van remodel

As you probably already know, I made a huge leap and purchased a camper van in January. It was already built out but I did a lot of work to it to make it mine. Here I'll tell you about the van, what I've done to him, and some before, during, and after pictures. 

Building something out was kind of always a dream, but I had to be realistic. There's a lot I'm just not capable of doing or I wasn't comfortable trying to do or didn't have any of the equipment to do. It would have been too hard, stressful, expensive, and time consuming. I also didn't want to buy a shell and send it off to one of the many companies that do the whole custom build for you. That just wasn't in my budget. I decided to buy something used and already built out. Through a mutual friend, I was hooked up with a 2006 Freightliner Sprinter in Jackson Hole. I bought a one-way ticket, flew through a snow storm, and drove the baby home. I call him Morrison, Van Morrison.

The previous owner had done a really good job with all the basics I wanted in a van. He's insulated, has a solar panel on the roof, two auxiliary batteries in the back, is all wired up, a roof vent fan, a big window in the sliding door, built in bed, shelving, bench with storage, a pull-out table to use at the bench, closet area, kitchen counter, and kitchen storage.

The van walls were covered in gray upholstery. This was the highest priority thing I wanted to change. I really wanted white walls. I like a clean, minimalist look anyway, but it is especially what I want if I'm going to live in a van. I told myself this might be the only thing I change. I think I was subconsciously trying to not overwhelm myself. But once I got going on this first project, more and more and more things came up and it turned into a full remodel. I tore down all of the upholstery and installed blue pine tongue and groove walls. I decided not to paint it so I had the natural element of the wood and didn't have too much white, as I painted the ceiling and all of the built-ins white. There were a few areas that were too small or hidden where I didn't bother to put the pine planks, such as behind shelving, so I used a spray adhesive to attach very thin balsa wood planks. It gave the same look of the planked walls without taking up space or the effort to install.

There isn't a ninety degree angle where the walls meet the ceiling so I wasn't sure how to make the two meet neatly. I'm pretty inept at this carpentry stuff so I had to get very creative. I bought flimsy plastic placemats at Walmart, painted them ceiling white, and cut them into strips that could tuck behind the top pine plank and lie on the ceiling, glued down with liquid nails. They curved and filled the gap just how I wanted.

I installed a shelf over the end of the bed for books and things. This shelf and the kitchen shelf got a one inch by one inch plank across so things don't fall off. I've learned that things on the shelf can actually leap over this, but it helps a little.

At the head and foot of the bed, the insulation in the walls is not there to allow for several more inches of bed length. When I got the van, however, this area looked unfinished and you could see the insulation in the wall. This was quite the trick to finish, as the edges were curved. I used the same ingenuity I used for the ceiling/wall gap. I used the placemats again to curve around the edges and give a much cleaner, finished look.

For the kitchen, I really wanted a butcher block countertop and luckily, found a piece on Craigslist in Denver for a reasonable price (way lower than if I had to buy it new) right when I was looking for it. I had my super helpful friend with all the tools cut this to size for me and also cut out a hole for a sink. The van didn't have a sink before I got my hands on it, so I needed to set up the plumbing too. My super helpful friend saved me again here. I stained the countertop in walnut. I sewed a curtain using a lightweight Ikea throw blanket to cover the water tanks/plumbing and drawers under the kitchen counter. I bought adhesive tiles online for the backsplash in the kitchen and I installed vinyl plank flooring in dark walnut.

The van came with a stove top and refrigerator, both run with propane. This required two vents in the side of the van which are unsightly and the top vent is where I would have liked to install another window. I got rid of the fridge and stove top in order to be able to get rid of the vents and propane tank and allow for more counter space. I ended up deciding to wait on the window so the vents are still there but at least it's ready if I want a window later. I got a top-of-the-line mobile fridge/freezer and for cooking I'm using my parents' two-burner Coleman stove from the 70’s that they mailed to me, as well as a new one-burner butane stove for quick things because it lights instantly. I also bought an Omnia stove top oven from a Swedish company. It looks like a bundt pan. The idea is that you can bake in it on the stove top. I built a shelf over the fridge, under the kitchen counter, to store the stoves.

The van came with a small inverter where I can plug in electronic devices, powered by the auxiliary batteries. I upgraded to a bigger inverter to be able to run more powerful things, like a hair dryer and blender.

Having it all listed here, it doesn't look like that big of a deal. But let me tell you!... To me, EVERYTHING was hard. Nothing was easy. Or fun. This was so out of my wheelhouse and I didn't even touch the really hard stuff. I never knew what I was doing, I was constantly making it up as I went along, doing it over and over because it kept not working, and it was exhausting work. But I DID IT. And I don't regret any of it, but I'm so happy it's over!

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I always wanted the van to be able to be lived in. I always said "Well I might try it for a little while and I'll just get an apartment if it's not great." But really I was defending myself. I didn't want to sound crazy that I wanted to live in a van. But maybe it was okay if I was just going to try it for a little while? That might be fun. Now that it's getting closer and definitely happening, I'm not shying away from stating Yup, I'm moving into a van soon and am going to live in it for three plus months. Of course, there always are other fall back options, but I don't intend to use them. Maybe it’ll be hard. Maybe it’ll be inconvenient. Maybe I’ll sound crazy. Maybe it’ll be awkward when my new coworkers ask me where I’m living. Maybe I’ll save a ton of money by not paying rent. Maybe I’ll get mega-fit from going to the gym so much to shower. Maybe it’ll be a really cool experience that I’ll cherish and want to continue to do. Guess we’ll find out!

T-minus thirty hours until I start full-time vanlife!

*** So much love and gratitude for Caity, Krissy, & Darin for making this possible. ***

A Note to Oneself on Patience and Self-Love

I’m a terrible travel nurse. I’m not traveling! After leaving my permanent job in Denver, I did a three month stint in San Francisco then came to Longmont, Colorado for my second assignment. I have extended my contract here three times. I really like it here — the hospital, the staff, the patients, the mountains and hiking, knowing people in Denver, and now having new friends by staying in one place for more than three months. Traveling to a new place is so scary because you really don’t know what you’re walking into. It could be terrible and you’re stuck there for three months. Every assignment I start I risk that. That is what I signed up for. I am brave and proud of myself to do that. But I’m not stupid. Why leave something so good and risk my happiness (and at times, sanity) just to travel like I’m “supposed” to? I am staying because of comfort, yes. I’m staying because I don’t want to end up somewhere horrible and be unhappy for three months when I could be happy here. I’m now staying here until the end of May. But then I’m really leaving! Probably. I’m a terrible travel nurse.

I lived in Longmont near the hospital for the first three months. My rent was stupid high and I would not have stayed here unless I could get paid a lot more or get my rent a lot lower. I may be staying for comfort but I wasn’t going to sacrifice pay for it. A wonderful nurse I work with offered I come live with her for a fraction of what I was paying in Longmont. I've been living in Westminster, a suburb of Denver, since October. It’s a bit of a commute to work but worth every minute of that drive. Henley’s super comfortable having another body to lie on top of and I love having her around too. There’s a list of benefits of living here (her new Rottweiler rescue at the top of it!) and now it’ll be even harder to leave. 

I’m still evaluating my life and career and what I want to do. This is the first time in years that I’m not actively doing something to move forward or at least have plans on how to move forward. It’s a bit scary, like I’m wasting time. But I just don’t know yet. If a future plan involves me going to grad school, I need to be very sure about it. I am not signing up for that shit without being completely confident and excited about the end result. 

In my free time while not working towards a future career, I’ve been hiking with Henley and doing yoga almost every day off. I’ve gone to yoga classes sporadically for years, but this is the first time I have an unlimited membership at a studio. Yoga, for me, is part work out and part meditation. I guess I could say the same for hiking. Whether it’s deep breathing on the mat or walking alone in the mountains, it resets and relaxes me.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve become more anxious. (My previous anxiety level was zero so my new higher level is still low on the anxiety scale.) There’s many variables involved, but it’s probably due to my increasing age and therefore nervousness about getting my shit together, and/or the uncertainty and impermanence of my current work and lifestyle. Regardless of the reason, methods that bring calmness have become more valued. I use mala beads to have a tangible object to find calmness. Essentially, they’ve become a comfort blanket. Also, I’ve found saying mantras to myself are very effective. Whereas with the mala beads I think to myself “Are you really feeling comfort with these? That’s kinda silly,” with mantras there’s no question they make me feel better instantly. Negative thoughts that are eating at me are turned off the second I start internally saying my mantra of choice.

I’ve been learning about human emotions that I need to be more intentional about. Vulnerability and bravery, specifically. Why don’t we learn about this in school? Oh right, there wasn’t time after covering the pythagorean theorem. Priorities! I guess I knew I had to work on these things before, but now they have been defined and identified and makes working on them possible. Writing here on this public platform is great vulnerability practice for me.

I’ve written myself a reminder to go back and reference when I need to know what I’m doing is okay, it’s right for me, for right now, to not worry so much about the future, to accept and enjoy the here and now.

Try repeating a mantra to yourself next time you feel stuck in negative self-talk. These are some of my go-to’s, but I suggest you make them highly personalized for what you need in that moment.

Courage over comfort.

Give me the courage to show up and let myself be seen.

Be kind to yourself and be patient.

Where I am right now is exactly where I need to be.

Today is my bitch.

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If you’re interested in learning about vulnerability and its importance in your life, watch Dr. Brené Brown’s TED Talk “The Power of Vulnerability” and read any and all of her books.

Why I’m Quitting Nursing, an essay

Okay, I’m not quitting today because I need to get a paycheck on Friday and the next Friday and the next until I make alternative plans. But if I were able to quit whenever I wanted, this day would have been the day.

Let me set the scene. 

I had one patient with paranoid schizophrenia. He brought himself to the emergency department with a very infected hand. He needed wound care and IV antibiotics. He was admitted and the psychiatrist who was consulted in the ED placed him on a hold, meaning we legally had to keep him in the hospital and not let him leave because he is a danger to himself and/or others, cannot care for himself, is not aware of his mental incapacity, and unable to make safe decisions (i.e. would leave the hospital when he should stay for care). He was delusional and afraid of getting raped, getting his organs harvested, his money being stolen, and snakes coming out of his hand. As his agitation increased, he started getting dressed to leave. I called security but made them stay outside the room. Uniformed men storming in would only make the situation worse. When he actually tried leaving and fighting me and the people trying to keep him to stay, I couldn’t protect him any longer. Three security officers took him down while he screamed and fought and I stood there in tears because all his nightmares were coming true and my heart broke for him.   

Across the hall, I had another patient: homeless like the other one, could not walk, could barely speak comprehensibly, was incontinent and wearing a diaper but did care if it was soiled, didn’t know the date or which hospital he was in, screamed when he wanted things, and was combative. All of that aside, we weren’t really providing him any more medical care, so he had to be discharged. The social worker got him a taxi voucher and donated sweatpants, a long sleeve shirt, and sneakers. She arranged to have his medication delivered to the hospital, but the patient wouldn’t wait for it. I printed his discharge instructions, but there was no way he would listen to that. He wasn’t going to take any medication anyway, so that section could be scrapped. He put his shirt on over a bloody arm from ripping his own IV out. I helped him put sweatpants on over a diaper that smelled like urine that he wouldn’t let me change. I stuck his papers that he would never look at in his pocket with the taxi voucher he wouldn’t use. I called transport who wheeled him downstairs and out the front door to the streets.

Of course, I had three other patients: one who needed pain medication every two hours, one I needed to discharge, and a new admission.

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Let me explain why I got into nursing. A couple things happened before I was even considering the field, but I believe played large roles: the 2004 Indian Ocean tsunami and Hurricane Katrina. Both of these disasters left me feeling powerless and so sorry that I couldn’t help. I was in high school without much of a savings account and no skills to offer up. I was useless. I didn’t care about the penny drive we had at school. I wanted to get on a plane and help with my hands, save lives, pull people out of waters, press a baby against my chest, wrap a tourniquet around a bleeding leg, and gently pour clean water into needy mouths.

Later, I was in my freshman year of business school because owning my own shop was the only thing I could think of wanting to do with my life when I rethought things. I actually have no memory of what made me realize it, but I decided pulling people out of flooded streets and pressing babies against my chest would be what I do with my life. I wanted to heal people. People who truly needed it. Those who lived in places who had no access to medical care or even education on health, those who could not help that their health rapidly deteriorated within hours or days due to a natural disaster, those who never had a chance to begin with, these would be my patients. They needed me. I could help them. They would appreciate me. Healing others would be my career and life’s work. I would be a nurse.

Sounds freakin’ glorious, doesn’t it?!

God, I loved this idea so much. Disaster relief and working in developing countries is what made me realize nursing is what I wanted to do, but I knew I’d probably work a regular nursing job too, at least to start. It was a real career, a good career. I’ve written so many essays on nursing — for scholarships, for school applications — and I used to tear up writing words like the ones I just wrote. I was passionate. I guess it’s what got me through three more years of school studying public health, four and a half years of working as a nurse assistant, and two and a half years of nursing school. I knew it would be worth it.

Spoiler alert: IT WASN’T.

Or maybe it was, I don’t know! 

I still care about disaster relief and health in developing countries. I believe that if I’m working with people that haven’t eaten themselves or drugged themselves to the chronic mess they are currently in, if the patients participate and cooperate in their care, and if the patients respect and appreciate me, I would hate my career a lot less. *When I say appreciate me, I just mean I don’t want to be verbally and physically abused at work. (Dream big!) This kind of nursing is still something I want to do in the future. After I moved out of my parents house and I was able to get my own dog, I had to decide between puppy and working abroad. You know the choice I made and I’ve never regretted that. I also wanted to work in med-surg in a hospital to gain experience and not immediately head to Africa so I had years to kill anyway, with puppy in tow. 

Working in America among the obese, diabetic, hypertensive patients that either do not know how to take care of themselves or do not care to take care of themselves is not where my heart lies. I truly feel for those who care but do not have the knowledge. I would love to help a person who cares, but just didn’t know. They want to change, they need my help to change, I can heal them! However, only a small portion of the patients I see (inpatient, medical-surgical units) fall into this category — the willing and wanting to change. Wouldn’t it be nice, though, if they didn’t have to experience years of poor health, get admitted to the hospital for a temporary fix, and then continue the rest of their years in poor health?

Chronic diseases (obesity, diabetes, heart disease, cancer, etc.) are the leading cause of death and disability in the United States. They are often referred to as “nutrition-related chronic diseases” and are preventable. We grew up on the USDA’s food pyramid, on Mom cooking what she thought was a “balanced” meal with the ever-so-holy glass of milk to wash it down. Our nutrition was, and to this day is, based on a little science and a whole lot of politics and big-money corporations. Tyson, Hood, Conagra, they own our food and nutrition knowledge. Advertising taught us, school health class taught us, Mom and Dad taught us, exactly what they wanted us to believe. We need the beef they sell to get enough protein to be healthy. We need the milk they sell for strong bones. The nutrition education children receive in schools is not based solely on science, which nutrition is, but on the U.S. government’s dietary guidelines. And we know the U.S. government is completely fucked. 

This isn’t a conspiracy theory; this is fact: The dietary guidelines are issued by the U.S. Departments of Agriculture (USDA) and Health and Human Services (HHS). Good-intentioned health and nutrition scientists and experts on the Dietary Guidelines Advisory Committee base their recommendations on years of scientific research. The USDA is in charge of strengthening (read: making more money for) America’s food and agriculture industries. You know who the USDA’s primary stakeholders are? The big food producers, of meat and dairy especially. So there’s old, fat, white guys that have major stake in certain foods we eat, sitting on the boards of some of the biggest food production companies, who also sit on the board for writing the dietary guidelines. They don’t like when nutrition experts report that the food they produce may negatively influence health, and I promise you they don’t sit by and let that information reach the public. Before these recommendations can get in the final report, data gets manipulated and recommendations get changed by the USDA and HHS. 

This information should make you very, very angry.

The patients I talked about to start all of this aren’t your basic chronic diesease-ridden patients, although they had some of those too. In addition, they had mental health and social issues. Our country is not taking care of these people well, but that’s a whole different story. I can’t even start to think about how to fix this, but I know I don’t want to be so closely involved, watching the fire burn. I talked about those two patients because this day at work was really the last straw on the camel’s back. I couldn’t stop thinking WHAT AM I DOING HERE? WHY AM I HERE? WHAT IS THE POINT? I’m not helping anyone. Anyone can get yelled at by a schizophrenic. Anyone can discharge someone to the street. Anyone can educate why you’re giving twenty units of insulin lispro to a patient who will never change their diet. Anyone can do wound care on an abscess caused by shooting meth under the skin and I promise that patient will be back soon. Anyone can throw hypertension medication at someone instead of educating on lifestyle changes that would decrease their blood pressure. Anyone can throw opioids at someone who you know is addicted because of our doctors and our system. Why do I have to do it? If I don’t come back, anyone can take my place. 

After witnessing the general health, or lack there of, in most of my patients, I’ve taken away two main points: 1. We need to be raising kids better from the very start with health education and also, coping skills and other mental health education, and 2. my passion in health lies in wellness and prevention, not in putting bandaids on bullet holes as the patient walks out to another gun fight. 

I have been thinking long and hard about how I will have a career in this, but I don’t have the answer yet. Are you familiar with the downstream/upstream story; the primary prevention analogy? We (health care) are so busy trying to save drowning people in the river, that we never look upstream to see why they’re falling in. I currently work downstream. It’s exhausting and not rewarding to pull people out of the river just for them to go back upstream and fall in again. I want to work upstream. I want to make a difference there. It is not lost on me that a great career would be having a hand in changing the system, but that’s not what I want to do at work every day. That day with those patients, I just wanted to leave and not come back. I wasn’t inspired to create change; I wanted to get the hell out of there. That’s not a noble action, but it is how I feel in this situation. I do want to help, but in a different way. 

I have lots of ideas involving health, wellness, nutrition, and education, but not one plan yet that will get me my dream job. For now, I have decided to (try to) be content where I am right now. For so long I was always actively working towards the next thing or at least had near-future plans to actively work towards the next thing. For the first time in years, I am going to sit still and be present here. I am so happy to be travel nursing now, as I won’t want to travel forever. I will use this time to gain health care experience and knowledge of the diseases I want to be able to prevent and to also focus on more personal goals.

So, stay tuned for career updates. In the meantime, take a walk and eat your goddamn vegetables. 

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Those patients were at my assignment in San Francisco, where I frequently reconsidered my career path. I am now in Longmont, Colorado where I have not cried at work once! The hospital and staff are lovely and I don’t hate my job every day. Henley and I have been hiking on most days off and I have friends in Denver that I love being near again. The sunsets over the mountains don’t suck either! A good assignment doesn’t change my outlook on nursing as a whole, but rest assured, we are happy here. 

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/