What’d I Miss?

The last few months of travel, I have been a bad blogger but an extremely good haver of fun and other life experiences. I hope you will forgive me, and I’ll catch you up right now!


Portland / Chicago / Pittsburgh

After we left Boise, we headed for Portland, and we spent a month there between the end of August and the end of September, and it was pretty great. The place we stayed was in Northeast Portland, which is a little seedier than I expected, but mostly harmless and hilarious. Most of the neighborhood was cute, and it wasn’t too difficult to stay away from the extra-methy areas.

I have a couple of major impressions of our time in Portland.

  • The food. It is just, like, WOWOWOW what is happening in my mouth!?!? Almost every single food I had my whole time there was mindbendingly good. Many days I enjoyed the offerings of the ridiculously yummy taqueria that was like 800 feet from our apartment. If you go there and get the carnitas burrito with green and red sauce on it, I guarantee your entire being will hum with happiness. And there are tons of fantastic breakfast joints, too— Gravy, Broder Nord, Carioca Bowls, Pine State Biscuits —and that’s my favorite! 
  • The people: Portland people are extremely nice, and fairly genuine about it, I think? Most delightful of all were the nights I spent hanging out with some of my very favorite college-era pals and band-mates who all ended up in Portland over the last few years. We all look exactly the same — how is that possible?! — and we fell back in together like no time had passed at all. So much fun and <3. (Our band’s name was Boot Skootin’ btw.)
  • The walls of our apartment: My other major impression of Portland is about being stuck inside, because I had a big work deadline and I had to get up for a call every morning at 5:30 am, which blew … So although I did get out and about to a few places — Powell’s of course, this amazing art store, one gorgeous day on the coast — I didn’t get to see as much beautiful Oregon nature as I would’ve liked. Plus our first weekend there, the whole city was choked with gross brown smoke from the wildfires on the other side of the state!

All that being said, I really like Portland quite a lot, and I look forward to going back and gaining a few more pounds of burrito weight.

After Portland, I had a work trip to Chicago, where I had many laughs and walks and incredible Mexican seafoods with my buddies Ben and Mark.

And then on to Pittsburgh where I went to a CAT CIRCUS with my dear Jolene and legit saw shit like this in real life.


Seriously. The Cat Circus was literally the best thing I ever saw.

Then I headed off to New York to meet back up with my husband!

Brooklyn / Minneapolis / Pittsburgh

I loooove Brooklyn. So much. From the shitty old East Williamsburg house where I lived in the 90s to the beautiful parlor-level Park Slope brownstone apartment where I lived in the aughts, I have loved it deeply, and for a very long time.

So when my dear friend Mike (who I lived with in that shitty old house) told us he was getting married in October and asked if we could come, Rich and I were like, “Hmm, October in NYC rules … why don’t we just spend the whole month there?”

Then we high-fived and rented an apartment in Greenpoint between McCarren and McGolrick Parks, and there was a church and a laundromat and a couple of bodegas and an amazing coffee shop right at the end of the block, and my pals Nora and James lived just a few blocks away, and all my beloved Brooklyn crew came over to have wine and pizzas with us a bunch of times, and it was perfect.


Another important thing happened while we were in New York: the Hamilton cast album came out, and like half of the internet, I lost my damn mind.


While we were in NYC, I had to go away on a couple more work trips. During the first trip, to Minneapolis, I had seriously nothing to do, so I kept trolling the Hamilton website for a ticket to an upcoming show, and guess what! I found one!! A singleton in the highest mezzanine for the following Saturday! Click BOOM!

And then I got back to New York and went to see it, and I lost my mind again because it was so good that I cried my eyes dry. And I stuck around afterwards and saw this Ham4Ham show unfolding right in front of me! And it was all so beautiful! And yes, my black Gen X heart is shriveling up from the earnestness but I can’t help it! It’s so good!!


During the second work trip, to Pittsburgh, I visited my brother and sister-in-law and my adorable niece and nephew. My brother’s family had kindly adopted our elderly cat when we left town, but he was losing weight and didn’t seem like he felt well, so we went to the vet. The news wasn’t good … he was very sick … and ultimately we made the decision to let him go rather than subject his old frail self to more suffering.

I think it was the right thing to do, but somehow knowing that doesn’t make it much easier to say goodbye.

RIP Grassy. You were hilarious and grumpy and head-butty and we loved you.

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Brooklyn / Philadelphia / Portland

When I got back to Brooklyn, Rich’s parents came to stay with us for a bit, which was delightful because they are delightful. And we drank lots of wine and ate great food and had wonderful chats and took long walks through the city and just enjoyed the heck out of our time together.


The weekend when the fall colors were at their best in upstate New York just happened to be the weekend my dear friend Mike got married to his beautiful lady Sondra, and I don’t know about them, but it was a peak experience in MY life for sure. Everyone was so wonderful, and all of us old idiots spent the night together dancing and singing and telling stories and laughing so hard we cried like a million times. High five, Mike and Sonj. Love you guys.

After the wedding was over and Rich’s folks headed off for the rest of their holiday, Rich got a train from New York to Portland (three nights in a sleeper car!) and I went to a retreat at Pendle Hill, a Quaker center just outside of Philadelphia. There I met up with my friend Debbie and a couple dozen other lovely thoughtful people, and we spent the weekend meditating, eating really good wholesome food, taking about important stuff, and walking around in the gorgeous fall colors.

I hadn’t gone on any kind of retreat in a few years at least, and I guess I really needed to, because even though it was only a few days, the impact was huge. My time there did exactly what I hoped — gave me a spot outside of the normal day-to-day to be still, to think and reflect and listen. Thank you to Amy and Jeff for putting together such a restorative weekend for us.


Then I got on a plane to meet up with Rich in Portland where we’d left our car, so we could get our shit together and drive down to Boulder, where we rented a house for the next six months.


On our trip out to the West Coast over the summer, Rich and I both loved Boulder, even with its hippie-fascist quirks. It’s peaceful and clean and smack in the middle of amazing natural beauty. And it’s compact, super easy to get around by foot and bike and car. We’ve both lived in cities for a long time, so the much smaller feel of Boulder is a nice change.

So, when we were in Portland, and we decided to settle down for the winter so that Rich could have a shoulder problem looked at, we looked in Boulder for a sublet. I found a great place on Craigslist almost immediately — a super cool house with a crazy three-headed shower and a deep jacuzzi tub with a built-in light therapy system (?!) and two decks and huge windows with an incredible view of the mountains, right in town. All of this for much less than we’d spent on monthly Airbnb rent since the summer.

After talking with the guy on the phone, taking a Skype tour of the house, and even getting a local realtor to pretend to be my friend and come by the place to make sure it wasn’t a scam, we signed the lease. Sight unseen! We did the best due diligence we could from a distance, but it still felt like a pretty good-sized risk when we sent that deposit over PayPal.

Thankfully it paid off, and we arrived at the place about four weeks ago, and it’s (almost) exactly what we were expecting. There were some hiccups when we first got here, but by now we are all settled in and feelin’ it because almost every day looks like this, or better:


Boulder seems to be an excellent place to walk and to think, and that’s how both Rich and I have been spending our time — walking to town, along the creek, up the steep streets and through the gardens of the oldest part of town.

We are spending a lot of time at home, too, eating roasts and soup, drinking tea, writing, reading, thinking. I’ve been painting, too, and working on my book, and, yes, listening to Hamilton at least once most days.

Some afternoons when the sun is about to dip behind the mountains, I go up on the roof deck and dance to “The Schuyler Sisters” on repeat in the last few minutes of light. I’m pretty sure no one can see me up there, but I guess I don’t care too much if they can.


Park City Fondue to Biking in Boise

Last week when I wrote, we were chilling in our beautiful mountain chalet paradise in Park City, Utah, and I have to say, we both enjoyed the heck out of it. This hotel is adorable. Everywhere you look there are antlers of some sort, or flowers painted onto the wood furniture, or hearts carved into the balcony railing.


I slept so well here — the bed was extra comfy, and the bedding was all luxurious white cotton, and the breeze coming down off the mountains was cool and fresh. One overcast afternoon, I called down to housekeeping to ask them to light the fireplace in our room, but they don’t do that in August. I did end up getting my pyro fix, though, because when we went down to the lobby for dinner later, the fireplace was on and the fondue was hot.

Yes, readers, we had fondue. Twice. Friday, the cheese …


And Saturday, in honor of my dearest Jolene’s birthday, the chocolate. (It’s very important to eat chocolate to honor your besties’ birthdays.)


Fondue is one of those things that I don’t get very often, because rarely is it, like, awesomely done. But Goldener Hirsch did not disappoint. Both the cheese and the chocolate versions were extremely legit. This, and long walks with views like this, are probably also among the reasons that I slept so well here.

park city

We did a little exploring in Park City over the weekend, too, and it’s pretty adorable there, and even richer and whiter than Boulder was. (Dang!) I loved looking in this jewelry store, where there was a necklace with an octopus pendant made out of a pearl (similar to this fish) and many, many other beautiful items. It was one of those situations where the pieces were so beautiful and the people who made them were so nice that I wished I had all the money so I could buy all the things.

I also loved looking in some art galleries, especially at the work of Rebecca Kinkead. My favorite was White Horse #2, which is huge and overwhelmingly cool in person. 

Then Sunday we took off for Boise. Moving day is always a little bit stressful and Rich and I have gotten grumpy in the past, what with all the packing and schlepping and loading up the car we need to do. But we took our time in Park City, we tried to keep our senses of humor, and we got out of town with smiles all around.

Then, a couple hours into the trip, our tire popped! In the middle of nowhere, Utah, just south of the Idaho border. Rich went to change it out for the spare, but the tools that were supposed to be inside the spare tire were not there. So instead we sat in our car for two hot dusty hours, waiting for AAA to come. Finally they did, and we were on our way again, and we arrived in Boise just as the sun was going down, and we ordered Indian food, and lo, it was good.

Boise is a pretty cute town, and since we got here I have been enjoying the heck out of its extensive network of bike paths along the river and around the city.


And it’s flat! And it’s several thousand feet lower than Boulder and Salt Lake and Park City, so riding my bike around here feels rather effortless. I guess all the huffing and puffing I did in the mountains was worth it. 


The place we are staying here is quite cute, too, and there’s a bunch of raised beds with tomatoes, peppers, all kinds of good things. So we’ve enjoyed the week for sure.

The only slight bummer is the weather, which I would describe with the word “relentless.” By 10 am, it’s close to 90 degrees, topping out in the low 100s each day. And there’s a steady, hot, dry wind, which isn’t really my bag to be honest. So I do my bike rides early, then work in the air conditioning for the rest of the day.

This weekend we head out to Portland, and we are staying there for a whole month! It’s gonna be great! And I am really happy to be back in decent biking shape just in time to enjoy the #1 biking city in the country.

I’ve only been to Portland once before, and only for a few days, but I remember being extremely into it and eating so much amazing food and everything being super green and beautiful. I’ll let you know how we get on!

The Hills Fill My Heart And Stuff

When last we spoke, I was sitting on my friend Beanie’s front porch in Boulder, Colorado, enjoying the sunshine and the breeze and the being-somewhere-new-ness of our fun trip. We spent a couple of wonderful days wandering around town and resting at her pretty house and watching “North by Northwest” on her supercool HDTV — it was fun to see Mount Rushmore after just having been there, and I totally coveted the house that the bad guys are staying in at the end.

Then we moved to our next Airbnb in downtown Boulder which was right across from Mindy and Mork’s house!


I loved staying at this place because it was right next to the Pearl Street Mall and a super-yummy breakfast place and also close to Boulder Creek, where I ended up at some point every day we were there. It is so pretty it makes me crazy!!! Check out the people tubing down the creek in the middle of the town.

We had dinner with two of my friends from college at their beautiful home and caught up on each others’ adventures, and we did a lot of walking (Rich) and biking (me). I was happy to note that by the end of the week I could ride a respectable amount of miles in a row before feeling like I was going to die. And we ate verrry well, and sat on the deck soaking up lots of sunshine and mountain breeze. I went back to work, too, and that went just fine.

After spending ten days there, I can totally see why people come to Boulder and never leave — it is a brilliant place, even with all the white-person rules and hilarities (aka the Boulder Bubble). Between the mountains, the greenery, the bike- and pedestrian-friendly setup, the manageable size, and the weather — 300 days of sunshine per year! — the quality of life is like, wow, man, I never knew it could be like this.

Our next stop was a wonderful little house on the Eastern side of the Rocky Mountains, about 45 minutes away from Boulder. This was the view and I died.


And we were surrounded by cute wildlife like squirrels and swifts and chipmunks who kept cheekily breaking into the house and more hummingbirds than I have seen since we went to Costa Rica. One unfortunate little dude got stuck in our house, but his friends showed him the way out eventually — it was pretty sweet to see them trying to help him. I even saw a big owl perching on the next house down the slope! That was the night of the massive magical full moon <3 <3 <3


Saturday we relaxed. I spent most of the day painting and manufacturing lots of Vitamin D. Here’s what I made Saturday in my altered book (LOL). I’ve been painting a lot the last few months and it is so much fun.


With the cool mountain breezes swishing through the house, I slept like a champ and woke up at dawn, watching the sun rise over Denver and just feeling so resoundingly happy. It’s the wind, you guys. It really does fill my heart. Julie Andrews doesn’t lie.

Anyhow this house was magic and it’s on the market and you should buy it so I can come visit you there. It has a great hot tub, several decks to enjoy, a boss vintage record-playing stereo system, stacks of great old records, tons of flowers, a very nice shower, and a little Buddha in the garden. What it does not have is wifi, and since we need that to work, we could not stay there forever. So Sunday morning we packed up the Fit and headed West, again, toward Salt Lake City.

Driving on I-70 through the Rocky Mountains is a bit of an adventure, but after we got through the worst of the traffic, the ride was gorgeous, right next to the Colorado river as rocky ledges rise and fall alongside.


I did not take this pic — Wikipedia did — but you get the idea. It’s beautiful and sometimes feels a little treacherous, too.

Then we entered Utah and headed off the interstate to some smaller roads up through the mountains to SLC. This was another gorgeous drive, and, fueled by a giant latte and endless episodes of The Smartest Man in the World Proopcast, I was having a blast … until we hit a huge traffic jam in which we sat there not moving at all for like an hour, then crawling along at 10 mph for another hour, in the official middle of nowhere, with no gas stations around and no cell service to see where a gas station might be.

After a spell, I was really beginning to regret that giant latte.

Finally, we started moving again, but we were still in the middle of nowhere, and I really had to goooo. So I pulled over next to some random sort-of high grass and had a good pee, thank you Lord. To anyone traveling on US-6 that day who might have seen my bare bum, well, I’m sorry / you’re welcome.

Salt Lake City was nice, but we both had a lot of work to do and it was rainy, so we honestly didn’t get to see a whole lot of the city. Our last day there, I did somehow manage to get myself covered in syrup at breakfast and in mole at dinner, so it wasn’t like we didn’t do anything.

Wednesday we headed to our next Airbnb, which promised to be another lovely mountain getaway, this time with internet … but, for the second time on our trip, we were disappointed. This place was like twenty minutes up a crazy dirt road into the mountains, but there was no lovely getawayness to be had. Our cabin was jammed in between two other cabins, one where the owner lived, and one that he was still building, with all the attending materials and tools and trucks and noise. Our quiet mountain getaway was actually located inside a construction site. Bummer.

But we’ve been down this road before, so we stayed long enough to use the wifi and find another place, then bolted. Right now we are ensconced in a pretty little chalet-ish hotel in Park City, where it is off-season and deliciously quiet and pretty and there is dirt-cheap excellent Mexican food very close by. Crisis averted.

park city

So what’s with all these Airbnb fails? I have never had any before, but now with two in rapid succession, I have to wonder what’s going on. Is it me? Am I being a princess? Maybe, yes, a bit … I guess at this point in my life I am kind of used to nice things. I mean, I like camping, log cabins, rustic houses in the jungle — all of that is great. But I’m not willing to pay lots of money for something that’s not nice when there are other alternatives. 

Also coming into play here is that we are not exactly tourists on this trip … I mean, yes, we are visiting unfamiliar places, but we also are working, which means we aren’t going out and playing on the mountain then just coming home to crash at night. We are there all day. So I guess our needs are different from your average visitor. And those needs include not hearing trucks pulling in and out and the neighbor’s TV all day long, especially not when in what had been pitched as a secluded and beautiful retreat.

So I take some responsibility for these fails. Looking back at the listings, I can see red flags that I guess I chose to ignore when booking … but I also wonder if maybe Airbnb’s popularity is starting to work against it. When it started, it was sort of a novel thing, and the people who self-selected into it seemed to share a certain basket of community-minded values. It was kind of like a bunch of friends-of-friends conducting some lightweight commerce just amongst ourselves.

But it’s really not like that anymore. All different kinds of people are using it now, from old schoolers like me to huge property management companies and everything in between. So we need to be a lot more selective and critical these days. For us, I have discovered that the “money-making cabin in the backyard” type of property is not the best kind. It’s normally just too close for comfort.

So, anyhow, Park City is beautiful and even though it’s chilly and raining today, it’s Friday and it’s supposed to be nice tomorrow. Sunday we pack up again and head on up to Boise, Idaho. I have high hopes — it looks real purdy there!

First Week Out

We left Pittsburgh last Sunday, after a 36-hour extravaganza of donating, moving, and cleaning stuff. For some reason, it seems I always get my worst hormonal day of the month on days when I have a lot to do, and last Saturday was no exception … I may have lost my temper a few times.

But compared to how awful I felt and how much work we had to do, I actually think I held it together pretty well. It could have been so much worse, guys.


Then, after that tornado of activity and sleeping on the floor and Tetris-ing all of our crap into our little Honda Fit and taking the last few things to the storage unit and trying to remember how our bike rack works, all of a sudden, it was all done, and we were waving goodbye to Pittsburgh. It was almost like magic — so much stress and then POW! None at all!

We stopped in Ohio to have lunch with my family — it was meant to be breakfast but we were two hours late, eep! — then hauled ass across Ohio, Indiana, and most of the great state of Illinois. There was a big traffic jam around Gary, IN, but we survived it and crashed that night in Ottawa, Illinois, a pretty cute little town where we had a huge all-American meal and fell into bed immediately.

Monday we drove up through Illinois and Iowa and arrived in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, where we had some very legitimate tacos and, again, crashed exhausted into bed.

On Tuesday we undertook the process of becoming South Dakota residents. In my research to prepare for this trip, I saw that a lot of people without a fixed address become SD residents because of the lack of state income tax and the easy residency requirements. So we got a forwarding address in Madison, SD, and showed up in this adorable old town to do the rest of the paperwork.


Madison’s DMV consists of two ladies and their gear in the basement of the county sheriff’s office, and it’s only open one day a week, so it was full of people wanting their licenses and such. We passed a few hours in that basement, chatting with an older couple who have already been on the road full time for the last five years and getting the scoop on how the residency thing works. We had our new licenses by lunchtime, and hit up a cute little cafe which served some righteous burgers. Then we hit the road again.


Driving across South Dakota took a long time, which I spent staring out the window thinking about Laura Ingalls and sharing my middle finger with the many, many pro-life billboards littered across the landscape.

Later in the afternoon, the Midwest gave way to the West — big rocks started popping out of the prairie, and we saw trees and mountains in the distance.

Of course we stopped at Wall Drug, a hilarious Old West-style shopping center complex. You basically have to stop there because there are dozens of signs leading you there all across South Dakota, and also it’s the only place to get gas and food for miles and miles around.

I loved these bicentennial cowboy boots a lot:


As we kept heading west, we entered the Badlands and then the Black Hills, and things just got prettier and prettier as mountains rose up around us.


We slept in the cute and sleepy little tourist town of Custer that night — and may I say here that anyone who can cook real food could open a restaurant and clean up in Custer — and went to see Crazy Horse and Mount Rushmore in the morning.

I didn’t know too much about the Crazy Horse monument before we got there, but it is basically a giant mountain that is being sculpted into the figure of Crazy Horse pointing out across the Black Hills, and saying, “My lands are where my dead lie buried.” I got a little choked up as I always do when contemplating the history of Native Americans … goddamn, we white people just fucked them so thoroughly. I’m glad there is a place to remember this, because we really shouldn’t forget.


After Crazy Horse we headed down the road to Mount Rushmore, which was very cool and impressive, too, and much more crowded than Crazy Horse had been. I was glad we got a chance to see Teddy Roosevelt’s impressive mustache writ ginormous.


Then we drove to Boulder, CO, which is stunningly beautiful and kind of hilariously full of rich white people. We had booked a cute Airbnb right up the side of Boulder Canyon, but when we got there we found the hosts to be … let’s say … less than hospitable.

It was kind of cruel — we were in the mountains, in a gorgeous spot full of sunlight and trees and fresh air — but there was no place for us to sit or hang out outside. Specifically, I asked my host, “Is there a place I can roll out my yoga mat for an hour or so? Maybe the parking area?” because the path leading to our cabin was kind of steep and we had been instructed that we could not make use of any of the many decks or patios on the property. My host hemmed and hawed for a while before telling me, “Well, the neighbors are really particular about that kind of thing.”

Plus the sheets on the bed were 100% polyester, and the bathroom sink was filthy, and the towels smelled gross, and there were a bunch of passive aggressive signs around the house with big smiley faces on them:




It basically seemed like our hosts — who had pitched themselves as “laid-back artsy yoga/meditation types” — didn’t really like hosting people that much … which is a shame because the place had the potential to be wonderful. But we really didn’t feel welcome. Like, not at all.

So, for the first time since I started using Airbnb five years ago, we decided to leave. But Boulder is extremely popular on Airbnb, and even the hotels in town were full, so we weren’t sure where we were going to go … until my old college pal piped up on Facebook and offered for us to stay at her place while she was traveling in Greece. How lucky are we and how nice is my friend?! (SO NICE, BEANIE! YOU ARE A STAR!)

So now I’m sitting on the front porch of her beautiful home with a cup of tea after sleeping for ten straight hours. Life is good! And Colorado is frickin gorgeous! Yesterday we took a long walk up the treasure that is the Boulder Creek Path, and it felt amazing to stretch my legs after four straight days in a car. I legit teared up a time or two because it is so effing beautiful.


It is pretty funny here — the whole city is a little bit like our Airbnb cabin: lots and lots of polite yet firm rules delivered in a hearty, faux-friendly, slightly passive-aggressive manner. And they always are enforced, even when there’s no visible reason for them. Like, you can’t sit at a booth in a mostly-empty restaurant, because the booths are reserved for parties of three or more. And you can’t use the bathroom, even though you are clearly not intending to cause any problems and there’s hardly anyone around, because you didn’t buy anything here. Stuff like that.

I noticed the same thing in San Francisco when we rode the BART and I saw a sign saying that you could be fined for not giving your seat to a handicapped or elderly person — we liberals do seem to love making rules out of things that one would normally take for granted as common sense/courtesy. This rubs a rebel like me the wrong way a little bit (that shit would not fly in New York City) … but it’s fine. It kind of cracks me up. We white people are a curious bunch.

Also I appear to be the only fat lady in Boulder, but that’s fine, too, because I don’t really care. Can we stop and get some shaved ice now?

shaved ice

Can you believe all this happened in only five days? This is something I dearly love about travel … it seems to slow down time in the most delicious way. And there are so many more adventures to come! Next week we stay across from Mork and Mindy’s house! Aaaaagh!

Hit the Road, Madge


In four days, my husband and I are leaving Pittsburgh and heading … out. I keep telling people that we are moving and the first question is always “where to?” but honestly? We don’t know yet! Which is awesome. 

We are storing a small amount of stuff and packing our Honda Fit and hitting the road, and we have only the first few months planned out. First we’ll head west — Colorado, Utah, Idaho, and Oregon. Then we’ll pop back to enjoy some of the autumn in New York City. Then, who can say?

And I am so excited about this that I can hardly breathe. I keep jumping out of bed at 5:45 am, ready to get up and give more stuff away and sell more stuff on Craigslist and bring more stuff to Goodwill. All this is like ballast is being thrown off our ship, and I can feel us sailing higher and higher in the water each day.

Now, I have moved a lot in my life. But this is the first time that I’ve ever gotten rid of almost everything I own and just hit the road with no idea of where I’ll ultimately end up. Both Rich and I are keeping our jobs and working remotely, so we are what is now called “Location Independent” on the internet. Achievement unlocked.

The prospect of being able to go wherever we want, whenever we want, feels like Christmas morning to me — so many possibilities! So many places to see! Sooner or later it will be time to settle down again, but for now, it’s time to stretch my legs and have a look around this pretty country of ours.

I’m going to share some adventures here on this blog, and also on Instagram if you want to follow along. Eeeeee!!!

In the meantime, if you know of any places we must visit around Boulder, Salt Lake City, Boise, or Portland, please let me know! (My major interests include hiking, art, food, tacos, music, cake, ice cream, and food.)

Wish us luck! Stay tuned!

photo by Always Shooting // cc

Self Improvement for Rebels

reese witherspoon freeway

I’ve always been a bit of a rebel. Even when I was still “good,” like in high school before I discovered sex / drugs / rockin out, I was always questioning the validity of rules and kind of being a pain in the ass.

So when I took happiness heavy-hitter Gretchen Rubin’s online quiz about how I react to internal and external expectations, it wasn’t too surprising to see my results. Want to guess?

  • Upholders respond readily to outer and inner expectations
  • Questioners question all expectations; they’ll meet an expectation if they think it makes sense
  • Rebels resist all expectations, outer and inner alike
  • Obligers meet outer expectations, but struggle to meet expectations they impose on themselves

The quiz pegged me as a Rebel (though I think there’s a good bit of Questioner in there, too), and like the Ask/Guess distinction I read and wrote about a little while ago, many mysteries revealed themselves to me when I considered these ideas … Like

  • Why I can’t seem to develop and stick to any kind of rigid schedule, no matter who imposes it
  • Why rah-rah-type self-improvement stuff doesn’t seem to work for me
  • Why I have always gotten so angry about gender-based assumptions and expectations
  • Why rules have always read more like “guidelines” to me
  • Why my Upholder/Questioner husband is much better at setting routines and deadlines for himself than I am, and why we sometimes differ on which rules we deem OK to break

Examining a person’s default response to expectations is an interesting way to understand their motivations and level of pain-in-the-assness, one I hadn’t really considered before I read Gretchen’s work on this.

To me, it also begs the question of where people are oriented in time. Do rebels rebel simply because they have a hard time connecting to the future? It’s well-documented that the ability to control yourself today for a benefit in the future is strongly correlated with success in life. What many people don’t know is that it’s also strongly shaped by your childhood surroundings.

In the classic marshmallow study where kids who were told they could have one marshmallow now or two marshmallows in 15 minutes, the 15 minutes kids are the ones who learned to trust that the world would indeed follow through on its promises. But the now kids learned that anything concrete now is better than an amorphous promise for the future. We develop a bias toward the present moment, and we become rebels, or at least rebellious.

I’m definitely one of these present-moment people, and I’ve known many others in an up-close and personal way. It can be either a beautiful way to live or a very effective method of throwing your life away, depending on how you play it.

So, even as I appreciate the lovely side of my in-the-now-ness, I do also see the value in future-oriented habits, and I have developed some and I want to develop more. It’s just that “yeah willpower woo!” doesn’t seem to work for me as a strategy. Here are some that do work.

1) Improve the structure of your life to support the choices you want to make.

Here’s what I do: I don’t keep large amounts of ice cream in the house. I unsubscribed from my Sephora emails. I leave my yoga mat out and available all the time. The idea here is that I am trying to make it physically easier to make the choices I want to make, and more difficult to stray from the path. Build barriers to things you don’t want to do, and remove impediments from things you do want to do.

2) Link healthy habits to present-moment feelings that are pleasurable.

Rubin talks about this in her video about rebels, and she suggests that we connect the habits we want to develop with freedom and present-moment pleasure.

This absolutely works for me. I get myself to do yoga by focusing on how good it feels to stretch and hug my muscles around my bones and watch myself getting stronger. I take walks because I want to see the surface of the reservoir sparkling in the sun, or because I want to listen to a podcast and get a cup of coffee. The pleasure of it is what gets me.

3) Link healthy habits to your freedom to do what you want even when The Man doesn’t want you to.

OK, we all know that there’s no particular man named The Man who conspires to keep us down. How we got to this point in history is a far, far more complicated story. But there’s no denying that defying The Man is a compelling reason for a rebel to do basically anything. And it is hilarious and fun and allows me to channel my natural Fuck Off disposition in useful ways.

For instance … when my brain starts in on the self-hating body loop, sometimes I identify it as the Voice of Patriarchy, smirking like Dick Cheney while it tries to bring me down the fat shame spiral.

And then the Wonder Woman part of me bursts in like, Duuuude, fuck offffff. You run enough of the world out there, I’ll be damned if you’ll run my fucking head, too. Die in a fire! This instant!


And then he bursts into flames and I laugh and the shame spiral thoughts are definitely shut down.

Now, it’s not like I’m, like, picturing slitting Patriarchy’s throat and playing around in the blood (usually). It doesn’t have to get that real (usually). It’s more like a way to remember The Cause of Women’s Freedom To Love and Respect Their Own Damn Bodies, and to rally the love I have for that cause into a private moment where I find myself in need strength and perspective.

And it works for all kinds of habits I want to improve.

Want to stop buying so much makeup? Fuck off, Sephora! Your shiny consumerist trap ensnares me not!

Got to shut my brain up so I can get my eight hours? Suck it, continuous stream of thoughts about work when I go to bed! The Man doesn’t get to intrude on my fucking sleep!

Need to let go of some unnecessary internet drama? Blow me, dude who doesn’t believe sexism and racism are real! You don’t even exist!

Is it stupid? Oh god yes. But when I have a cognitive dissonance between who I want to be and who I’m actually being, this kind of silly mental shit helps me stick to the right side of the street. Maybe it will help you, too.

In conclusion, if you are a rebel, or if you have rebel tendencies that you are able to keep in check enough to at least stay out of prison and keep a job, then

(1) I empathize, and

(2) I hope this is helpful, and

(3) Let’s party.

The Best Time I Basically Believed In A Fictional Religion


Have you ever been reading a sci-fi book, and one of the characters creates a new religion, and it’s so close to what you think about life/the universe/our place in it that you are basically ready to sign up for this fictional religion by the time you’re done reading the book?

No? Just me?

It is an odd sensation, to see your worldview precisely spelled out in the pages of a novel about a dystopian near-future, but that’s exactly what happened to me when I read Parable of the Sower and Parable of the Talents by Octavia Butler. (I can’t get enough of her — read my thoughts on Kindred here.)

In the Parable books, our protagonist is Lauren Olamina, a teenage girl who has seen some major shit and creates a new religion called Earthseed in response … though she would say she discovered rather than created it.

Earthseed’s major tenet is this: Change is the most powerful force in the universe, and we are both subjects of and participants in it.

All that you touch

You Change.

All that you Change

Changes you.

The only lasting truth

Is Change.

God Is Change.

In the Earthseed worldview, God is not a person or a person-type entity who cares about your thoughts or whether your favorite football team is winning this season. God is nothing but Change itself, inevitable and impersonal and beautiful and devastating.

It’s a clear-eyed and some might say cold perspective, but to me, it’s perfect, because first off, it seems more accurate than believing there is an entity in the sky listening to my thoughts and/or caring about my football team.

Secondly, it underscores the fact that we do not need and in fact must not rely upon divine intervention to make a better world for ourselves and for each other.

God is not our supernatural mother or father. God is Change, and its job isn’t to take care of us. That task falls squarely on our own shoulders. We need to take care of each other.

God is Change,

And in the end,

God prevails.

But meanwhile…

Kindness eases Change.

Love quiets fear.

And a sweet and powerful

Positive obsession

Blunts pain,

Diverts rage,

And engages each of us

In the greatest,

The most intense

Of our chosen struggles

That positive obsession she mentions is the destiny of Earthseed as she sees it — to spread itself throughout the universe, to take root among the stars. This mission, this large and audacious project is meant to give humanity a goal, yes, but it’s also designed to get humans to organize our thoughts about each other at a higher level. To see each other not as rivals, but as family. To be Earthseed, before we are men or women or rich or poor or American or Korean or South African or anything else.

The Destiny of Earthseed

Is to take root among the stars.

It is to live and to thrive

On new earths.

It is to become new beings

And to consider new questions.

It is to leap into the heavens

Again and again.

It is to explore the vastness

Of heaven.

It is to explore the vastness

Of ourselves.

To my delight, Butler goes all the way with this — Olamina writes her verses and shares them with others running from the fires of the future. With her verses and with her own personal strength, she gathers a community around her to practice Earthseed. They welcome newcomers, focus on education, and make carefully considered but bold moves to shape chaos to their benefit. They become a formidable and capable group of people, practiced in the art of adapting to new situations quickly, learning as much as possible, and putting themselves in the strongest position they can.

In one particularly painful part of the second book, we get a chance to see how Earthseed functions when the shit hits the fan and the community falls on the hardest times imaginable. Even when everything falls apart, their beliefs galvanize them. They remain focused on surviving, on learning, on keeping their eyes open for opportunities to influence what happens, instead of just being the ones it happens to.

Any Change may bear seeds of benefit.

Seek them out.

Any Change may bear seeds of harm.


God is infinitely malleable.

God is Change.

The ending of the book is extremely satisfying to me, but I know from reading interviews with Butler that there were meant to be lots of Parable books. We were meant to follow Earthseed as it spread around the universe, as it shaped and was shaped by many other worlds, but Butler died before she cracked the nut of how to tell the rest of those stories. Such a shame … maybe someone will pick it up and run with it in the future.

When I say I’m ready to sign up for Earthseed, I guess my tongue is in my cheek a little … probably because I’m the only one who would be signed up, and I’m not like Olamina. I’m not ready to devote my life to spreading the ideas of Earthseed.

But to me? Everything Butler/Olamina came up with is fucking sound. And I get a deep charge when I think about change in this way — inevitable, unstoppable, but malleable, too. It makes me remember that to dig my heels in against change is a fruitless effort. It reminds me that I can work with it instead, I can shape it, I can play an active part in creating what happens around me. As Olamina puts it,

We do not worship God.

We perceive and attend God.

We learn from God.

With forethought and work,

We shape God.

In the end, we yield to God.

We adapt and endure,

For we are Earthseed

And God is Change.

To me, this seems just about right, even if we don’t get the G-word involved in it. Change is happening all the time, all around us, and even when we feel like we are its victims, in truth we are always, always participants as well. Best to recognize that and run with it.

photo by Gianluca Mastrascusa // cc

Do You Believe In Magic?

lightsOne Sunday morning when I was 7 or 8, I got up early. Everyone else was asleep, so I grabbed some Corn Chex and turned on the TV. There was this guy in glasses and a brown suit, talking fervently about how God always answers our prayers. You only need to believe hard enough and open your heart to Jesus Christ and accept him as your lord and savior and all manner of miraculous things would be possible, he said, and he was really into it, sweating and crying into the microphone. God can and will do anything for you if you only submit yourself to Him.

I was pretty little at this point, so I took him quite literally. And primed as I was by bibbity-bobbity-boo and cartoon talking dogs and stuff like that, I guess this premise sounded reasonable to me. At least, I decided to try it out.

So when I finished my Chex, I crawled into the hall closet, shut the door, closed my eyes. Then I prayed. I submit to you, Lord Jesus. I open my heart to you and ask you only this one thing — I want to be beautiful. Blonde, blue-eyed, and thin. When I come out of this closet, I want everything to be different.

I must’ve been in there an hour, concentrating so hard that I vibrated with the effort. And … maybe I was also stalling a little, because I was scared that it wasn’t going to work, that I’d come out and look in the mirror and be exactly the same as before.

Which, of course, is precisely what happened. And an acid-green vein of cynicism started to grow across my heart that day, because I began to realize that magic — at least the kind of magic I’d seen in movies and read about in books — didn’t exist.

I had to learn the lesson a few more times. I had to fantasize really hard about several pretend boyfriends before it sank in that fantasizing about someone is not an effective way of making them love you. I had to daydream about being discovered as a great singer/wit, and go broke while waiting, before it sank in that I needed to get a damn job.

It wasn’t until I was around thirty, I guess, when it occurred to me that expecting someone to discover me and make me a star was not actually a viable life plan.

In fact, waiting around for anything to happen ever is basically the same thing I did after watching Jimmy Swaggart that morning thirty-some years ago. It’s wishful thinking. It’s future-tripping. It’s believing in the wrong kind of magic.

Because, you see, magic is absolutely real. But it doesn’t work the way we think. It’s not something that — bam! — just happens to you.

It’s more like … something that rallies around you when you focus your effort and love on something, whether it be a painting or a child or a software project. Sometimes you point yourself in the direction you want to go, and you start paddling, and then the wind comes up behind you and fills your sails. That is what magic is.

I’m pretty sure it’s not supernatural — it’s just how nature works. And it rarely comes down like a lightning bolt from the sky. Usually, magic requires that we participate in it. That we take the first step, pay attention, ready our sails to catch the wind as it rises. It requires that we know how to sail. It requires effort and skill. It’s not given so much as earned.

Real magic is even more subtle and lovely and fantastic than what we were taught. It comes out of our very own fingers and brains and hearts when we engage, when we work to learn and understand and shape the forces at play in our lives, even as they shape us.

photo by Billy I // cc

Crazy Compared to What?


Short answer: Compared to how you want to feel.

Long answer: This is all subjective. One person’s mildly crazy is another person’s normal and yet another person’s completely out of control. So I’m not here to judge.

Sure, I might see patterns in how people are behaving, and I might talk about those patterns, but it is clearly not my role to call anyone anything. It’s more like, I’m here, and I’ve been on the planet for a while now and have struggled with many situations where I felt out of control and cloudy and like I couldn’t understand myself … like

  • when I’ve gotten stuck in a fat shame spiral trying to get dressed in the morning and feeling 100% like Jabba the Hutt
  • when I’ve obsessed about someone hardcore for months on end, fully believing I could force love to bloom through blunt psychic force
  • when I’ve lusted about buying more eyeshadow I don’t need and ultimately can’t resist buying more eyeshadow I don’t need and I’m forced to question whether there really is a any concept of free will in the universe.

Over the years, I have found a few things that have helped me reframe these situations, let go of them, and move on to different and slightly more interesting problems (although, yes, I admit it, I still buy excessive amounts of eyeshadow ).

It starts with taking a good hard look at what we’ve been taught, recognizing much of it for the bullshit it is, and making the choice to leave it behind. No longer burdened, we can then connect more easily with the most rational and relaxed part of ourselves, and bring forth our personal forms of genius.

I know that reading and writing about these ideas helps me — it helps me remember what is important and what is not. (Not important: the person in front of me going 5 mph below the speed limit. Important: Making some time to write, stretch, and dream every day.) Sometimes in reading I come across a turn of phrase that retunes my thinking in a useful way. And other times I feel certain that spouting off about how to keep my mindgrapes in good nick actually helps keep my mindgrapes in good nick.

So my goal here is to do a couple of things. First, it’s just to ask — how are your mindgrapes? Are you happy with the way you’re thinking about your life? Is it serving you? Or do you need to shift some stuff around?

If you do feel like you might want to shift some stuff around, then I hope I can provide some turns of phrase and maybe some new perspectives that will help you retune your brain.

All of this is so that you can spend LESS time feeling bad about your chubby legs or withering away in a relationship that isn’t serving you or spending all your money on shit you don’t need in a desperate attempt to fill the void … and MORE time playing with the makeup you already have and hanging out with people who love you properly and making significant contributions to the small and big circles of your life.

Because here’s the thing — all the self-limiting rubbish that’s blowing around our heads? It’s not even special. As Liz Gilbert says, “Your fears are just regular old mass-produced, made-in-China, sold-at-Walmart fears. Nothing fine or precious or artisanal about them.”

Our super-fragmented, always-online culture encourages us to curate ourselves, to treasure our eccentricities and cultivate our tastes with pinpoint precision … and I think sometimes in the course of doing that, it’s easy to end up kind of fetishizing our own weaknesses and fears, to spend precious time tending our garden of craziness, contemplating each flower and leaf, thinking that the complexity of our pain is what makes us special.

But it’s not. It so really is not. The thing that makes a person special is what you do after the fear, what happens beyond the pain.

So that’s the goal here — to identify our Walmart fears and set them down, thus leaving our hands free for more interesting work.

You in?

photo by Kazuhiro Tsugita // cc

Who Gets To Decide Who You Are?

Staring catLately I have fallen into Octavia E. Butler’s dimension, and it is a mind-exploding place to be. Her novel Kindred is about a young black woman named Dana who mysteriously disappears from her own world — 1976 Los Angeles — and finds herself in Antebellum Maryland.

After this happens a few times, she figures out that she goes back every time a white boy named Rufus lands in a life-threatening situation. She also figures out that Rufus is her ancestor, so she needs to keep him alive until he’s fathered the child that will keep the chain going from him down to her.

Told from Dana’s perspective, the book is vivid and haunting and terrifying and even funny, full of descriptions that bring the reader directly into her experience and her thoughts about that experience. We see how her modern ideals conflict with the reality of her 1800s situation, and we see how that conflict wears her down over time.

And here’s what the conflict boils down to — who gets to say who she is?

In 1976, Dana gets to say who she is, at least to a certain extent — she’s strong, intelligent, capable, a young writer free to think or say or do whatever she likes.

But in 1818, her ideas about who she is are overwhelmed by everyone else’s ideas of who she is. Everyone else sees her blackness and thinks “slave.” They see her femaleness, too, and they think “for my use.”

It doesn’t matter that there are no papers showing that she has ever been bought or sold. It doesn’t matter what she says, it doesn’t matter that she knows about Black Power, and it doesn’t matter that she’s wearing pants. She is a black woman, so she must be a slave. There’s no room in their minds for her to be anything else.

Not having been raised to see herself as a slave, sometimes she forgets. She looks at white people too directly, challenges men too easily. But over time, after repeated beatings and humiliations, the conflict wears her down. As the book progresses, she finds it harder and harder to internally resist sliding into the subservient role. In the overwhelming pressure of what the world thinks she is, she struggles to hold on to her idea of who she thinks she is.

This, to me, is the most exquisite and painful part of the story, because it shows exactly how oppression twists the souls of those who suffer it.


I say this not from some intellectual position outside of this phenomenon. Though clearly I have never experienced anything like those who suffered through slavery, my soul has been twisted, too. To hate my imperfect body, to believe in the impossibility that I will ever truly be okay, even to allow others to take brutal advantage of me simply because one shouldn’t raise a fuss.

But at the same time, I have to acknowledge that I am in possession of more physical, cultural, and emotional freedom than any of my ancestors ever had. I have been shaped by my culture, there’s no denying it — but I also have many opportunities to shape my culture back. I have the ability to examine and reject the criteria my culture has set for success. I have the freedom to make myself better.

And these two opposing forces are at play in and around all of us. Cultural pressure to conform presses from the outside, and the soul’s inherent desire for freedom strains from the inside. The inertia of the past presses up against the call of the future, like tectonic plates shifting, and the interplay between these two is called history.

But it moves slowly, because the gravity of the past is IMMENSE. The most fucked up ideas of the past have been blunted a bit, for sure — we don’t have slavery anymore, we don’t have women being owned by their fathers or husbands. But we don’t have to look far to see those old ideas still in action today: the racist brutality in Ferguson and all over the country … the casual attitude toward rape and domestic violence … the notion that wealth means you are a good person and poverty means you’re a bad lazy one who deserves no help.

Culture if not law is still trying to dictate who each of us is. And to be limited like this, to be categorized like objects, to be denied the most basic human right of deciding for oneself who you are —  it’s a soul-level injury. And it creates a fundamental conflict between individuals and the society they live in.

Personally? There’s nothing that pisses me off more. When black people are repeatedly beaten and imprisoned and murdered by the state, when women’s access to healthcare is systematically removed piece by piece, when the powerful willfully refuse to acknowledge the experiences of the powerless, my response is 100% incandescent rage.  Who do these assholes think they ARE? And how do they get away with it, even for a minute, when there are so many more of us than there are of them?

This is one of the brilliant things about Kindred — it explains that mystery. We can even watch as it happens to Dana, page by page. If you stick around in a culture that wants to limit you for long enough, that shit is going to seep into your brain, too. 


And that’s where we are now. A lot of the heinous, racist, sexist awfulness our culture was built upon has seeped into our brains. It still dictates some portion of our internal monologue and our external behavior. It still governs a lot of how we see ourselves, and how we see each other.

But the tectonic plates are sliding, and I believe we are coming to a tipping point in history. Think about it — millions of us now possess the education and resources to see the world from a very broad perspective. Millions of us understand that any perspective worth anything must include other perspectives, too. So millions of us already have everything we need to shift ourselves and our culture in a significant way.

Like, we already have the ability to evaluating ourselves and each other based on old-ass criteria.

We already have the ability to step back from the blur of suck-you-dry hypercapitalism and decide what we believe is important.

We already have the ability to refuse to allow the limitations of the past to dictate our personal and collective futures.

We simply need to claim these freedoms — all of them, and as many more as we can get our hands on. And then we need use them. Use them up. Use them till the wheels fall off.

This is what Dana does in Kindred. Everyone and everything pushes in on her, demanding her surrender. But the force rising out of her is stronger. She holds on to who she is. She fights for who she is. She uses every tool at her disposal to hold on to who she deeply knows she is.

And I can’t help but thing that this is exactly what the people of Ferguson have been doing, too — claiming and exercising the freedom they have on the books but not in reality. Rejecting the old idea that their role is to placidly accept murder and injustice and humiliation. Standing fast to what they know is right about what human beings are worth.

And we see the same thing happening in this year’s discussions about rape culture as it still exists in 2014 — women claiming the freedom to tell the truth about their experiences, even if others would rather not hear. Rejecting the idea that men are ever entitled to women’s bodies. Standing fast to what they know is right about what human beings are worth.

And on a much smaller scale, there are untold numbers of people claiming the freedom to say what they really think, and to have happy thoughts about their bodies even if they are fat or otherwise imperfect, and to define a sense of life’s meaning that has more to do with nature and relationships and less to do with consumerism and Kardashianism.

There really are millions of us, all over the place, popping out of the patterns we were raised in. Claiming and exercising our right to decide who we are, and then be that, regardless of what the world thinks.

It’s a beautiful, breathtaking thing to behold, and it’s also important. Because exercising freedom is how we increase it. It’s how we shake off limitations, create more options, and shift the tectonic plate of history in the right direction.

Dana didn’t live in a perfect world, even in 1976, and neither do we. But it’s a damn sight better than 1818, or 1890, or 1940. And if the brave folks who came before us were able to find a way to claim their freedoms and push history forward, even in those wildly oppressive times, then we can certainly find a way to do it now.

It’s not easy, but it is possible … and there is the realest kind of power in it.

photo by Dave Townsend // cc