The way we heal is all a matter of perspective

I knew the time would come eventually. Two years after that horrific accident that took the lives of two twenty-one-year-old kids, and she finally came to confront me.

I had thought about the other mother almost daily since the accident. I debated writing her a letter or sending her a sympathy card on the anniversary of our children’s deaths, but something always stopped me.

Why would she want to hear from me? What if I cause more pain?

I had ultimately decided to leave it alone and focus on grieving for just one life. …

Tips from a professional short-term renter

As an aspiring vagabond, I have a lot of experience with vacation rentals. While I’m not an investor and have never rented out my own property or rooms to strangers, I do take advantage of them regularly and have stayed in about twenty different homes in the last three years. From campers in backyards to sailboats in marinas, I’ve become a bit of an Airbnb connoisseur.

My most recent stay has been a bit of an eye-opener. I’ve realized that I’ve become more of a short-term rental snob instead of the minimalist that I have been aspiring to be, and this latest experience has frustrated me enough to the point of article inspiration for those contemplating the journey to hostship. …

Why I refuse to hate on 2020

Open almost any social media app these days and you’re sure to see someone’s rant or meme about how horrible the year 2020 has been. While it has been a bit out of the norm, to say the least, I just can’t bring myself to jump on that bandwagon.

I’m not trying to downplay or make light of anyone’s suffering. I know there are people who’ve lost jobs, homes, and loved ones, and have suffered great mental and emotional anguish. But dare I say, as a society…we needed it.

I’ve had my own share of misfortunes during the pandemic. In March, I was furloughed, then eventually let go from a new job after just two months. I’ve been living off my remaining savings and retirement accounts for the last six, and have maxed out all my credit cards to survive. I had taken advantage of all the payment deferral programs offered by banks and mortgage companies, and now my six months are up. My house is currently on the market as my only means of paying off my debt. …

How planning less can lead to a happier life

I’ve flown on a plane more times than I can remember. I’m usually scared out of my wits and ordering a double Jack and Coke on a 7:30 am flight. This time…I don’t need one.

The turbulence that usually has me apologizing to the unknown passenger next to me for grabbing their leg in panic, does little to even stir me from my unexpected slumber.

What was the miracle occurrence that has suddenly kept my usual panic attacks at bay?

I don’t take medication, I’ve never sought therapy, and I haven’t recently experienced any trauma or life-altering event. …

Tricks I’ve learned to keep them at bay — with the help of my therapy dog

My first experience occurred just months after my son died in a vehicle accident. I had been lying in bed with my then-husband watching Netflix after a fairly normal and uneventful day. While watching the movie, a certain action scene triggered my contemplation into what a person experiences when they die. My mind then continued its descent into darkness as I began to think of my son, and ultimately…my own death.

I lost complete control of my thoughts as my heart started to beat fast and heavily in my chest. …

When he took over Cuba, he created our family story.

As a little girl, I would often hide out under my mother’s bed. She always knew I was there, but I would pretend that she didn’t. I would drag my hand-made Holly Hobby quilt underneath while she was out of the room, blowing away dust-bunnies while I spread out my pallet on the wooden floor. I was content to have the protection of my mother above me, while I watched TV from my sacred spot beneath.

Around 8 pm, the phone would ring just one time. I always knew who it was, and I would scoot out from under the bed to make eye contact with my mother. …

The mental chatter of a mid-life minimalist: Am I supposed to be here?

I have a three dollar string of Made-in-China plastic parrot lights hanging above my bed. The tiny coffeemaker that I purchased at a nearby Goodwill is filled with Bustelo coffee and water, and ready to brew when I rise in the morning. It sits on the tiny gas stove just ten feet away from where I lay my head. My tiny fridge holds only the basic condiments, lactose-free milk, and pineapple juice for my rum.

There was a time when I would have considered this life only for weekend adventurers, or for those less fortunate who couldn’t manage to do any better. …

What I learned about life from visiting my past.

As much as I despise the act and swore I wouldn’t do it again for at least another twenty years — I’m moving. Our house is on the market and I’ve procrastinated as long as I could before tackling one of my most dreaded tasks:

Going through my bedroom closet.

To me, packing is like childbirth; I tend to forget the traumatic event and find myself going through the agony again and again.

Although the process is tedious, it has also been quite emotional as many of the previously stored boxes contain memories from my four and a half decades of life. In the past, I've only moved the boxes from place to place without going through the contents, believing the universe had a grand plan in which I was to open them at an exact moment in time for some life-altering revelation. …