died unexpectedly. Perhaps it left a touch of PTSD. Or maybe it was when my Intro to Public Health professor wrote the year 2068 on the board — the year we would likely die according to life expectancy — and the reality of my own death fell upon me like a forceful waterfall, crushing me. Cue quarter life crisis. Regardless of when or how this fear grew in me, it did. With the temps cooling and the leaves changing, comes my anxious awaiting of October 17th. Start me a Versed drip and turn the calendar page, please!

My mom has always been grateful for each birthday she is given. Why hasn’t that been instilled in me? I have friends and family who treat me like a princess on my birthday. I get the most thoughtful and generous gifts. Last year, four of my best friends flew thousands of miles to be with me on my day! But is it the gift of time?? No.

We’ve all fallen down the “I want my first baby by 35 so I’ll need to get pregnant at 34 but I want to be married for a year and be engaged for a year and date for 2 years so I have to meet him right now" rabbit hole, amiright? Also, I took Maternity Nursing class! The risk for poor health results for mom and baby just start shooting up after 30! The fear is real, my friends. 

I care about nutrition so much because I don’t want to get sick and die young. I am morally opposed to naps because it wastes precious time. I am deeply bothered by celebrating holidays too early. I will not enjoy anything pumpkin flavored until it is officially fall and I damn well won’t think about Christmas until after Thanksgiving! Macy’s had Christmas stuff up mid-September and I firmly believe whoever was behind that should be crucified. Why are you rushing time? 

Now that I’ve explained some reasons why I hate birthdays and am dreading turning 30, I will explain why it is completely irrational, I know I’m crazy, and why I am lucky and stoked to turn 30.

Am I writing this to convince myself? For the most part, yes.

First of all, I’m lucky to be alive. Worrying about getting older is outrageous and horribly insensitive when there’s so many people in the world fighting for their lives and when there are lives taken too early. And I’ve lived a pretty fortunate life so YAY to celebrating 30 years of greatness.

I know for older folk, 30 is SO young, right? But remember when you were 9 and you thought you’d get married and have babies when you were 23? And you thought your teacher was so old but she was actually 30? And Lady Gaga was an icon by 25, 13 year olds are competing in the Olympics, Mark Zuckerberg launched Facebook when he was 20, and Malala Yousafzai won a Nobel Peace Prize at age 17. So, ya, sometimes 30 feels old.

But “success is perspectival,” says Joshua Fields Millburn of The Minimalists. I’m turning 30 and I don’t have a record label, a gold medal, or a Fortune 500 company, but I wasn’t trying for those things. I do have two bachelors degrees, have been to all but 5 states, have a good career and great girl friends, and a really cute dog. Is that success? Of course it is. 

I feel like I’m no longer finding myself, becoming myself. I am myself. I’ve become me. Sure, I’ll evolve a bit over time, but nothing like what I’ve done already. And I think I’ve done a pretty damn good job so far.  I’m still growing, of course. Always, keep growing. Ryan Nicodemos, the other half of The Minimalists, says if you’re not growing in life, you are dying. You are just living out your days.

My 30 years of life experience has brought me some other wisdom, too:

I’ve learned to love the in-between. Please, I beg you, do not wait until a certain point (to get the job, to make the move, to meet the someone) to be happy. Being happy now means finding the importance in, making the best of, and not just tolerating but thoroughly enjoying the time it takes you to get that thing you’re working towards, waiting for, dreaming of. Because really, isn’t life made up of so much more of those in-betweens than not? Enjoy the process.

I say this to remind myself. I live in the future so often. I’m a list maker, a planner, a dreamer. I literally can’t sleep sometimes thinking about something that’s happening in a month or a year. It’s important to keep these dreams in mind in order to reach them but at some point, enough is enough. Sit back and enjoy the present. That future will come and then you can sit back and enjoy that, presently.

I’m trying to give less fucks. Or at least be more picky about what I give a fuck about. Sometimes, it is important to care. At other times, things just nag at you; don’t let you sleep at night. Maybe there’s nothing you can do to change it. Maybe the only option is to let go. Those are the things I’m trying not to care about anymore. Let myself free; let myself sleep. Sometimes it takes some soul searching to realize what to do: care, not care and let go, or modify the thing at hand and reassess. It’s The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up your thoughts, ideas, plans, and relationships. I’m trying to clear out that mess for the next decade and not carry those things over. You shouldn’t wait for a new month or year or decade, though. Do it now. But… Better late than never.

This past decade, I’ve spent some time thinking “What the eff am I doing here?” I’m not so wise that I can answer that yet, but when I’m feeling motivated I think “I don’t know, but let’s do it anyway!” In his essay about lessons he’s learned in his first 30 years, Millburn writes: “Giving is living. The best way to live a worthwhile life is simple: continuously grow as an individual and contribute to other people in a meaningful way. Growth and contribution: that’s the meaning of life.” I like this idea. It’s certainly as good an answer as any other. I’m on board.

Thirty will bring education and career changes and lots of travel. I will be out of my comfort zone. Not a toe dip into discomfort zone, but really thrown into the deep end. I should note: I cried in my first swimming lesson when we were told to jump into the deep end. Better luck this time. Let’s be honest, I’ll still cry, but this time I get to fix it with alcohol. But keep your boxed wine. I’m a grown-ass adult now. Pour me a bourbon.

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Right now I am sitting in an Adirondack chair in my parents’ back yard in Massachusetts, typing with very poor ergonomics because there’s a large dog on my lap. I’ve been enjoying sunny mornings in this yard for a week shy of 30 years. That, and so much more, makes me a pretty lucky lady. Life is good. Here’s to many more birthdays I am fortunate enough to complain about.

I have loved. I have laughed, grown, and contributed. And for that I am grateful.

I have hated. I have hurt, damaged, and lied. And for that I am sorry.

I have lived. And for that I bear no regrets.

[Joshua Fields Millburn]

I’ve turned to The Minimalists for help cleaning out my closet and also, for the meaning of life. Seriously, If you don’t know who they are, check them out:  theminimalists.com

To read Joshua Fields Millburn’s essays on turning 30:
http://www.theminimalists.com/30/
http://www.theminimalists.com/30lessons/ 

Less dismal follow-up

After my last post I got a lot of messages checking on me. This is incredibly sweet. It also made me realize I sounded a bit depressed. And desperate. So this is a much needed, clarifying, follow-up post. 

I was a little emotional when writing the last post but, I do believe in everything I said. However, and this is important, I do not usually sit around moping that I do not have a boy friend, I’m lonely, and I hate Denver. Actually, the opposite is much more often true. I go between wanting to actively date and wanting to be on my own (but open to passively finding love). Ninety percent of the time it’s the latter. I am excited to travel nurse, and hopefully work abroad to really fulfill dreams, even though it might make me more alone than I am now. Really, I’m quite lucky to not have anything holding me down so I can do all of these things. It would get complicated if I had to think about someone other than myself and Henley, and being a single mom is enough on my plate. 

I have chosen this independent road and I do not regret it. I do not regret moving to Denver, nor do I hate it here. It’s not the place for me to stay forever, but I’m going to enjoy it while I’m here. I want to enjoy everything I have while I have it. That includes being on my own. Because there will be a day that I’m having a hard time compromising — he wants a healthy meal, I want pizza; he wants to go out, I want to stay in; he wants to keep hiking, I want to camp for the night — and I’ll think (and say out loud to myself without regard for someone else hearing) “Remember how good it was when you were single?”

This brings me to my second point. I am willing to change my mind about all of this. We are ever-changing and I embrace that. I want to travel, but I may find on the first assignment that the quick turnaround is not for me. Or maybe I find a place I love and don’t want to leave. I am willing to stay in one place, if I find a place that tells me to stay. If I find a person to do life with, I may have to make compromises, which will change everything. I’ve heard that’s what you do in relationships. I don’t want to trap myself now in “definitely”s and nothing is written in stone. Fear of commitment? Sure. But I’m also going to stick with that “we’re ever-changing” thing. 

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Hygge. Are you familiar with this word? Pronounced hoo-guh, it is a Danish concept, a little word that means a lot. Here is one definition: 

The art of building sanctuary and community, of inviting closeness and paying attention to what makes us feel open hearted and alive. To create well-being, connection and warmth. A feeling of belonging to the moment and to each other. Celebrating the everyday. Hygge happens when we commit to the pleasure of the present moment in its simplicity. It’s there in the small rituals and gestures we undertake to give everyday life value and meaning, that comfort us, make us feel at home, rooted and generous (hygge.co).

I came across this idea on a blog post called “How to Hygge: or 29 ways to actually enjoy winter” (yesandyes.org). I still think about it frequently and fully believe in the concept. I like taking something ordinary and making it special. I feel it when it’s raining out and I make tea and read. I feel it every time I light a candle. When I’m bored, feeling pessimistic about where I am or what I’m doing, or just disliking the gloomy weather, I try to go into hygge mode. I do something intentional. 

After I complained about not wanting to come home to Denver, I felt bad and I walked around the city just looking at street art. We have some phenomenal street art. Ever since moving here I’ve been trying to hike in different places. I have a few favorites I revisit, but for the most part, I go to a new place each time. I will continue to do that and explore this gorgeous state. Don’t wait for a special day. Make every day special. Hygge.

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We need to live in the present. We can’t wait for life to start once something else happens. I’m not waiting to be happy for when I meet a certain person and live in a certain place. Right now is good. Everything is good and I’m happy. 

Anyway, my point is… I am okay. I’m great.

Run wild until you find someone just as wild to run with.

Days 9-10: Driving & Reflecting

I’m not sure how or why the storm hit today. Maybe I was just tired from a short, restless, drunken sleep on a shared top bunk in a strange house. Sleep deprivation plus a weekend of sensory overload; lovely, but emotional events; and surrounded by beautiful, strong, happy relationships wore me down. I got in the car to leave Leavenworth and I released it all. I cried intermittently through most of Washington and Oregon while I reflected on the week and my life. 

This is hard for me; to write on a public platform as if I have human emotions and sadness is a prevailing one. But I have been reading Glennon Doyle Melton, a bulimic/alcoholic turned recovering mom, blogger, and now New York Times best seller. Her openness and honesty is inspiring and I’m trying to take a page from her book. 

I have been single for nine years. That right there alone is embarrassing enough to highlight, delete, and write about a fun, dry-eyed drive home instead. I could even lie and say I saw buffalo. But… Glennon. I think it is incredibly important to be able to be on your own, to be capable of taking care of yourself, to feel at peace when you are alone, to be okay with doing things, not just sitting at home, alone. I was, am, very proud of my decision to end a serious relationship to prove to myself that I can do these things. There is a point where I think people need this. Once you graduate from that, you can stay alone if you want it. And I did for a long time. But I have mastered being alone. I certainly no longer need it. And at times, I do not want it either. 

I was SO busy during nursing school that I didn’t want to spend my almost nonexistent free time with strangers or trying to get to know someone. Now, I have a lot of free time. I’m also nearing thirty. I have been open to sharing my life with someone else for a while now, but I may have a ridiculous number of boxes that must all be checked so it seems unlikely. I often don’t think about this, I don’t sit around and overanalyze or feel sad or feel jealous around other couples. Until this weekend.

This group of couples, in particular, is what did it I think. And I mean that as the greatest compliment. They seem to me to be such strong, happy, fun-filled relationships. They laugh at each other in the kindest way. They are best friends and partners. Sarah and Niles are the epitome of this and I love seeing them together. Their love is inspiring. Over the course of their relationship, they have made me want a man by my side, a lap for Henley to snuggle in, a dad for future children, a permanent adventure buddy. But it was a long week with so many of these wonderful relationships that the inspiration wasn’t lifting anymore; it was saddening.

There’s more. Community. They have this. These extraordinary people are all Christians and it seems that their community is based on this. I do not have religion and I don’t feel at a loss at all by this, but it does leave me with a lack of community formed in this way. I’m not sure how to get community. It might help if I didn’t move somewhere where I knew no one and didn’t spend most of my time alone. I have always known Sarah to value community and find it wherever she goes and I have admired this, but in a way that I found it interesting. I had never thought about community for myself and didn’t necessarily feel that it was important. But again… the compiling of factors of this weekend. Suddenly community feels extremely important and I do not have it at all. I have a few good friends in Denver. I really like the people I work with. I still do not feel part of a community and I don’t see it happening in Denver. Did I have a community when I lived closer to friends and family? Did I have one growing up in a small town? Or did I not feel the need to have one because I was in a small town? I have so many questions.

At this point, I sure as hell didn’t feel like road tripping and exploring new places. I skipped all of my plans for the trip home, entered Denver into the GPS, and started driving the shortest route, not caring where that was. And here’s another thing. I didn’t even want to be going to Denver. It doesn’t feel like home. I either wanted to go to my real home (Massachusetts) or really at the time, I wanted to go to Seattle. I didn’t want to leave these people that made me feel like I had the possibility to have these things I wanted. Also, because Seattle is a rad city and better than Denver and I kinda want to move there. 

It’s now been some time since my emotional break in Washington and I feel better. Feeling emotionally stable, however, has not changed my desire for these things. I feel that my life is missing something, but honestly, I don’t think I’m about to run out and look for it. It may be laziness, but I think more likely, it’s fear.

I planned on travel nursing after my contract is up in Denver. I planned to travel alone to places where I know no one. I’m planning to continue my life in the exact same way it is now, but actually to a higher degree because I’ll be on these assignments for about thirteen weeks. That’s not enough time for me to make friends and I can certainly say see ya later to the community idea.

I don’t know what to do. I just have to trust I will figure it out. Someday. 

Days 6-8: Leavenworth

We had a busy morning of wedding prep. Sarah and I got mani+pedis, packed, and loaded everything in cars. Niles picked up Dani, an old friend of Sarah’s, at the airport and I fell in love with her. I hope she is my new best friend. We all headed a couple hours east into the Cascade Mountains to the Brown Family Homestead in Leavenworth.

The drive was beautiful as the mountains got bigger and snowier and the Wenatchee River was raging. I dropped Henley off at the boarder, as he is not allowed at the venue. This is my first (and probably last) time boarding him and it is heart-wrenching.

It is so special that so many friends and family are here for longer than just the evening of the wedding. I have met more people every day; people I’ve been hearing about for so long. At the homestead, there are several farm houses we are taking over. The girls in the wedding party have a big house right next to the tent, the boys have a house a few minute walk down the street, and a lot of family are staying in a whole lodge down another street. 

Downtown Leavenworth is modeled as a Bavarian village. We drove into town, actually a half hour from the homestead, for a casual German sausage dinner in a beer garden at Munchen Haus then walked down the Bavarian streets to Icicle Brewing Company. Here is where I finally got a tour of a Sprinter camper van. Friends of Sarah and Niles, an amazing newlywed couple, are living my dream and starting to live full-time in their van they are converting themselves. All my obsessing over vanlife and I don’t actually know anyone that does it. I finally got to nerd out with like-minded people.

In the morning, Sarah’s family cooked breakfast for everyone at their lodge. I was overwhelmed with the love everyone had for this couple and again, it is just so special we were all together for the weekend celebrating them. We then made brown bag lunches and went for a walk around Lake Wenatchee to marvel at this place. I snuck out afterwards and drove the thirty-five minutes to the boarder to take Henley for a walk. I was worried that on top of being neglected and tortured there, he also wouldn’t be getting enough exercise, which would just exacerbate the pain of me leaving him at a strange place. I got back with enough time to rush to get ready for the rehearsal dinner. The dinner, which Sarah’s family cooked themselves for about fifty people, was amazing as many friends got up to say very kind and true words about the couple.

On Saturday morning, we got the tent ready for the evening and got ourselves ready, milling around, drinking champagne, getting help from the professional hair and make up girls Sarah happens to be friends with. 

The wedding was as beautiful as expected. We had a long walk from the house up a grassy hill to the ceremony while Our Love by Judah & the Lion played. I wept through the rest of the ceremony, as I watched Niles cry tears of joy through it all too. Sarah walked down to Soon, My Friend by M83 and I know I am biased, but she very well may have been the most beautiful bride to ever walk down the aisle.

Sarah and Niles happen to be a physically attractive couple, but I promise their beauty comes from so deep within. They are some of the kindest and definitely the most joyful, positive, intentional people I know. They are lights and the world is lucky they exist and I’m so happy they exist together. Their love for each other is inspiring, which I talked about at the wedding and have included below. 

The rest of the night was so fun, as Sarah and Niles happen to be friends with the best dancers around. It was a late night of typical wedding shenanigans that will go down in history in professionally edited photos and videos I cannot wait to watch one zillion times. 

Ugh. I just have so much love for them.

 

   

Day 5: Seattle

I was so lucky to have a full day of Sarah in Seattle before having to share her the rest of the weekend. We had a slow morning with coffee and breakfast at home. The weather was just lovely, as it surprisingly has been my whole time in the PNW, so we walked around Ballard again. We got coffee at Anchored Ship Coffee Bar, had a Rainer beer while shopping around Filson, and meandered through a few other shops, all of which Henley was welcome in. We picked up sandwiches to go at The Other Coast Cafe, walked home, then the four of us went for a run around Discovery Park, as if I needed to be more sold on Seattle. 

We showered and made ourselves look presentable because Sarah’s uncle was taking us all (other family in town for the wedding) out for a very fancy dinner at Aqua. It’s nice to do that once in a while and pretend to feel like you belong and feel completely at ease at places like that, just to make sure you can still do it. Pretend, I mean. “This $150 entree is not shocking at all and I feel it is completely reasonable to eat one plate of food for that price instead of feeding a family for a month.” See? I nailed it. 

(Seriously, the food was delicious — I chose a less expensive meal — and we had fun and it was incredibly kind and generous of Sarah’s uncle to do that!)

We ended the night with some wedding prep. The pieces of this wedding not yet tied beautifully together are already beautiful as they sit in boxes in the apartment. It is going to be a lovely weekend. 

Day 4: WA coast >> Seattle

I woke in the fogged up car stiff and sore. I may be getting too old for this. We took our last, long walk on the beach as the sun rose over the sandy cliffs. We drove south, stopped at a trading post for gas and coffee, and headed towards Seattle, three hours away. 

I entered the city from the south and I imagine it is the best way. First, you go through the Industrial District and the busy shipyard. Then the city skyline comes into view with the ferris wheel on the water and the Space Needle adding diversity among the more commonly-shaped buildings. I love the colors of the shipping containers and the grit of the shipyard against the shiny city skyline. 

To this day, when I am driving on the Pike and drive by Fenway and can start to see the Boston skyline, my heart fills with joy, excitement, and pride and love for that city. Boston is home so it does have a leg up on everywhere else, but it’s not just that, because I had a similar giddy feeling driving into Seattle. Do you know when I don’t get that feeling? Driving into Denver. I think of Colorado and Denver as separate places. Colorado is incredible, but I have no feelings towards Denver. I don’t have negative feelings towards Denver, but I certainly don’t get butterflies coming home here. 

Sarah’s shower and washing machine were as beautiful as her.  After I was clean and the laundry was started, I could enjoy the company of my dear friends as well as some of their family that was already in town for the wedding and a couple of Niles’ friends I hadn’t met yet. We piled into a pick up with two guys and two dogs in the capped bed and went to the dog park at Woodland Park at Green Lake. Henley oddly got comfy in a cardboard box filled with what I hope was nothing important. 

Later, we went down Ballard Ave. We got Mexican at La Carta de Oaxaca, molten lava cake at Hot Cakes, and cocktails at Percy’s. I can always rely on Sarah to bring me to the best places, even in my own city of Boston. She has great taste, which is why I keep her around.

When I was sitting at dinner with Sarah, Niles, and two of their friends shortly after arriving in this city I have been to only once before and with some people I had met only a couple hours prior, I felt happy, welcomed, and at peace, like I belong here.

It’s just something to think about.

   

It got even more interesting when the second large dog was brought in.

You’re always one decision away from a totally different life.