Some days you’re working on the great American novel, and others you’re writing an unhinged cover letter. Just a reminder that creative writing takes on many forms, especially when your job hunt turns you absolutely feral…
Dear Kind Punks of Meow Wolf –
You’re Meow Wolf – one of the most innovative, fever-dreamy experiences a person can pay for while also remaining sober. Let’s be real: do you really want to hire someone who sends a boring, corporate-approved cover letter outlining their “transferable skills” (gag) that ChatGPT most likely pumped out? No. You want someone willing to take the risk of sending a slightly unhinged cover letter to prove not only that they have the skills to do the job, but that they’re daring enough to push boundaries in the hopes of exploring the limitless potential of this creative enterprise. Because Meow Wolf didn’t become what it is without taking risks and believing in the impossible before they made it happen.
And maybe you’re saying to yourself, “Yes, yes, but to create all this, we need a Show Manager who can be focused and business-minded. We can’t sacrifice great skills for spectacle.” To which I say, “Put me in, coach!” I don’t see structure and creativity as opposing forces – I see structure as the thing that allows creativity to scale, survive, and actually come to fruition.
My biggest fear in life is that my tombstone will read, “She was organized.” For better or worse, it’s one of the top characteristics attributed to me. From my experience as a community theatre stage manager to a Marketing and Communications Project Coordinator for a 100-year-old global humanitarian nonprofit, I’m deeply acquainted with what it takes to navigate the needs of a wildly diverse cast of characters and how to stay calm, decisive, and solutions-oriented when everything appears to be on fire. So yes, while it would be accurate, it’s a horrifying epitaph.
“She was adventurous.” “She was curious.” “She got it done.”
These are also completely accurate and far more alluring. These qualities, paired with hard-earned technical skills and a genuine love for complex, collaborative work, are what I’d bring to Meow Wolf’s table. I thrive at the intersection of logistics and imagination, where timelines, people, and big ideas collide. I would give my all to rally behind this team and steward a vision as wild, colorful, and ambitious as Meow Wolf’s.
With considerable risk comes significant reward. Maybe I’m not the most obvious candidate for the Show Manager role – but do you really want the safest bet, the one that promises competence and delivers mediocrity? Or do you take a chance on someone who doesn’t quite fit the mold? Meow Wolf never has. Fortune favors the bold – and I’d love the opportunity to prove that, in the day-to-day work that makes big magic possible.
Happy New Year! I can feel your slack-jawed eye roll from here. No, I have not been living under a rock for the past two months. Although that does sound nice. I am acutely aware we are eight weeks into DumpsterFire: 2026. So, let me explain. With the new year comes new hope. Resolutions are quietly made. The thought, “this year will be different,” may not be verbalized, but it is internalized. We keep our prayers silent, so when the familiar lack of follow-through presents itself, it’s not quite such a public disappointment. But here’s the thing – expecting to implement effective and sustainable life changes on January 1st is as logical as moving seats instead of washing the cups. It is almost guaranteed to be a setup for failure. New Year’s Day is still very much a part of the holiday season, and no one should ever attempt to recalibrate their life with a hangover – whether it be from booze, cheese, or the Christmas cookies that seemingly regenerate in the tupperware. Even after the fog of overindulgence has lifted, the post-holiday blues hit hard. I maintain that winter shouldn’t even exist without the glow of twinkle lights and the expectation of presents, but at this juncture, the only escape from the frozen hell of a Northeast January is a solid one-two punch of plane ticket and passport. This is an environment to survive, not to thrive.
For the most part, the same can be said of February. On the heels of Christmas recovery comes the need to dip dodge the expectations of Valentine’s Day. Whether single or romantically linked, very few of us actually get through the Hallmark holiday without some level of emotional scarring. February also holds a personal landmine for me. It’s my birthday. Ah, many of you may not know that, and that is by design. You’re probably saying to yourself, “Your birthday is the perfect time to celebrate the new year. It is truly YOUR NEW YEAR, the first day of your next trip around the sun!” And you would be right if you were talking about someone who found any joy in their birthday. I am not one of those people. My birthday serves solely as a reminder of all the things I haven’t done, and I now have one less year to do them. You would think mortality would be a compelling motivation to get my life together. I would think that, too. But alas, my yearly gift from me, to me, is that I allow myself to ride out the doldrums without any intention of goals or growth. I know more fertile ground is coming.
Because March, gloriously gloomy, completely inconsequential March, is primed for resolution. Apologies to all you March babies out there, but apart from your oh-so-special day (which I truly hope you enjoy!), this third month offers very little in the way of obligation or excitement. Particularly since I aged out of partying like everyone is Irish on Saint Patrick’s Day. The only other day of note is Daylight Saving Time, which just means I have an extra hour to feel moderately energetic. March is when I can finally stop white-knuckling it through forced holiday cheer, existential crisis, and seasonal depression. And that is why my “new year, new me,” starts on March 1st. Which is when I started writing this.
I’m not great (ok, I suck) at self-motivation and creating for creation’s sake, which is probably why I’m a self-proclaimed writer with a very thin portfolio. But damn, do I love a project! So, I’m going to do my best to let go of the notion that I always have to be my best. This recovering perfectionist is going to post something every Wednesday (Writing Wednesday – I’m a fool for alliteration), whether I happen to think it’s brilliant or not. I’m just making pots [what on earth does she mean “making pots?!” FIND OUT HERE] in my little safe space of the Internet. If there is such a thing. Hell, I should be so lucky if anything I ever write goes beyond my mom and three friends and actually reaches the trolls.
So come along with me for the ride, or don’t. In the nicest way possible, I don’t care. I’m writing for me, and putting it out into the world is my own little way of keeping myself accountable. I can guarantee that there will be no method to my madness, and in the off chance that some themes start to emerge, it is only due to dumb luck and may be a good indication of what I should explore with a licensed professional. Some weeks, I’ll talk about what is going on with me (a riveting subject to be sure). Maybe others, I’ll talk about what’s going on in the world – seems like there are a few things worth exploring there. And still other times will be more relatively trivial material – a review of the latest theatre or movie I’ve watched, a travelogue of the trip I haven’t planned yet. And, when all else fails, I have no less than a half dozen writing prompt books that have sat on my shelf, mocking me, while they collect dust. I also take requests if there’s a particular subject on which you’d like my hot take. Whatever the entry, I promise it won’t be any longer than the life story you have to read before getting to the six-step recipe you found. Now onward! With the muses and my waning attention span to guide me, I’ll see where the journey leads. One word at a time.
This pandemic has been undeniably difficult on everyone but it’s been downright brutal for travelers and those of us who like to write about our adventures. I’m a go-big-or-go-home kind of explorer – I take an “airplane or it doesn’t count” approach to my official excursions. However, since that’s not happening any time soon, I’ve elected to stay home. I have crossed a few tasks off the checklist that has been growing over the years but the constant all work and no play of the pandemic has grated away at my already paper thin sanity and capacity for positivity. I have been home. For months. With no end in sight. Although I have accepted the fact that 2020 will not allow me to jet off to Amman or Cartagena, it has also taught me the significance of simple pleasures that are still readily attainable. The pleasuriest of all simple pleasures is ice cream. And that, my friends, is what finally dragged me out of the house and decide to go small.
Small business, that is. Over the past few months, I have been repeatedly impressed by the ingenuity and creativity of small businesses to adapt to circumstances that I’m sure were never a part of any contingency plan. One of the most indulgent and delicious business moves has been from Bucks County ice creamery, Owowcow. Taking a favorite page out of every 20something’s playbook – the bar crawl – the small collection of shops created their own Tour de Cow. Guaranteed to generate both cheer and cash flow, Owowcow issued a challenge to it’s customers to visit all five of their locations in order to win, what else, more ice cream! Evidence has shown that social media bragging rights have also been a big draw. Like any good challenge, this one provides a way to up the ante. If you visit all five outposts in one day (and show your receipts to prove it) you are also rewarded with a free, exclusive t-shirt. The gauntlet had been thrown, the prizes revealed and I was up to the challenge. I recruited a trusty sidekick to pilot the Hyundai Elantra, packed the Lactaid pills and set out on an ice cream road trip adventure.
With the coordinates for all points of interest carefully input into TripIt, we navigated to our first dairy destination. The inaugural stop on our quest brought us to our regular Owowcow shop located in Wrightstown, PA. Here we were supplied with our indispensable map, better known as the official Tour de Cow stamp card. For travelers interested in side quests, the map also provides information concerning nearby adventure opportunities such as grabbing a slice at Vince’s Pizzeria, boating at Lake Galena or exploring the trails along Neshaminy Creek. While these are noble pursuits and ideal for combating the effects of extreme sugar intake, our focus was singular and we chose to stay the course without wavering in order to complete our mission in one day. To obtain the necessary card stamp, a purchase must be made. The pressure of making a flavor choice can be overwhelming but the benevolent masterminds of Owowcow have graciously provided an opportunity for some relief. Again being inspired by the methods and proven practices from the world of adult beverages, an ice cream flight is an option on the menu. Instead of selecting just one or two flavors, you are able to maximize your variety quotient with a total of five scoops. My sidekick decided that this was to be his Tour de Cow destiny and declared that he would consume a flight at every location. I had no doubt that he would be able to fulfill this lofty goal but I knew attempting such a feat myself would likely bring my ice cream journey to an untimely end. However, I agree to join him in this first task. Between the two of us, we sampled ten unique flavors. With our expectations and our blood sugar levels set high, we were off to the next venue.
After departing our usual Owowcow shop, the adventure truly began as we were now venturing into uncharted territory. TripIt directed us along the brief, next leg of our ice cream expedition to Chalfont. We arrived unscathed at the large, stone firehouse that had been transformed into the most recent addition to the Owowcow empire. After passing a graveyard rendered innocuous by the midday sunshine and locating a place to deposit the car without issue, we discovered an immense chalkboard heralding the current flavors of the day. This information was vital in achieving the least amount of time indoors and therefore increased our ability to safely social distance. Once inside, however, we realized that this precaution was mostly unnecessary as our presence only doubled the number of individuals who occupied the impressive structure. Selections were made quickly – another flight of entirely new flavors for my companion and an ice cream pop that resembled an epicurean Good Humor bar for me – then we followed the single path out of the building and rounded back to our vehicle. Here is where we were most tempted to deviate from our course and adjourn to nearby Peace Valley Park; a locale which sounds like an ideal place to spend some quarantine time. Alas, our frozen treats began to give out well before our commitment to our cause ever could. The sweltering heat was merciless and demanded immediate ice cream consumption which did not allow for a detour. Under the shade of a large oak, we furiously ate our delectables while they maintained some solidity and us some dignity. As we did, fellow ice-cream-loving travelers waved at us from a pandemic-friendly distance and requested flavor recommendations. We happily obliged and shared witty reparteé on the joys of day ice creaming – a luxury only second to day drinking but certainly more acceptable on a Tuesday. However, this was no time to make friends and we hastened to our ride as the couple entered the shop. We were only on stop number two in what had become a serious mission in gluttony.
The drive between Chalfont and the subsequent shop would be the longest of our journey; 55 dairy-free minutes of glorious air conditioning. Although I had never previously ventured to Easton, PA, it has been on my travel radar since Sesame Street presented a thrilling expose on the inner workings of the Crayola Factory. I never imagined that ice cream would be what eventually brought me to this mining town and I certainly never expected to leave without a fistful of fresh crayons but both were true of this day. With the doors of the factory currently sealed shut, we were left with no other option than to stay steadfast to the task at hand. The Elantra snaked through the narrow roads of steep hills covered with homes in muted tones of grey, brown and faded slate blue. This is a town of hard work and, for some, a hard life. For a brief moment, I was aware of its uncomfortable juxtaposition to the frivolity of an ice cream shop. But sometimes happiness can be found in the most unlikely of places which is usually where it is needed most. Eventually we reached the bottom of the hill and found ourselves at Simon Silk Mill – a renovated, rustic-on-purpose space that seems to be a popular aesthetic in the slowly, gentrifying parts of the Lehigh Valley. Sequestered away beyond the craft brewery, day spa and balloon sculpture business sat ice cream haven number three. Upon entering, I discovered that shouting my order through my mask and the din of the air conditioning was necessary. The employed guardians of Owowcow, the Teenage Girls, were as polite here as we had found at all previous locations. A second scooper did her honest best to suppress a look that straddled the line of surprise and horror when my companion proclaimed we were doing the entire Tour de Cow in one day. She handed him his third, consecutive, ice cream flight as I took my small cup and vacated the building. It was then that we encountered our one true adversary of the day (save for the inevitable food coma that would ensue) – lanternflies. Known for generating flora killing mold, this invasive species had recently infested the area and were decimating the local plant life. My trusty sidekick is usually a gentle hero in times of insect invasions but these particular monsters were subjected to his size 13s. This was how our time at the Easton Owowcow unfolded – alternating between spoonfuls of creamy delight and stomps of unashamed murder. Our stop culminated in the demise of no less than 15 lanternflies. With our valiant contribution in saving the trees of North Eastern Pennsylvania adequately complete, we returned to the safety of the vehicle to travel to our penultimate destination.
Sunlight pierced canopies of shady, tree-lined roads slowly gave way to brilliant farmlands fully lit in the golden hour as we cruised our way to Ottsville. The Owow OG, the first location established in 2009, appeared suddenly out of long stretches of desolate fields, like a sweet-cream mirage in an otherwise snack-barren land. It’s a small outfit that shares an out of place brick building with an even more out of place surf shop. This left us somewhat perplexed as the only waves in sight were those of amber grain. Still, the unexpected dichotomy, along with the revered relic of a payphone outside, added to the charm of the scene. The shop itself gave off an air of cool panache, a quiet confidence seemingly from knowing it held the title of first and therefore best of the Owowcow family. If reveling in timeless summer vibes was the mood of the moment I was all too happy to follow suit. Naturally, this was the perfect location to procure a classic cone with one of the month’s signature flavors, sweet buttered corn. One can only assume that the kernels used in this creamy creation were sourced from a location within walking distance of the shop’s front door. We took our cone and yet another flight out to the parking lot with asphalt set ablaze by the late afternoon sun. The heat produced an instantaneous melting effect and the muscle memory from years of accomplished drip control nearly had me mask first into the top scoop. Fortunately, I remembered just in time to remove my shield and save my snack before it became a splat on the blacktop. We finished our treats gazing out onto the fiery horizon, reflecting on how far we had traveled and how much we had accomplished. A sudden bark from a nearby domesticated beast sent us reeling back to reality and set our determination to complete our final mission.
The time had come for the last stop in our ice cream quest. Making it to the ultimate destination meant traveling back to our homeland, a trek that literally took us over the river and through the woods, to the only Owowcow east of the Delaware River. We arrived in Lambertville exhausted, sweaty and filled with dairy but we were ready to claim our prize. A flag emblazoned with the patron spirit of all things ice cream, the noble cow, welcomed us to our victory with a friendly wave. We were poised to reap the hard-earned rewards of the day. Feeling audacious due to our successful conquering of the Tour de Cow, we requested that the pedestrian sundae usually provided as a sweet trophy be upgraded to the impressive 10 Mile Peach Sundae. This extravagance seemed a much more worthy way to celebrate our triumph. The shop’s scoop slingers honored our requisition with no objections. However, this final act of utmost gluttony was ultimately our downfall as the sheer volume of sugary substances contained within the large vessel was our undoing. No matter, the battle had been fought valiantly, we conquered the cow and we departed from this last mission with the spoils of our success – the coveted t-shirt and a few pints of ice cream to bring back to those who remained back at the homestead. We motored off into the sunset feeling victorious and strangely proud of our particular prowess. With our adventure now behind us, we did the only thing more ludicrous than consuming five servings of ice cream in one day – we went home and had dinner.
You might be thinking that this was an excessive effort for a sugar high and a “free” shirt that came out to $72.80 in ice cream sales. Not to mention, of course, a highly dramatic retelling of the day’s events. Why not just go to the frozen foods section of the nearest grocery store for a quicker and cheaper fix? While Halo Top is fine most days, these are not most days – in case you were unaware. This is no time for diet ice cream. I am also painfully aware that neither Ben nor Jerry need any more of my money. Plus, I am a total sucker for swag. In this prolonged space of uncertainty and unrest I say bring on the full fat! Bring on supporting a local business! And, for the love of ice cream, bring on the joy! What started out as a simple day trip, a respite from the doldrums of life lived indoors, ended up becoming a humbling eye-opener. I realized that it was unfair of me to write off Summer 2020 as a complete wash. More than that, it showed me that adventures are all around us, if only we stop long enough to find excitement and wonder in our everyday lives. It’s not the plane ticket or passport that makes a trip worth taking, it’s the mindset.
Tour de Cow Final Stats:
Miles Traveled: 132 Hours it Took: 6-ish Calories Consumed: Don’t know. Don’t Care.
First Stop: Wrightstown FLIGHT Mango Cream Lime Cream Mexican Hot Chocolate* Banana Caramel* Garden Berries
Second Stop: Chalfont ICE CREAM POP Strawberry Shortcake Pop
Third Stop: Easton MEDIUM CUP Sweet Honey Cream Honey Lavendar
Fourth Stop: Ottsville SMALL CONE Sweet Buttered Corn*
Fifth Stop: Lambertville SUNDAE Mile High Peach Sundae
*Personal Faves
Tour de Cow Playlist:
Sugar Sugar – The Archies
Ice Ice Baby – Vanilla Ice
Banana Split for My Baby – Louis Prima
Ice Cream – New Young Pony Club
Pour Some Sugar On Me – Def Leppard
Vanilla Ice Cream – She Loves Me Broadway Cast Recording
Build Me Up Buttercup – The Foundations
Ice Cream – Mika
Sugar Dumpling – Sam Cooke
Sellin’ Ice Cream – Master P
I Can’t Help Myself (Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch) – Four Tops
Generally speaking, what is it about our human make up that compels us to run from our true selves? I wonder if this is a distinctly Middle Class America problem – growing up in a society that falsely reassures us we can be anything causes us to be unsatisfied with who we already are. Add to that the pressures of resume building and social media posting and nagging reminders that we have the same amount of hours in a day as Beyonce, it’s no surprise that we feel the need to do and be all the things. We’re told we have the right, nay, the responsibility, to always be better but, please, can someone drag us away from the inspiration boards and continued learning classes and allow us to just be? Living the dream is turning into a bloody nightmare.
My own Pinterest page is a shining example of this problem. I have whole sections devoted to becoming a stellar photographer, interior designer, fitness guru, award winning actor, party planner, pastry chef and fashionable globe trotter…just to name a few. Then there are the Udemy courses in web development and digital marketing and that Masterclass subscription I keep meaning to get back to. When I lose focus, expertly curated art (thanks to Etsy and all my interior design Pins) implore “DOn’t quIT” or “Hustle” and influencers on The ‘Gram with hashtags like #bossbabe push me to live my best life.
But instead of anxiously gobbling up skills and achievements like a deranged Hungry Hungry Hippo, why don’t we first take stock of the marbles we already have? Because everyone does have something. Or, maybe I should say everyone IS something. A singer, a good listener, a budget beast – they’re different skills with varying degrees of visibility, but they are equal. And, news flash, we can’t have them all. Sure, there may have been some shady dealings during Talent Distribution Day as it would appear some people are really tipping the scales, but no one left empty handed. If someone were to ask me what I was given, I’d probably consent to a penchant for writing. If you’re still reading this, I hope you agree. Now, I don’t think I’ll ever have to clear off shelf space for a Pulitzer, but I do ok – certainly better than the twit who recently replied to my beautifully crafted business email with a “ty.”
The thing is, I don’t write. I was a relatively prolific writer when I was younger, filling notebooks with poems, essays, songs and stories. I even earned the occasional award or recognition for my work. Now, not so much. Most of the problem can be attributed to the business of life and failures in time management. But what about those rare moments when I have the freedom to spend some quality time click clacking away on my laptop. Do I relish the ability to sit down and write? No. Do I waste that precious time on the most useless shit imaginable? You betcha! Reorganize my closet – sounds like a plan. Clean out my email inbox – don’t mind if I do. Hunt down the next best show on Netflix – I’m up to the task. Mindlessly scroll my way into a coma and accidentally friend request a near perfect stranger on Facebook – yeah, sorry about that. Can I honestly consider myself a good writer, or a writer at all, with only a small handful of blog posts, zero Twitter followers, and the sporadic online event invite? It might be the top skill listed on my otherwise creatively barren resume but I have essentially no resources to back up that claim.
As I bounce from meaningless jobs to unemployment and back again, I continue to feel a little knock from the inside of my brain accompanied by a voice that says, “HellOOOoooooO, you’re a writer. Accept that this is your thing and stop wasting time trying to be something you’re not!” That might be all well and good, but is that same obnoxious voice capable of persuading someone to give me an advance to write a novel? A script? Is anyone from Refinery 29, Atlas Obsurca, The Thrillist, or even the PennySaver going to take me seriously as a writer based solely on a collection of witty text repartee? That’s gonna be a hard no. So, it is up to me to become one.
Correction: I have to embrace being one. It is what I am, I just have to stop ignoring it and start working at it. The seed is there, but I have to choose to nurture what is right below the surface if I ever want it to grow. For years, I’ve been attempting to dig massive holes, haul fully formed trees and replant them where they were never meant to blossom. After all that work, I’m tired, I’m dirty, but I don’t have much in the way of fulfilling – or lucrative – results. Think of how fruitful that little talent seedling could be now if I had fostered the development of what I already had instead of wasting so much time denying the fact that some plants require particular conditions that I might not possess.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not self improvement bashing. I’m not saying that learning something new is a bad move. On the contrary, I love learning new things; if it didn’t generate crippling debt I would happily be a full time student. What I am saying is that if you’re a square peg trying to shove yourself into a round hole it may be possible you will fit but the process is going to be hella painful. And, truly, you’ll never be as good at filling that circular void as the one who was designed to do it in the first place. So, instead, why not be the best damn square peg you can possibly be?
Now that I’ve officially maxed out my metaphor limit, I’ll move on to the question and answer portion of this post. What part of yourself have you been running from? Why is it that you think you need to do and be something other than what you already are? Trust me, I’m painfully aware that the competition to get anywhere in this life is fierce, but maybe if we all agreed to stop seeing each other as rivals and started collaborating to utilize what we each do really well we could finally break the cycle of exhausting, anxiety-inducing one-up-manship. I’m slowly accepting that I will never be good at everything and, more importantly, I don’t have to break my back, bank account and spirit to cram in yet another skill I don’t necessarily need. While I won’t give up occasionally adding to my repertoire, you will now find many more titles such as “How to Outline a Story” and “Constructing Consistently Engaging Blog Entries” on my Pinterest board.
Find out what you are. Own it. Embrace it. Love it. Cultivate it. Then, share it with all of us. Are you a math genius? A master seamstress? A tech wizard? Great! I’m not and now I no longer feel burdened to become one, too. Let me celebrate you by engaging your talents. This world can be such a difficult place to live in; we have enough struggles as it is. Fight one less battle today and stop warring against the best version of who you can possibly be. And, remember, if you ever need a writer, I got you!
I don’t have children. Most days, I’m happy with that choice. Some days, however, I wish I had little people who I could mold into thoughtful and valuable individuals capable of positively affecting our future society. There are some hard truths that I would impart to them at a young age so by the time they were confronted by that reality, they wouldn’t feel quite so blindsided.
Life is not fair. I can hear you from here – ”Yes, and in other news, water is wet.” I know this is something that most of us as adults are acutely aware of. What I fail to understand is why we still insist on filling children’s heads with the fairytale notion that simple things like hard work and kindness always pay off in the end. Perhaps it’s because, even though it has been disproven time and time again, we continue to cling to this idea with the desperate hope that one day we’ll see that it’s true.
Turn on the news or scroll through your Facebook feed for just a few seconds and chances are that hope quickly dissipates, even if only temporarily. Social injustice, economic disparity, environmental catastrophes, political extremes – these are all fuels to the fire that incinerate whatever fleeting optimism we’re holding on to. These things hurt my heart as much as they do yours, but there are some days that what I find to be the most draining is being bombarded with the unfairness of my own personal universe. Maybe you feel the same way and are just too afraid of being accused of selfishness and a lack of perspective to say so. Well, today, I just don’t give a damn.
Who has an incompetent boss that gets paid the big bucks for your smart ideas and long hours?
Who has a friend who always remembers you when they need you and forgets you when they don’t?
Who is the black sheep of their family despite all attempts at making them proud?
Who is tired of seeing the mediocre and misguided efforts of others get rewarded while your passionate yet exhausted self is fighting to take just one step forward?
Does any of this sound familiar?
I wish someone would have made me realize how unfair life was before the truth of it smacked me in the face. What if we finally set aside our well-intentioned lies that good ultimately triumphs over evil and there is no substitute for hard work and you can do anything you put your mind to and all the rest of that inspirational mumbo jumbo? Instead, let’s start teaching kids that life is not fair and sometimes, no matter what you do, you won’t win. And then, dear reader, this is what I would say to that wide-eyed and newly terrified child:
“But do it anyway.”
Not to get all Mother Theresa on you, but the truth is we should just do it anyway. Why? Maybe it’s to follow your own moral compass so you can peacefully lay you head down at night. Maybe it’s because you still need to believe that what you do matters to someone. Or maybe it’s so you feel justified in your righteous indignation and can write a self-indulgent blog post about it. Regardless of your reasons, I urge you (and myself) to continue to care. Yes, oftentimes it feels as though life would be much easier if we stopped putting in the effort and mindlessly coasted along to whatever fate awaited us. So many others do it, why shouldn’t we? If all of our proverbial blood, sweat and tears only add up to the pain and not the gain, why should we even bother? Because doing it anyway without any promise of something in return makes you a good person. If no one has ever told you that or if you have been aching for a reminder, there it is. You might not ever get a ticker tape parade for your efforts but hopefully you do achieve a personal sense of pride and satisfaction that no amount of outward recognition could provide. This world doesn’t often give us much to feel good about but that doesn’t mean we can’t feel good about ourselves. I don’t know about you, but today I’ve earned that much.
So, do your best work. Help your friend. Love your family. Fight the good fight. Pursue your passion.
Imagine what could happen if we stopped focusing on what we think we deserve and just did it – whatever it might be – because it was the right thing to do. Doesn’t that sound so liberating? I hope to be able to get to that point one day. Because although we can’t fill up the world with fairness, each of us has the power to add one more good person to this earth. And that is a commodity we so dearly need more than anything right now.
I intended to write a blog post about my Indian desert experience. A year ago. It was such a remarkable adventure and I wanted to capture it in every miniscule detail but it was those very details that overwhelmed me and so I kept putting it off. Then I became disillusioned by just how quickly the specifics of what should have been one of the most memorable nights of my life started to become hazy. And so, here I am, over a year since that unforgettable experience and, well, it’s being forgotten – all because I wanted to record it in writing perfectly instead of urgently.
I feel as though I’ve had my fair share of I-intended-tos and I-had-planned-ons but my life’s current state is proof that good intentions get you nowhere. Action, sometimes even without understanding and answers, is always a better option than meaning without follow through.
As I took my nightly trek down the turnpike this evening, I consciously decided to scroll past the usual playlists in favor of some music I hadn’t actively listened to for roughly a decade. It’s astounding to me how the songs that played during the days when I tried to decide who I wanted to be now forced me to question who I’ve become. They did so gently but unrelentingly. And they made me realize that I’ve been in a desert place.
As I thought back to who I was the first time these songs blared themselves into my life (from my boom box, no doubt, or perhaps the Walkman playing through the tape deck of my first Jetta) I realized that my journey has left that person unrecognizable to the one who was currently bleary-eyed and behind the wheel. Please don’t get me wrong, my life has been far from a struggle. In fact, I – and most everyone else, I’m sure – would consider myself quite privileged. But my could-haves and should-haves and still-didn’ts have caught up with me and I’m acutely aware of the fact that they have left the land beneath my feet so dried up.
I didn’t mean to get here but I did get here by my choice. No one kidnapped me and brought me to this wasteland or tied me, kicking and screaming, to a wayward camel. This is my own doing. Every unrealized goal, every time I let the unknown keep me from taking a risk, every “no” that I perceived as a personal attack, every desire that took a back burner to obligation, every disappointment that I allowed to chip away at my joy and motivation – these were each a step I chose to travel further into the wilderness.
However, just like the literal dunes, this metaphoric desert place hasn’t been without its striking beauty. Even as I’ve wandered, rather aimlessly, through these past number of years, I have had the dumb luck to stumble upon some pretty extraordinary blessings. I’ve developed some beautiful new friendships and have shockingly been able to maintain many of the old ones. My family members (and friends-turned-family) do their best to love me as I continue to flail around in the sand. I have traveled, I have made art, and I have learned a few lessons, both practical and spiritual – sometimes in spite of the arid terrain and sometimes because of it.
What made my actual desert safari so fantastical was that I, along with my new travel companions and several strangers, had to be evacuated because of an immense storm. In the middle of the Thar Desert, just outside of Jaisalmer, those of us who stayed awake late into the night watched as a sea of stars quickly became shrouded by a blanket of clouds. And then, in a breath, the heavens poured down. What would have been a common, albeit, torrential, storm under most other circumstances, seemed utterly terrifying and awe-inspiring in this unexpected and unforgiving setting. The abrupt streaks of lightning, the sudden rolls of thunder, the foreign nature of rain in such an arid place left us initially bewildered before ultimately coming to our senses, grabbing whatever we could and pile into the lone safety van to rumble and bounce our way to temporary shelter.
The next morning, whether we liked it or not, we were driven back to our abandoned camp site to collect the rest of our things and mount our camels to ride into the sunrise. We were still in the desert and it had remained utterly unchanged despite the unusual and extreme weather from the night before. What we realized, however, is that WE were changed. We were conscious of the fact that we had had a special experience and we all knew that it would be a defining moment of our travels and maybe, for some, even our lives.
I don’t know how long I’ll be in my current desert – I’m not even quite sure whether this is a temporary season or if I should hunker down and learn how to adapt to a more Bedouin existence. What I do know is that there is life even in the desert place and just when you think hope is dried up, the rain suddenly rushes down and changes you – even if it doesn’t change your circumstances.
My mother once told me, “suddenly your suddenly will come.” I don’t think she’ll ever realize how wise those words were and how much they have sustained me, especially now, when I feel as though I have been crawling through this barren land for so long. Whatever lightning and thunder it may bring, I am ready for my suddenly. I am desperate for the deluge.
Life is not fair. I can hear you from here – ”Yes, and in other news, water is wet.” I know this is something that most of us as adults are acutely aware of. What I fail to understand is why we still insist on filling children’s heads with the fairytale notion that simple things like hard work and kindness always pay off in the end. Perhaps it’s because, even though it has been disproven time and time again, we continue to cling to this idea with the desperate hope that one day we’ll see that it’s true.
.chasing bluebirds. 