Each time someone asks me for a great book to read, I start poring through my memory files to pick the book best for them… often not as quickly as I’d like. So, I’ve compiled a list of 15 books I’ve rated with 5 stars and can confidently and enthusiastically recommend.

I used to think I was a prolific reader (about 30 books per year) until I met a coworker who read more than 200 books in 2021 alone. Now I think I just read a normal amount, ha! 

Goodreads offers users the chance to assign a personal rating (1 to 5 stars) and review of a book, which I use extensively to look back through my completed list and jog my memory. LIke any rating system, everyone has their own method. The coworker I mentioned above is much more generous than I am and rarely rates a book below 3 stars. For me, 3 stars is “good” and worth reading but can be better. Allow me to explain my highly refined system.

FICTION

I read books in nearly every genre, so you'll find a bit of everything on my virtual bookshelf. In this fiction list, I have one sci-fi, one dystopian, one historical fiction, a romance, and two YA novels.

• The Rose Code by Kate Quinn. I'll start here simply because this is the most recent fiction read on this list. Quinn blends the true story of women who served as codebreakers for the Allied Forces in WWII with complex, interesting fictional characters. This is my favorite way to learn history: through a compelling, well-written story.

• The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood. Where The Rose Code will inspire you through the stories of smart, historical women, Atwood’s dystopian novel will remind you of just how hard it is to be female. (Maybe read The Handmaid’s Tale before The Rose Code…) While this is a fictional story, know that Atwood made it a point to only include policies and events that have happened at some time in history. It is disturbing but incredibly well-written and will truly make you think about society, culture, and perseverance.

• The Martian by Andy Weir. How about a pick-me-up? I could not put this book down. Between the smart main character, the fast pace, the fascinating science, and the generous humor, I was hooked. Worth the read whether you've seen the movie or not.

• The Fault in Our Stars by John Green. I’m a huge Green brothers fan in every medium: books, YouTube, podcasts, live shows, all of it. Elder brother John Green's writing is charming, accessible, and funny. This book will touch your heart and leave you in a puddle afterward. I've read everything he's written.

• The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins. Keeping with the YA theme, if you haven’t read this book, it will open your eyes to all the ways we're living in a real-life Hunger Games today.

• Outlander by Diana Gabaldon. I'll finish my fiction list with a book you won’t finish in three days, but you’ll fall in love with the characters and want to keep plowing through the rest of the series. I never want to say goodbye to Claire and Jamie. But it takes Gabaldon 4+ years to write each historically researched tome, so I've read several books in this series twice or more.

  
  
  

MEMOIR

• A Girl Named Zippy by Haven Kimmel. I credit this book with opening my eyes to the memoir genre. I read it as assigned reading in college and remember laughing out loud through the entire book. Anyone who is intimately familiar with small-town America (especially in the Midwest) will find this hits very close to home.

• Wild by Cheryl Strayed. You've heard of this one, maybe saw the movie, but reading the book will make you understand just how gritty and gifted Strayed is. Her writing style is heartfelt and vulnerable without ever being too sweet—and never helpless.

• The Storyteller by Dave Grohl. lf you can get this as an audiobook, do it. Not only is Grohl a gifted story-crafter on the page, he’s a dynamic storyteller in your ears. My husband is a huge Grohl fan. I was neutral about him until reading this book. I now count myself as a fan, too.

CLASSICS

Let's be honest: many novels deemed "classics" are completely miserable to read. I try to sprinkle at least one classic into my reading list each year, and these two are actually enjoyable to read.

• Pride & Prejudice by Jane Austen. I have read this book no fewer than four times. And every time I read it, I love it more. I first read it in college, and once I got accustomed to Austen's 18th-century writing style, I was hooked. I've since read every one of her novels, and this remains my favorite.

• The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas. I credit this book with showing me I can actually truly enjoy reading a classic. I read this nearly 20 years ago and remember being so impressed with the character development - specifically how the wrongfully imprisoned transformed himself so intentionally into the Count to exact his revenge on those who were responsible for ruining his life.

NONFICTION

• Why We Sleep by Matthew Walker. For the nonfiction list, I’ll start with the book I read most recently. There's no way to summarize the idea of this book except to say I learned that how much and how well you sleep impacts *absolutely every part of your life.* I realize that statement alone is not compelling, but the way neuroscientist Walker presents the scientific research to prove it—in accessible, readable, even humorous language—may very well change your life. Seriously.

• In Defense of Food by Michael Pollan. While we're on the subject of life-changing books, this one did for me. My family will attest to the fact that I was an extremely picky eater as a child. I'm now the most adventurous eater and home cook in the family. And I read this book during the period of my mid-20s when I was consciously working to become that way. This book changed how I eat at home, order in restaurants, and shop at the grocery store. It's well-written and easy to read, too—two requirements I feel are particularly important in nonfiction.

• The Gifts of Imperfection by Brené Brown. I will read, listen to, or watch anything Brené Brown creates. I have so much respect for her integrity as a researcher and a human, and on top of it, she's vulnerable, real, and funny. This book is a must-read for anyone who tends toward perfectionism or who has ever struggled with feeling good enough.

• The Happiness Advantage by Shawn Achor. Let's end this list on an uplifting note. Achor’s book will give you a step-by-step template to take control of your own happiness. Hint: it's pretty simple if you’ll only commit to doing it.

When I met my now-husband three years ago, he was eight Ironman races into a goal of 12 (which qualifies him as a "legacy" athlete to race at the IRONMAN World Championships at Kona, HI at a yet-to-be-revealed future date). He has more than once apologized to me for inheriting the ambitious, time-consuming goal he took on when he was a bachelor.

Chuck prepares for his races more studiously than most, and that intensity influences not only how he spends his non-work time, but also his social life, diet, and entertainment (i.e., YouTube) selections. 

When I traveled with him to his ninth race in Boulder, CO in 2019 for my first race-support experience, I absorbed that intensity, combined it with my own stress-of-the-unknown plus self-imposed unrealistic expectations, and I whipped myself into a hot mess.

Three years and four full-distance IRONMAN races later, I still find the races stressful (I've listened to enough horror stories shared over team dinners that I'II never not be anxious for my husband’s safety), but I’ve figured out a routine that works, and I feel more at ease. 

I share this with you hoping it will make your own first experience easier than mine.

Before the race.

• Download the IRONMAN Tracker app and start familiarizing yourself with the course map. Note where you’re staying in relation to the start/finish/transition areas, parking areas, etc.

• Ask your athlete for an estimate of when they’ll finish the swim. Unlike the other disciplines, it’s very rare to have a mid-swim timing mat that cues you, so you’ll want to know when to find a good spot to see them exit the swim. 

• Sit down with them, look at the map in the Tracker app, and find some course interception points where you can walk and see them pass on the marathon. There are usually a few within reasonable walking distance. I rack up a lot of steps during this part of the day while I chase Chuck from point to point. 

Race day. 

• The day starts early. Like 4:00 a.m. early. Every athlete handles race morning—and its nerves/excitement—differently. I remind myself that this day is 99% not about me. I try to help where I can but also just give him space to be in his own head. 

• I like to stay with him as long as I can before he gets in line for the swim start so I can delay my goodbye.

• When he’s passed me after exiting the swim, I like to run (literally, often) to Bike Out to see him start that leg of the race. 

• After he heads out on the bike, I’m usually on my own for 6-ish hours. Most courses I’ve spectated with Chuck haven’t given me a good chance to see him on the bike again because we don’t want to give up our prime parking spot near the finish line for me to drive out to see him speed by. (Sounds odd, but he wants to walk as little as possible when his race is done. So parking spots are a key part of our pre-race location scouting.) 

• Go find a good restaurant, get some breakfast, and try to relax a bit. 

• I’ve tried to nap when I’ve had the chance (see again: early mornings), but my brain is too keyed up to sleep. Relaxing and getting off your feet is a must, though. Take it easy for a while.

• Time for lunch. Don’t skip it. 

• I then go to Bike In to see him arrive safely, and I run over to Run Out to see him start the run. 

• The run part of the race is when your day becomes more busy. Most marathon courses have allowed me multiple interception points since I can walk to them, so I spend the time moving from one to the next. 

• Wherever you see your athlete on your last interception point, be sure to give yourself time to get to the finish line to see them come in. I like finding a fence spot before the finish but as close as I can get. (I cut it too close once in Madison, WI when I chose to see him pass one last time before heading to the finish line. If it hadn’t been for the city electric bike I’d rented, I wouldn’t have made it.)

• When he crosses the finish line, I head to where he’ll exit the chute after he gets his medal and photo so I can get a sweaty, gross smooch. (I generally avoid hugs at this point, ha!)

After the race.

• The stress of worrying about his health and safety comes off my shoulders at this point. My job then becomes helping him get some food and water/beer, sitting by while he rehashes the race with his teammates, and trying to shuttle him to the car at a decent hour to rest. 

• I don’t try to ask for too many details myself at this point; it’s generally not productive until the adrenaline has worn off and he’s processed it a bit the next day. 

• Finally, it’s time for everyone to get off their feet and rest. You may not have done the race itself, but it’s been a big day for you, too. 

• We’re often traveling home the following day, usually via road trip. I drive most or all of the way so he can rest more in the car. 

Gear and tech.

• Pack a backpack for the day, and don’t make it too heavy. 

  • Water

  • Snacks

  • A hat, sunglasses, and sunblock

  • A towel to sit on

  • Portable phone charger + cable

  • Book

  • Toilet paper

  • Hand sanitizer

  • Optional: flashlight/headlamp

• Wear your most comfortable sneakers plus stretchy clothes and layers. I'm usually at the swim start with him—before sunrise—and we're out well after dark. Be prepared for every temperature of the day.

• Download the IRONMAN Tracker app (it’s worth mentioning again), and put your athlete's name in to follow. Enable push notifications, because it will ping you every time they cross a timing mat. It will also show you where they are on a map. You'll be watching it all day, so this is where the phone charger becomes so important.

I’ve talked to many of Chuck’s teammates who’ve spectated a friend’s race and compared it with their own experience as the racing athlete: every one, without exception, says they’d rather be the one racing because spectating is so hard.

I think they’re exaggerating—and let’s be honest, these are people who voluntarily choose to swim 2.4 miles, bike 112, and run 26.2 in a single day, so their judgment isn’t calibrated the same—but I won’t lie that it’s a hard day. I logged an average of 22,000 steps on each of Chuck’s last two race days.

Your athlete has worked for months to make it to this day. You’ve seen how hard they’ve worked. You want them to succeed, be safe, and feel good (well, as good as can be expected) through the day. It weighs on you. 

Give yourself the grace to feel your own feelings related to it while you support their needs. 

And of course, treat yourself when it’s all over, too.

Then two things changed: I was no longer single, and a global pandemic took international travel off the table. 

…One of these changes was decidedly more enjoyable than the other.

I’ve shared my sunny-trip mission with my now-husband, Chuck, who has no objections, and the continuing COVID influence on travel plans led us to play it safe again this year: a domestic trip to visit friends. Luckily, Chuck’s best friend lives in Los Angeles—a very sunny designation and a great chance to see great people. 

I’ve made a southern-California visit before, but this was my first trip to L.A. proper. 

I would bet L.A. is a city that has more preconceived notions about it in the minds of people around the world than almost any other city. I had my own, but I tried to go with an open, curious mind. 

What I loved: 

• The weather. Abundant sunshine and low humidity (admittedly not great for fire prevention but feels amazing when you’re coming from pure winter).

• The food options. You feel like ramen? Head to Japantown and take your pick of restaurants. Mexican? Korean? A great salad? It’s all there.

• Hiking options within the city. I knew L.A. had hills, but it wasn’t until I saw a snow-capped mountain behind the downtown skyline that I realized just how varied the landscape is. We hiked up to a vantage point above the Hollywood sign one day, and the 4.5-mile trek left my hamstrings aching for two days afterward. 

What I didn’t love: 

• The disparity in income/lifestyle/opportunity. For a city with so much wealth in its limits, I’d hope it would do better to alleviate some of the homelessness that is so prevalent on its streets. Not only are people living on the streets, but entire blocks and parks have become homeless camps. When I saw the world’s most expensive luxury cars driving the same streets, the juxtaposition didn’t sit well in my gut. (I recognize this is a huge issue to try to solve, and that cities that offer the most resources often become destinations for the homeless because of it… a difficult cycle. The difference with L.A. is it’s so prevalent.)

• The traffic. Commuting in this city takes at least 3x longer than it might in another city. 

What I want more of on my next visit: 

• Did I tell you about the great food? 

• Perusing locally owned shops and businesses. I love finding city neighborhoods that have block after block of local places to shop. I got to do almost zero of that on this trip and would love to change that next time. 

• Sightseeing. We made three touristy stops: the Hollywood sign, the Griffith Observatory, and the Huntington Library, Art Museum, and Botanical Gardens. I’d love another five trips to the Huntington alone; it may be a stop on every visit. I’ll look forward to a few more touristy stops next time, too. 

My boyfriend and I were driving to Michigan one day last month—

Ah. Wait. I hadn’t mentioned yet that the Intrepid Introvert has found a smart, supportive, kind, intrepid partner with whom she plans to buy a house and spend the rest of her life, had I? My apologies. He exists, he’s terrific, and his name is Chuck. 

As I was saying—

We were driving to his cousin’s wedding in southwestern Michigan last month when I pulled out a list of thought- and conversation-provoking questions that are perfect for road trips. This question came up: 

“How do you think we could have more fun in our life?”

He took his turn answering first, with something along the lines of, “Well, it will be a lot easier when things calm down a bit. With COVID and house selling and house hunting, our time has been pretty limited.”

Unexpectedly, his nonchalant and entirely normal answer sparked something in me. It reminded me of how I felt when I decided to start my original Intrepid Introvert project here. It reminded me of what I hear every single one of us say at some point. 

“I don’t have time right now.”
“I’ll do it when I’m not so busy.”
“Someday I’d like to try that.”
“COVID got in the way of everything.”

I get it. I say it myself. But I’m also a different person than I was three years ago. I’ve taught myself to take more ownership of how I spend my time. I’ve taught myself to be more intentional about it. I’ve learned to quit waiting for “someday” and instead put it on the calendar now. I’ve developed a better sense of when I’m in a rut and not taking enough care of my own happiness so I can do something about it. 

I responded to Chuck, “I know what you mean, but I think we can start having more fun now, in small ways, even though we’re limited. I want us to have more date nights that don’t revolve around fixing up a house or watching videos on the couch.” 

So I started thinking. And researching. And coming up with ideas for things to do, just like I did when I started this blog. Luckily, I picked a guy whose answer most often is “sure” when I suggest we do something new. 

First up: A polo match double date, tailgating-style. 
Next: A spontaneous game night played while listening to the Hamilton Mixtape.
And planned: A drive-in movie. An art class. Going to see an underground waterfall. 

COVID absolutely has thrown a wrench in all our plans. I’m not discounting that. It’s inconvenient. Scary. Anxiety-inducing. Uncomfortable. Annoying. Maddening. It’s exposing weaknesses and disproportionately affecting people who are least equipped to battle it. 

But I refuse to let this year go down in my record book as one I don’t want to remember. I refuse to let this year be only remembered for this one thing. 

I’m taking it as a personal challenge to be more creative. 

This is the time to be intrepid, my friend. 

Let’s help each other out: what are you doing right now to consciously have more fun in your life?

The voice in the back of my mind has been poking me each evening. She’s been nudging me on weekend afternoons. She’s been guilting me about picking up a book to read when I finally sit down to relax at the end of the day instead of opening a laptop to write.

That voice is annoying. And she doesn’t like to back down.

Several years ago, at a previous job, we got the chance to take and dive deep into a personality assessment called “StrengthsFinder”. When I tell you that “learner” was one of my top five strengths, you’ll understand why I loved this process.

The StrengthsFinder focus is on ranking 34 personality traits to tell you what your top five talents are, then you can use the knowledge to turn those five talents into true strengths.

In order, mine are:

1. Input

2. Learner

3. Discipline

4. Harmony

5. Responsibility

What this essentially means is I’m an organized and focused super nerd who wants to find consensus and holds herself to a high standard of personal responsibility.

Spot. On.

But today, I’m telling the badgering voice in the back of my mind to give it a rest. By letting myself off the hook—giving myself permission to stop something I had started—I’m being intrepid and going easy on myself.

The idea came to me as I was talking to a friend today about my trip to South Africa. In chatting with her about how I’d been feeling guilty about not posting more photos on my Instagram profile or finishing writing about it here, I realized that holding my photos and my stories close—purely for my own enjoyment—is okay.

I don’t have to post about everything I did. I don’t have to share every photo. I don’t have to tell every story.

I’m giving myself permission to stop, to let it go, and just move on to the next thing that inspires me.

And you know what? As soon as I decided that, I felt inspired to pull out my laptop and write for the first time in two weeks.

My disciplined nature and often over-active sense of psychological responsibility have several times before caused me to reach a state of burnout. I’ll push myself to keep plowing ahead, and something that started out as fun becomes a chore. It’s no one’s fault—or responsibility—but my own.

“Should” is a dirty word that’s been given way too much sway over my life.

Writing is a fun, cathartic activity for me. And while I have big dreams of what I want to do with it, my livelihood doesn’t depend on it. I’m not compelled to write anything I don’t want to.

I want it to remain fun.

So, I’m going to leave you hanging, at least for a while. I’m going to savor my South Africa photos and stories privately.

And when I do come back here and write about an adventure, you’ll know it’s because I felt the spark of inspiration in my fingertips, and I really enjoyed writing about it.

The house was more “rustic” than I’d anticipated, the neighborhood a shade on the sketchy side, and the thought of being there for five weeks—when that month was supposed to be my warmth-and-sun relaxing getaway—overwhelmed me with disappointment.

I didn’t let myself cry for more than a few minutes. And by the end of the month, my rustic little house was charmingly vintage, I’d grown to love St. Augustine, and my plan for a year of Intrepid Introvert challenges had formed.

Two Februarys in Florida taught me how important it is for my spirit that I get away during the dreariest of months. I planned to continue my streak for a third year in 2018, but when I got an invitation to join friends in New Zealand for two weeks instead, I chose to say “yes.”

It was the bolder move. The more intrepid one.

And it raised the bar on my understanding and perspective about what I was capable of doing with my time.

I passively considered options for a 2019 destination all last year, taking in ideas as they came to me, but nothing lit the spark of excitement. I considered Florida but quickly dismissed it. I looked at national parks in warm-and-sunny locations, but none hit the right note.

My main challenge was the lack of a travel partner. I’d lucked out with my friends going to New Zealand in 2018, but I couldn’t plan on tagging along with them again. I’d love to do a trip with my brother, but convincing him to take time off work for something other than hunting season was nearly impossible. An international trip intrigued me, but the idea of going completely alone wasn’t appealing.*

In November, I remembered a friend had mentioned a great experience he’d had traveling with a group tour company, so I started researching that route. The more I learned about the company he’d raved about—a young company, founded and led by a woman, and catering to my generation—the more intrigued I became.

After two phone calls in which I peppered For The Love Of Travel’s group coordinator with questions, I was in: two weeks venturing to South Africa with a group of young professionals ticked all the right boxes. And best of all, it not only lit my spark of excitement but nurtured it into a warm flame.

Three months later, I’d completed all my recommended vaccinations, had a pack of 14 antimalarial pills, and tucked my new binoculars into my luggage.

The Amanda of 2017 would never have believed that the Amanda of 2019 would board a 14.5-hour flight from JFK to Johannesburg, join a group of complete strangers, and trek into the South African bush to go on safari, sleep in a tented camp under a mosquito net, and find her biggest point of anxiety would be having a poor reaction to her antimalarial drugs.

But the Amanda of 2019 is the Intrepid Introvert whose struggle to keep from dissolving into tears on the way home came not from anxiety but from the sadness of having to leave her seven new equally intrepid friends.

It was one of the best trips and greatest adventures of my life. I’m culling 600 photos and editing two weeks of stories for you, my friends. Time to get to work.

*At the rate my travel plans are evolving, this feeling may change in the next two days. :)

I personally choose to use the time to set goals for myself. The time of year may be arbitrary, yes, but we do use a calendar, so why not use it? I like to look back over the year, take time to remember some of the things I did or experienced, and acknowledge the path I took to get to December 31.

Many accomplishments seem small in the moment. And sometimes, they happen in the midst of a busy time that causes us to move past them in haste (I’m looking at you, summer months).

For me, 2018 started with a bang when the opportunity to go to New Zealand for two weeks landed in my lap. While New Zealand itself was a comfortable and welcoming place, the journey was a turning point for me. It made me realize that “someday” is often just an indication of where I’ve ordered my priorities. It’s an indication of my willingness to challenge myself, not of the feasibility of the journey itself.

I tried to keep that in mind throughout the rest of the year, and as a result, I feel more positive and proud of myself at the close of 2018 and open of 2019 than I can ever remember feeling.

I’ve set some goals, and I fully expect some of them to become irrelevant, some to get deprioritized, and more to get added to the list. And that’s perfectly fine.

So far, my list includes nine key goals for the year:

• Physical

  • Get >7.5 hours of sleep at least 4 nights per week

  • Do a 5-second unsupported handstand

  • Do 5 unassisted pull-ups by my birthday

• Mental

  • Maintain 2018’s streak of social media-free Saturdays

• Intellectual

  • Complete a draft of my first book

  • Take a Spanish class

• Avocational

  • Complete at least one international trip

  • Visit five new Indiana State Parks

  • Visit one new National Park

Do you set goals? Resolutions? My hope for you is that you can look at 2019 as your own opportunity to choose the courageous option over the comfortable one. I’ll be ready to celebrate with you.

Happy New Year, my friends.

52 challenges. 52 chances to stray from my norm and shake up my life. To take a class after work instead of just tidying the house and relaxing with a book. To try activities that I’d been eyeing for years but didn’t make the time to register. To go to festivals and fairs and events that look like fun, even if it meant going by myself. To make new friends and reconnect with old ones through shared experiences and engaging conversations.

Getting to the point of inspiration for this challenge wasn't a speedy process.

In early 2017, I realized I was in a rut, and each day looked much the same. My routine was so well entrenched that I allowed the comfort of it—and my introverted inclinations—to take the lead. I passed on invitations. I skipped fun company events. I said no to opportunities where I'd need to go solo and wouldn't already know someone there. I said, “That would be fun to do sometime,” then “sometime” never placed itself on my calendar. And I was single and hadn't been on a date in three years.

It's no coincidence that it was during a month-long escape from that routine that the inspiration and plan for an intrepid year came together. For the second year in a row, I had taken advantage of my job's flexibility to rent a place in Florida for the month of February, to work remotely, and to get a break from the mid-winter doldrums in the Midwest.

While away, I explored new areas of town on a daily basis. I scheduled road trips every weekend. I took maximum advantage of all the resources around me, putting myself in an open and adventurous state of mind.

Why not do the same at home?

A new mindset was born.

I created the challenge, then upped the ante by adding public accountability: I'd blog about my experiences and call it the Intrepid Introvert. I even developed a scoring methodology: the bigger the personal challenge, the more points I'd get.

I set out with a list of ideas but left the schedule open to flexibility. I allowed myself the chance to say “yes” to spontaneous opportunities.

In the course of my intrepid year, I:

• Volunteered at an Easter Egg Hunt for children with special needs

• Took a road trip with a coworker to Mammoth Cave National Park

• Walked as an ally in the Indianapolis Pride Parade

• Said “yes” to a volunteer trip to Nicaragua that made me nervous and I'd been saying “no” to for years

• Lifted strangers into the air while trying acroyoga at the Steamboat Movement Fest in Colorado

• Survived a thrilling and terrifying downhill mountain-biking clinic (and sprained my neck in an over-the-handlebars wipeout)

• Represented my company in the Indianapolis Corporate Challenge as the sole woman on a team of five cyclists

• Attended a writing workshop hosted by the Indiana Writers Center

• Created a profile on Bumble and went on 18 dates with 14 guys in 9 months

• Willingly had 45 needles inserted in my skin while trying acupuncture

• Said “yes” to an invitation to visit New Zealand just five weeks later

• Bought a house

An intrepid outlook

Early in my intrepid year, I encountered this advice from Brené Brown: “You can choose courage or you can choose comfort. You cannot have both.” I wrote it down and stuck it to my refrigerator. I painted a coffee mug and inscribed this quote on it. I've made it my personal mantra. Choosing the courageous option, one week at a time, has transformed how I view myself and my life.

A year later, I say “yes” more often than “no, thanks”. I indulge my curiosity more freely. I routinely have at least two weeknights with activities out of the house, like dance class or a small-group gathering from church. “It's such a long flight” or “the time change is too big” or “I can't drink the water” are no longer valid excuses for not traveling to places I want to see in the world.

And “sometime” has become “now” as I take responsibility for my own happiness.

I wrote this at the end of a road trip that I took solo (with my beloved furry copilot) from Indianapolis to western Colorado by way of Badlands National Park and Mt. Rushmore. I have family in Colorado and visit regularly, but I've always flown. I wanted to see, at least once, the states in between. Why not now?

I chose courage.

For nine years, I rented a small house from my parents. As responsible and flexible landlords, they gave me pretty free rein to make the house my own. They long encouraged me to buy the house from them, citing the tax and financial benefits I’d gain long-term as a homeowner.

I resisted. The [silly high] expectations I had for myself made me want to buy a home that I chose for myself, not one that was conveniently available through family circumstances.

I wanted to make my own decision when I bought my first home, not just take my parents’ recommendation (even though I knew it was sensible).

And I liked renting. I liked the sense of freedom it gave me: the freedom to think that if a work opportunity popped up to relocate to somewhere adventurous next month, my home wouldn’t hold me back from seizing that opportunity. With no significant other and no kids aside from a four-legged, furry BFF who will happily go anywhere I want to go, I liked feeling that if I wanted to, I could change my direction in the spur of the moment.

Nine years later, I was still renting. I’ve entertained ideas and opportunities to move to other places, but nothing appealed to me enough to take that leap.

Then, this past spring, my tax return gave me a final kick from behind: some tax deductions really wouldn’t be a bad idea for next year.

I started thinking more seriously about buying a home. I hopped on Zillow and did a wide search of the areas in and around Indianapolis where I’d want to be. I looked at homes that were moderately appealing, but the ones I liked best were too big and twice as expensive as I wanted.

And I didn’t honestly want to move. I know my neighbors and their dogs, and they know me and mine by name. I feel safe. It’s quiet. It’s friendly. It’s in a great, convenient location. I have space, land on all four sides, with a fenced backyard for four-legged residents and visitors. I like the fact that with sub-1,000 square feet, I can vacuum the whole house in 15 minutes.

So, why not just buy this house already?

Enough delay. I bit the bullet and committed.

It should be the easiest house I ever buy: no realtors needed. I knew the house better than anyone. Negotiating the purchase agreement was a straightforward process hashed out at my mom’s kitchen table just between the two of us. And on closing day, there were four people in the room, total: Mom, me, the closing agent, and my mortgage broker.

Two days after my birthday, I was a homeowner!

I realized in the days afterward that the scenario was particularly special in one respect: I, a single woman, bought her first house from a woman, who inherited it from her mother, and the closing agent who made everything official was a woman, as well.

Just think about that: even twenty or thirty years ago, that scene would have been unusual or even difficult to arrange.

At just one point in the signing process did my feathers get a little ruffled at a vestige of decades past: on one of the legal forms (I honestly don’t remember which one), next to my name, in all-capital letters, had to be printed “SINGLE WOMAN.”

Why? Why does that have any significance whatsoever? If someone has proven they’re in good financial standing and can reasonably afford the property they’re buying; they’re an honest taxpayer; and all their citizen ducks are in a row, why is their gender or marital status worth mentioning?

[If you are or were a single man when you bought a house, I’d love to know if the same designation has to be noted for you, too. Is this an equal-opportunity labeling, or is it seen as unnecessary—still—to note “SINGLE MAN” on your paperwork? I’ve googled this and am coming up empty-handed amid a deluge of articles focusing on the statistics of single people owning homes and how to do it.]

I’m most grateful for the fact that throughout the process, at no point did I have any doubts or hesitation about whether I was making the right decision. As much as I felt for years that I wanted to choose a home for myself, I finally realized that I did. I accepted that though I may not live in a hip, up-and-coming neighborhood like so many of my peers, the neighborhood where I do live is pretty great.

And you know what? Even if I only stay for, say 18 months, before the opportunity to relocate to New Zealand lands in my lap, it will have been a great 18 months. Who knows what will be next?

Score:

• Did something outside my routine: +1

• Did something entirely new: +1

Mutt Strut is an annual fundraiser benefiting Indianapolis’ humane society, Indy Humane. For a reasonable entry fee/donation, I got to take Mylee with me to the Indianapolis Motor Speedway to walk around the famed oval.

I expected it to be fun. I didn’t expect to see thousands of dogs and families there. It far surpassed my expectations.

We parked, I double-checked that I had plenty of disposal baggies on hand (Mylee has a habit of finding a spot for a bathroom break that has the biggest audience), and we made our way to check in. Dozens of pet-centric vendors were offering their wares and services around the plaza, from gourmet treats to canine massage. When we got out to the middle of the plaza, I took several minutes just to stand and take in a 360° view of the activity. Mylee did essentially the same.

Indy Humane's annual Mutt Strut at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. So many dogs ready to walk!

I was most pleasantly surprised that for all the excited dogs in the vicinity, I only heard one brief spat erupt between two, and it was minor and under control within a couple seconds.

We aimed to meet up with a group of coworkers—a registered “pack”—but couldn’t find them in the chaos. I finally gave up searching and went to the start/finish line to begin our walk. I coincidentally spotted a woman wearing a sweatshirt with our company logo on it, so I introduced myself and Mylee, and we enjoyed our stroll with her, her husband, and their puggle, Otis. Otis and Mylee were instant, chill friends who were content to trot happily along at an unhurried pace while observing all the activity around them. We couldn’t have found a better human-dog pair to make friends with.

Walking around the famed Indianapolis Motor Speedway with thousands of four-legged friends.

The course was 2.5 miles and took us on a combination of the oval and road course. At regular intervals, veterinarian medical support was stationed specifically to check and soothe sore paws. This year’s event was on a chilly morning, but past years have also been unseasonably hot, and many pups’ paws aren’t accustomed to walking a long distance on a hot asphalt track.

By the time we finished our walk and made it back to the car, we’d logged four miles of walking without realizing it. Our usual walks add up to about 1.5 miles per day, so Mylee was one tired—but happy—pooch.

We had a great time and will be looking forward to inviting some of our two- and four-legged friends to join us again next year.

Score:

• Did something outside my routine: +1
• Left the house: +1
• Did something entirely new: +1
• Activity benefits my health/wellbeing: +1
• Burned real calories (so I got some exercise): +1
• Signed up for an activity without knowing anyone else involved: +2
• Had a conversation with a stranger of at least 30 seconds: +2
• Had a conversation with a stranger beyond basics (i.e., work, hometown, what’s your dog’s name): +2
• Learned someone’s name: +3
• Copilot Mylee came along: +5

My clogging team dissolved when I went to college, but I used that opportunity to try something I'd wanted to for years: ballroom dance. It was offered as a phys-ed course that would satisfy that required credit, so I signed up in my very first semester of freshman year. I loved it, found a partner, and continued dancing ballroom throughout my college experience.

I competed in ballroom for a couple years (enjoyed the dancing, didn’t enjoy the competition), then tried my hands (er, feet) at salsa, swing, and Lindy Hop in later years. In the last six or seven years, other activities (and life) have taken priority, and I’ve missed having regular reasons to get out and groove.

One thing that's held me back from dancing more: the lack of a partner. I want to try a number of different styles of partner dancing, but showing up solo can be awkward.

When I discovered a local group teaching Rueda de Casino—a casual, street-style salsa danced in Cuba—I was intrigued. In this style, the dancers switch to a new partner every 10 seconds or so when the caller calls out your next move seven or eight beats ahead of time. 

If you come expecting to dance with your own partner, you may actually be disappointed. Solo dancers are encouraged, and what's more, the leader and follower roles are not gender-specific: women can be a leader, men can be a follower. In this style that's most often danced in neighborhood gatherings, all that matters is that you have enough people to dance.

The local group in Indy makes the beginner experience as welcoming as possible: the class is eight weeks long, but the first two weeks are just $5 each, and you don't pay for the remainder—just $40 for the final six weeks—until week three.

I felt a little rusty after several years of not dancing, but I regained confidence quickly and could hardly get the smile off my face.

One aspect I appreciated was the diverse nature of my classmates: some had never danced in their life, while others, like me, were experienced but trying a new style. We were nearly even in distribution between men and women, and ages ranged from early twenties to retirement. And a wide spectrum of ethnicities, backgrounds, and accents mixed together as we danced.

I'm excited to find a style I want to keep doing on a regular basis.

 

Score:

• Did something outside my routine: +1
• Left the house: +1
• Did something entirely new: +1
• Activity benefits my health/wellbeing: +1
• Burned real calories (so I got some exercise): +1
• Signed up for an activity without knowing anyone else involved: +2
• Had a conversation with a stranger of at least 30 seconds: +2
• Had a conversation with a stranger beyond basics (i.e., work, hometown, what’s your dog’s name): +2
• Learned someone’s name: +3

As I drove closer on that dark and cold morning, I pictured the scene in my head: I'd walk into a room with perhaps a dozen or so fellow citizens, and the organizers would greet me warmly because they would be so glad to see a new attendee.

You can imagine my (pleased!) shock when I approached the venue and saw a parking lot overflowing with 200 or more cars. At first I wondered if another event could be taking place concurrently (at 7:00 a.m. on a Monday), but I just hadn't given my neighbors enough credit.

I was a few minutes late, so I quietly entered the full room (didn’t expect it to start on time or be as formal as it was), skirted along the wall to check out the food (pretty terrible), and found a seat at a table near the back. While I listened to one of the representatives speak, I looked around the room to assess the makeup of my fellow attendees: perhaps 70% were men, 80% over the age of 65, and very few people like myself under 40. As a county with a strong agriculture-based economy, many of the citizens in attendance were farmers in seed-brand caps, plaid shirts, and denim overalls.

Each legislator took 5 to 10 minutes to give a recap of their latest accomplishments during the session and what they would be focusing on in the next. When each had spoken, the floor was opened for questions from the audience.

I felt uncomfortable very quickly. Confrontational town halls are commonplace on TV, but this was my first experience seeing how accurate those representations can be. Rather than use the opportunity to engage a legislator in dialog and ask questions, people used this chance to vent their frustrations. Topics of interest ran the gamut from medical care (with questions around opioids as the leading story) to school curriculum.

• “I had surgery and was only given Tylenol for my pain, but it didn’t work. This is ridiculous.”
• “Businesses in the area are having a hard time finding skilled workers. How are you going to help?”
• “Why can’t you make progress on redistricting? Pew Research says 42% of IN voters identify as Republican, but more than double our reps are Republican. What do you plan to do about it?”
• “The school curriculum is idiotic. Why is my daughter being made to learn how to spell ‘cognoscenti’? When has anyone in their life ever needed to know how to spell ‘cognoscenti’?”

One older man, a disabled veteran, held the floor from the back of the room for several minutes and released a colorful diatribe about his frustrations with the VA and his inability to “get in touch with any of the idiots in this bureaucracy.” He was upset enough that I found myself watching the two officers from the Sheriff’s Department in the room for their reactions (calm but alert).

I realized that this was the first time I'd been in a situation in which I was worried about angry, upset people having guns on them in the room. There'd been no security at the door to enter. No metal detectors, no bag checks. Nothing to prevent someone with a license to carry a concealed firearm from bringing it and their aggravation into the gathering.

I was nervous. I started thinking about what I would do if it became an active-shooter situation.

Thankfully everyone stuck to venting their frustrations verbally, and the moderator and legislators handled the confrontations with grace and professionalism. The event ended calmly, and they welcomed everyone back for the next Legislative Breakfast when they resume late in the year.

I was glad I made the effort to go; I found it interesting and insightful, and I appreciated the opportunity to speak directly with my representatives.

It's unfortunate that today's social climate makes me think twice about going again, though. I'm not going to be enthusiastic about going into another situation—an important situation—where I don't feel safe, and that's a shame. I may stick to contacting my representatives privately or in different forums in the future because of the experience.
 

Score:

• Did something outside my routine: +1
• Left the house: +1
• Did something entirely new: +1
• Signed up for an activity without knowing anyone else involved: +2

Fountain Square Clay Center made it easy for me. Owner Chris DePrez regularly offers two-hour, one-night classes for people exactly like myself: those not ready to commit to a long-term relationship (eight weeks or more) but curious to see what all the fuss is about.

Finding the studio was easy, confidently walking in the door was not. It's the kind of nondescript, almost-abandoned building that makes you sure you have the right address but unsure whether you're in the right place. A simple sign on the door proclaimed “POTTERY”, but after entering the front door, I found myself in an unmarked, empty, forgotten old industrial garage. I was faced with two closed doors, neither of which was marked clearly, so I took my chances with Door #1.

Bingo.

A big, cavernous, industrial room held a seemingly haphazard collection of tables and shelves. The only light emanated from behind a wall of shelves filled with in-progress pottery pieces. I was about to call out “Hello?” when a bearded man in a hoodie and jeans appeared and confirmed I was in the right place. He directed me to hang my jacket on a rack to the left, then make my way to the back of the room.

I wound my way through the shelves and discovered the workspace. A collection of ten or twelve low pottery wheels were gathered together in two inward-facing lines in front of a chalkboard, with another wheel at the head. I hung my purse on a nearby hook, selected a clay-spattered apron (which conveniently featured a pleat in the middle for protection even while sitting), and chose the closest wheel. Other students trickled in, mostly in twos, ranging in age from late-20s to retired.

Bearded man introduced himself as the owner, Chris, directed us in how to collect the bowl of water we would need, and invited us to grab our first of three one-pound balls of clay from an open bag.

I smiled as I noticed how each of us unconsciously began playing with our clay like kids. The sensation of having a pliable, new substance in your hands invites your brain to explore it. Chris obviously knew this would happen, because before we got to put our hands on clay ourselves, he instructed us to pound the clay, not fold it onto itself (like I might with dough), because it would incorporate unwanted air that would cause issues.

Our pottery wheels were blessedly motorized: use a foot pedal to find the speed you want, release your foot, and the wheel would spin indefinitely at that speed. Bricks were available on the floor on either side of each wheel for those of us with shorter legs (basically anyone under 5'10”, I would guess) to use to elevate our feet to a more optimal height so we could brace our elbows against our knees for stability while we worked.

Shaping the clay took more muscle than I expected; centering it on the wheel, especially, doesn't work with a gentle touch because you're fighting a dense material moving with motorized centrifugal force. In fact, getting it properly centered is one of the hardest tasks to master and is also key to a symmetrical and stable finished piece. I can understand how this basic, foundational technique would become easier and better with more practice.

Once the clay was centered, the truly fun part could begin: pulling it into a bowl or cup shape. The first piece took perhaps an hour to complete with all the pausing for instruction, and we were on our own to complete the second two in the last hour before it was time to start cleaning up.

I was particularly interested to see how—without any conscious thought or intention—my three pieces turned out remarkably different from one another. One rounder, one taller, one more plate-like. In two of my three, I created a hole in the bottom, creating a drainage hole for my intended planters.

We had the option at the end of class to keep as many of our pieces as we wanted for $5 each (to cover the labor and cost of glazing them). We had no choice in color or style or glaze; each would be dipped in a standard, all-over teal-blue glaze.

I knew going into the class that I wanted all three of my pieces to keep, no matter what they looked like. Even if they were lopsided or wonky, these were my own first pottery creations, and their quirky features would make fun planters and memories. The teal-blue glaze happened to work perfectly for my home color scheme.

The class was fun, and I was thrilled with my three little one-pound planters. Did it make me want to go out and sign up for an eight-week course? No, it wasn't love at first class. But if a friend wanted to give it a try and didn't want to go it alone, I would happily don the apron again.
 

Score:

• Did something outside my routine: +1
• Left the house: +1
• Did something entirely new: +1
• Signed up for an activity without knowing anyone else involved: +2
• Learned someone’s name: +3

A tea-focused café that offers classes. Heaven!

I signed up for the first class available: The Art & Science of Blending Your Own Tea, a two-hour education and hands-on experience.

When I walked in the classroom, each chair had a scale and selection of supplies in front of it, and on the table were more than a dozen glass jars filled with labeled spices, flowers, and herbs.

The café’s founder, Alex, spent the first hour sharing her extensive knowledge of tea while I scribbled notes furiously on little scraps of paper and cursed myself for forgetting a notebook. While she talked, we tasted a number of “base” teas that can be enjoyed on their own or with added spices and herbs for additional flavor. We started with a Chun Mee green tea, next an orange pekoe black tea, followed by a green rooibos, and finally a lavender orange herbal tea. I was familiar with all of these but enjoyed getting a brief education about them while I mindfully sipped.

The second half of our class was spent creating two of our own custom blends. Alex recommended some ratios to keep in mind when starting to experiment with making your own blends: To finish with 2.0 oz of blended tea, start with 1.2-1.5 ounces of your base tea if you’re going to add just two or three flavor ingredients, or 0.7-1.2 ounces of your base tea if you’re going to add more than three flavor ingredients on top.

The “safe” weight of individual ingredients—to avoid overpowering your tea—is 0.2-0.3 ounces per flavor with some exceptions: go lighter on stronger flavors of hibiscus and stevia (0.1 oz each), and heavier on all spice, cinnamon, cardamom, carob, and ginger (0.4-0.6 oz each).

For our first, we made a caffeine-free rooibos or herbal tea. I chose to attempt a green-rooibos chai blend that wasn’t too spicy or peppery. For 2.0 oz of finished tea, I started with 0.7 oz of green rooibos base tea and added 0.3 oz cinnamon, 0.3 oz cardamom, 0.3 oz ginger, 0.2 oz all spice, 0.1 oz peppercorns, and 0.1 oz cloves. I named it “Gentle Chai” and was pretty pleased with the result.

For our second blend, we had a choice of any base tea to start; I selected a black tea, my favorite. To create a chocolaty flavor, I started with 1.0 oz of black tea and added 0.4 oz of carob chips, 0.4 oz of cardamom, and 0.2 oz of licorice root (which doesn’t taste like licorice, ironically). This one I named “Saturday Morning”, and I liked it, too.

Neither of my personal blends bowled me over and made me want to invest in all of the ingredients to make big repeat batches. The fact that I left with two entirely personal blends of drinkable tea made the experience special, though.

I feel like I’ve nearly exhausted all possible tea-related activities I could possibly try, but believe me, I’ll be on the lookout for more opportunities.
 

Score:

• Did something outside my routine: +1
• Left the house: +1
• Did something entirely new: +1
• Activity benefits my health/wellbeing: +1
• Signed up for an activity without knowing anyone else involved: +2
• Had a conversation with a stranger of at least 30 seconds: +2
• Had a conversation with a stranger beyond basics (i.e., work, hometown, what’s your dog’s name): +2
• Learned someone’s name: +3

Days 9-12: Slowing Down in Nelson

After a week of jumping from one scenic and interesting town to another on New Zealand’s North Island—continually feeling like, “Wait! I want more time here!”—I was especially excited to have just one Airbnb rental on the South Island for the next six nights.

We made Nelson our home base. This coastal town on the Tasman Bay is known for having an inordinate number of both art galleries and sunny days, perfect for relaxing and exploring. I used an exploration technique I developed in St. Augustine, FL last year, when I was there for a month: don’t try to see too much of the town at once; instead, tackle just a few blocks at a time, knowing you’ll be able to go back the next day to see more.

One shop that gets a lot of attention is Jens Hansen: he’s the jeweler who designed the ring for the Lord of the Rings films. The ring was actually a handful of gold rings of different sizes: some engraved with the Elvish language, some not, some of wearable size, and another the size of a small dinner plate and three times as heavy. If you’re so inclined, you can get one for yourself and even have your own phrase engraved in Elvish. The LOTR affiliation doesn’t hold special significance for me, but I did find myself drawn immediately to a unique silver ring in a case near the entrance. It made a special souvenir for me to take home.

I particularly loved the Nelson Market we visited on our final weekend: a weekly farmer’s market on steroids, you could buy everything from produce and honey, to arts and handmade crafts, or just pig out on a wide variety of sweet and savory foods. I came away with a jar of local honey, a special pillow sham, and a sampling of treats. My worldly travel partners also introduced me to biltong, a dried, cured meat originating in Africa and similar to beef jerky. We sampled several delicious flavors and purchased a few to have on hand for our next day’s adventures.

Day 11: The Great Taste Trail

I enjoy cycling and do it more and more, but I’m a leisurely, casual rider compared to my friend, Schuyler: he regularly takes his bike when he travels internationally. It’s a great idea if you’re willing to haul that extra luggage, because I’ve found from experience that I take in more of my surroundings when I tour a new area on two wheels. The slower speed is a starting point, but escaping from the confines of an automobile’s walls makes the sensory experience exponentially better. And if you enjoy cycling, you know a rental bike will never be as nice as your own.

On a sunny and warm Friday afternoon, we found a bike rental shop for me, and Sky and I set out for a ride on the Great Taste Trail that links Nelson with several other towns and parks in the Tasman region. Along the trail, you can stop at wineries, berry farms, cheese shops, breweries, and restaurants. It’s a perfect combination: eat and drink your fill of the local cuisine, then hop on your bike and burn off some of those calories as you make your way to your next stop. We had time for just two winery visits during our ride (about 40km or so round trip), but we went back to a berry farm the next day with Sarah Lynn and our (unimpressed) little traveler to get a serving of fresh-fruit ice cream.

Day 13: Abel Tasman National Park, a Perfect Finale

On my last full day of [non-travel] adventure, we packed lunches, our biltong from the market, and gobs of sunblock and headed to Abel Tasman National Park. The smallest of New Zealand’s 13 national parks, this one is known for its golden-sand beaches, rocky outcroppings, and Coast Track, a hiking (or “tramping” as the Kiwis call it) trail that runs from north to south along the coast of the park. Hiking is one of my favorite outdoor activities, so I was waiting for this day with great anticipation. (Saving it for the final day made me a little anxious that we might miss it, but we made it!)

This park remains a preserved oasis of forest, which I’ll credit in part to one particular feature: you can’t drive through it. The only ways to access the park are on foot or by boat. You can choose to hike and camp from one end to the other (plan about 4-5 days), or you can take a water taxi to one of seven beach drop-offs and make a day trip of it.

With our three-month-old traveler in tow, we chose this latter option. After seeing the full coastline from south to north from the water, we hopped off at one stop, hiked two hours south, and caught a final water taxi ride back to our starting place.

Trying to describe the beauty of this place is difficult and unnecessary when I have dozens of photos to choose from.

Day 14: Saying Goodbye (For Now)

On my final full day, Schuyler and Sarah Lynn dropped me off at the ferry in Picton, and I made my way back to Wellington for my trip home. Leaving was hard for a number of reasons. My first two-week vacation was everything I could have asked and hoped for: a vacation from work, winter, responsibility, politics, news, and social media. I got to spend fourteen days with two (now three) dear friends in a beautiful, friendly, refreshing, faraway place I’d only dreamed of visiting.

The trek to get there and home was long and tiring, but I’m ready to go back. I fully intend for this not to be a once-in-a-lifetime trip. It’s just the first of many.

Days 5-6: The Wairarapa and Rivendell

A Classic Pub Hotel, French Bakery, and Savory Chocolates in Greytown

My fifth day in New Zealand put us on the road again as we drove from the Hawke’s Bay coastal region into the Wairarapa.

Winding, scenic, sometimes gravel roads led us slowly to the North Island’s southeastern coast, then finally to Greytown for a single night’s stay. After a magical night back in the 1920s in Napier, the Greytown Hotel, on the other hand, made me feel like I was in a quintessential small-town English hotel. A bustling pub occupied the first floor, then a handful of rooms (10 at the most) were available for guests upstairs with shared bathroom facilities. The rooms were small but tidy, and to my delight, each had an electric kettle and proper tea fixings.

Before leaving town the following morning, we made sure to make two intentional stops: first, breakfast at the French Baker, where we savored freshly baked pastries and housemade muesli while sitting at a picnic table and watching the town wake up.

Second, we stepped into Schoc Chocolates, a chocolatier that has pieces of each of its unique chocolate bars ready for you to taste before you buy. The founder of this shop sees chocolate as a savory food, not a sweet, so they offer a wild range of unique flavors, like apricot and rosemary, earl grey tea, cardamom, and lemon white. I got a bar of each to take home after sampling at least a dozen options.

A Visit to Rivendell

If you’re a fan of Lord of the Rings, the name “Rivendell” will immediately bring a lush forest scene and home of elves to mind. Prior to going on this trip, I’d seen the first two movies of the trilogy when they were first released in the early 2000s, and I knew the films were shot in New Zealand, but that’s where my trivial knowledge and excitement ended. “Rivendell” had long since dropped out of my brain.

Many, many other people around the world feel much more strongly about it than I do.

Between Greytown and Wellington, we stopped at the Kaitoke Regional Park. It claims international fame as the site where Rivendell scenes were filmed, but I was more enthralled with the natural beauty of the rainforest.

We crossed a long and high swinging bridge over a river and were immediately immersed in a forest in which five shades of green grew on top of fifteen other varying shades of green. As far, high, and low as you could see, leaves of every shape and size reached toward the light from each available space and crevice. Birds called from above, rain gently trickled down onto our heads, and I could occasionally hear a scuffle of something small and four-legged on the ground around us.

The Rivendell site was easily accessible, and aside from some guideposts and a model archway, it looked like just an average clearing in this otherwise beautiful park. Ahead of us, a more excited group of visitors was dressed in cloaks and carrying bows, ready to recreate iconic scenes and photos from the movies.

We didn’t get nearly enough time in this park. I’d love to go back and spend a whole day exploring it.

Days 6-7: Wellington

I’ve been told that people sometimes say Wellington reminds them of San Francisco. They’re both culturally rich and progressive cities, and they visually complement each other, with steep hillsides layered in homes on the coast.

I can see where they’re coming from, but I think the two differ in a not-insignificant way: breathing room.

I noticed that while walking around Wellington, space between homes was still filled with greenery: trees, bushes, ivy, grass. Good luck finding that in San Francisco, where most of the literal green space can only be found in designated parks or by getting out of the city.

Wellington had a more laid-back, friendly, and present vibe, too: even in the heart of town at rush hour, with hundreds of people making their way home from work, I actually saw people walking without the earbuds that cut them off from the world.

We spent a large portion of our first afternoon at Te Papa, the Museum of New Zealand. With exhibitions ranging from a natural-science exploration of the earthquakes and volcanoes that continue to shape New Zealand, to extensive documentation of the native Māori history and culture, and even an immersive special feature around New Zealand’s participation in Gallipoli during WWI, it’s nearly impossible to see and appreciate everything at this museum in a single day.

The following day, Schuyler and I walked through the Wellington Botanic Garden. I love botanic gardens and if a city has one, I try to visit. Wellington’s didn’t disappoint. My favorite area within the park was the succulent garden, which was filled with at least a hundred varieties of unique and striking plants. I’m afraid I may have stretched Sky’s patience with my desire to photograph as many as possible, but he was a good sport and hung in there with me without hint of complaint.

Mother Nature Shows Her Fiesty Side

Back at our flat in the Mt. Victoria neighborhood—where streets were named “terraces”, an appropriate description for the dead-end roads that laddered up the steep mountain—we started to pay closer attention to the weather forecast for the following day for two main reasons:

1. We had tickets to cross the Cook Strait via ferry from Wellington to Picton on the South Island. Even on a clear day, this Strait is notorious for delivering a white-knuckled ride (and it’s a 3.5-hour ride).
2. Ex-Cyclone Gita was barreling toward New Zealand. (That’s the South-Pacific name for what we in the States know better as a tropical storm.) Prior to heading straight for our coordinates, Gita wreaked havoc on Tonga as a Category 4 storm, where winds of 171 mph destroyed the Parliament house. Even as a weaker storm, the NZ Met Service warned that areas where we’d be traveling could see wind gusts of 115 mph.

Sounds like a great time to board a ferry, doesn’t it?

The fated day dawned rainy and gray but otherwise unexceptional. I’d later realize that this was the one day on the entire two-week trip that I had any sense of unrest or anxiety. I considered that to be remarkable, particularly following the adventures I had on my last international trip in Nicaragua.

Thankfully, I can sum up this part of the story by telling you that the ferry crossing was smooth and uneventful, the drive from Picton to Nelson wet but not treacherous. We all sighed with relief after we stocked up at the grocery store and hunkered down to relax and wait for the rain to pass.

Experiencing a (low-grade) hurricane may be on my bucket list, but I’m grateful that event didn’t get checked off while traveling halfway across the world with a 12-week-old baby.

Onward!

Very far. 8,200 miles, to be exact.

Before January of this year, I let that distance keep me from seriously considering making a trip there myself. Even though I’ve known friends who’ve gone and enjoyed it, it still just seemed like such a monumental effort to make the voyage. I told myself, “Some day I’ll do it.”

Apparently what I needed was the right carrot dangled in front of me: an invitation to join two friends who have visited multiple times and could share their familiarity with me.

On February 13, I landed in Auckland, New Zealand, and my first-ever two-week vacation began.

Days 1-2: Zealong Tea Estate and a Quiet Farmstay

Tea for Three… and a Half

My plane arrived in Auckland at about 9:00 a.m., and I’d lost a full day on the calendar to the long flight and +18-hour time change. After washing my face and brushing my teeth in the airport restroom—not my favorite location but infinitely better than the airplane lavatory for helping me feel fresh-faced—I gathered my bags, passed through Customs, and stepped out into a warm, humid, rainy summer day… in mid-February.

My friends Schuyler, Sarah Lynn, and their 12-week-old little boy were ready at the airport curb for me, then within a couple hours we made it to our first destination: the Zealong Tea Estate.

When we were first planning my portion of the trip, they asked what areas were on my list of places I wanted to see and visit. Having never considered a trip with any seriousness, I was at a complete loss to come up with anything specific except one: this tea estate. A colleague had stumbled upon it on her honeymoon a couple months before, posted a photo on Instagram, and I wanted to visit before I even knew I’d get to so soon.

I’m one of the rare American adults who don’t drink coffee (except in extenuating circumstances). Instead, I’m tea-obsessed. I continually have to edit my robust tea collection in my tiny pantry because it starts taking over more than its fair share of space.

Visiting coffee farms in Nicaragua last year was eye-opening. This year, setting foot on an organic tea estate in New Zealand turned me into the heart-eyed emoji.

We arrived at the Zealong estate just in time for lunch in their café, and after considering various combinations of menu options, the three of us each chose to enjoy the high tea. After ordering our teas (I chose the English Breakfast), our server lit a small burner beside the table and set a full kettle of hot water over it to be ready for our refills.

This little touch alone made me quite happy: I enjoy getting a small kettle of warm water for a second cup of tea, but at most restaurants, it almost always has cooled too much before I’m ready for it.

The high tea didn’t disappoint: we sampled our way through three tiers of food and got to taste at least half a dozen items from the menu we’d contemplated ordering on their own. I sat with my back to the window but couldn’t help turning around in my seat every few minutes to take in the view: acres of lush tea plants as far as the eye could see (more than 1.2 million of them), bordered by blooming roses and ornamental sculptures.

My one regret was that we didn’t get to take a tour (it rained steadily the whole time, and none of us were dressed for a soggy trek), but I had enough to look forward to on the rest of the trip that I just mentally noted a need to return sometime in the near future.

Somehow I managed to leave the retail shop with just two bags of chamomile tea to take home.

A Quiet Farmstay Near Rotorua

An hour or two later, we made our way along winding, narrow roads to our first home: a farmstay near the city of Rotorua. The driveway curved down a hill lined with hydrangea bushes full of blue blossoms to the lower level of a home on a farm of several acres.

Rotorua is best known for its odor and for good reason: it’s one of New Zealand’s most geothermally active areas, complete with geysers, hot springs steaming throughout town, and exploding mud pools. Consequently, the air smells of sulphur but doesn’t keep people away. (After many visits to Steamboat Springs, Colorado—another hot springs town—I note a sulfurous atmosphere but generally don’t pay it much mind.)

We explored a bit the following day but were again hampered by the persistent downpour, and though we tried to visit the Rotorua Museum, it was closed for construction to bring it up to earthquake safety standards. Luckily, our farmstay had a number of board games on hand and chickens to watch outside our window, so we had no shortage of perfect vacation entertainment.

Days 3-4: A Thermal Wonderland and Art Deco Haven

One Wrong Step and Mother Nature May Bite Back

My third day in New Zealand finally dawned bright and sunny. On our way out of the Rotorua area, we stopped at the Wai-o-Tapu Thermal Wonderland, one of the most concentrated areas of geothermal activity in this region. It didn’t disappoint: slathered in sunblock, we followed carefully marked pathways (one wrong step and you could find yourself with serious burns or worse) past boiling mud pits, hot springs, and vividly colored pools of water.

I find that visiting areas like this reminds me to appreciate the wonder of Mother Nature anew. I can easily become disenchanted with the environment in which I spend 90% of my days, so experiencing an otherworldly landscape serves to jolt me awake.

An Unexpected Trip Back to the 1920s

Several hours’ drive down highway 5, passing through the Lake Taupo resort area, we arrived at our next two-night stop: the east-coast towns of Napier and Hastings on Hawke’s Bay.

Napier is today known as the city with the greatest concentration of Art Deco architecture in the world. It gained that status through unfortunate means: a massive 7.8-magnitude earthquake hit Napier and Hastings in February 1931. Fires destroyed what the earthquake didn’t, leaving the town devastated. It remains New Zealand’s most tragic natural disaster.

The city rebuilt in the style of the time—Art Deco—and since it started essentially from scratch, it led to a uniformity unseen elsewhere. Today, Art Deco fans from around the world come specifically to visit the city for this reason, and we fortuitously found ourselves in the area during the annual Art Deco Festival.

A quick glance through some promotional materials informed us of live performances and historic tours throughout the weekend, but it only told part of the story. That Friday night, we ventured into Napier to see the activities and find a restaurant for dinner. Shops had already closed for the evening, streets were blocked to most traffic, and a vintage-airplane airshow was commencing overhead as the sun began to set.

We wandered the downtown area, taking in the architecture and stopping to scope out posted menus as we passed. Many festival-goers were dressed in period attire: women in flapper fringe, drop-waist dresses, feathered boas, and long strings of pearls; men in trousers with suspenders, spectator shoes, and even tuxedos.

At first we admired the costumes as they passed. Then, we realized that those of us in modern attire were outnumbered by 2:1 or more. And as dressed-to-the-nines people started piling out of vintage cars in front of Art Deco buildings while decades-old engines roared through the sky overhead, the magic really hit us: this wasn’t just a festival celebrating a town’s Art Deco history. It was a gathering of enthusiasts who got the chance to live their Great Gatsby fantasies for one great summer weekend.

I absolutely loved it. When I next visit New Zealand—and that’s something I will do for certain—I’ll consider timing a visit to Napier to coincide with this festival again.

And I wouldn’t show up without a costume of my own.

That evening became one of my favorite moments on a thoroughly wonderful trip.

 

Score:

• Did something outside my routine: +1
• Left the house: +1
• Ventured >50 miles from home: +10
• Left the country: +40
• Did something entirely new: +1
• Activity benefits my health/wellbeing: +1
• Burned real calories (so I got some exercise): +1
• Had a conversation with a stranger of at least 30 seconds: +2
• Had a conversation with a stranger beyond basics (i.e., work, hometown, what’s your dog’s name): +2
• Learned someone’s name: +3
• Intentionally stayed out past 9:30 p.m.: +5

I believe it’s a short month for very good reason: living well north of the Tropic of Cancer in Central Indiana, February is reliably cold, wet, icy, and gray, gray, gray. I find it miserable, and I’m a generally optimistic person.

For this reason, I’ve made it my mission the last two years to escape to warmer and sunnier climates in February for as long as possible. Spending the month working in Florida—a doable drive with Copilot Mylee in tow—has done wonders for my psyche. It was my time in St. Augustine last year, after all, that inspired me to start this intrepid year.

My plan this year was to make my third annual trip to Florida, spending it this time in Jacksonville. I knew it would be good for me, but as 2018 arrived, I was surprised to find myself feeling less than excited. I couldn’t figure out exactly why: was it the fact that I felt like I’d be missing out on some great activities at home? Did it feel too safe and uninspired compared to the previous 10 months of adventure? I still don’t know the answer, but my gut was telling me I wasn’t 100% on board.

Then, just after midnight on January 4, I got this text from my friend, Schuyler: “I’ve been thinking. Regardless how intrepid you want 2018 to be, you should find two weeks between mid-Jan and mid-March and connect with us in New Zealand.”

Hold. The. Phone.

Allow me to back up a bit.

I’ve been friends with Schuyler and his wife, Sarah Lynn, for about ten years. A work friendship with Sky gained me a new girlfriend in Sarah Lynn, and we’ve spent countless hours hanging out over picnics, symphony performances, Euchre games, glasses of wine, cookouts, and last fall a baby shower—their first. The two of them are world travelers who make at least one or two international trips a year, and they spent about a year together living in New Zealand after they finished school fifteen years ago.

I’ve seen (too) many people put their adventurous lives on hold when a baby enters the picture. I’ve not had one myself, so I can’t personally attest to the challenges that come with that bundle of often-screaming joy… but I find the hitting of this Life Pause button to be sad. Yes, traveling and adventure have to change and do become more challenging and incrementally more expensive. But does that mean you have to stop altogether? I think in many scenarios, the answer is no if you have the right attitude, a strong partnership, and a healthy dose of creativity.

When I learned that Sky and Sarah Lynn decided to take two months of their parental leave—escaping the misery of Indiana winter—and spend it with Baby in New Zealand, I smiled and knew that I should have expected nothing else.

And then they invited me to join them.

My first reaction was, “No, I can’t.”

Why? I already had my Florida plans, reserved six months in advance, and I expected the cost to be prohibitively expensive.

But the curious, adventurous part of my brain wouldn’t let it go. About 12 hours after receiving that text, I’d come around to the decision that I needed to say yes to this opportunity. Within five days, I’d sketched a plan with Sky and Sarah Lynn for places I needed to start researching and bought my plane tickets.

Five weeks later, I was ready to board a plane heading to the southern hemisphere to join my friends for my first-ever two-week vacation.

What I’d been lacking in excitement for my trip to Florida, I made up for in spades planning an adventure in New Zealand. And it didn’t disappoint.

Over the next few posts, I’ll share some of the highlights. We covered a lot of ground (literally), and we hit it running on Day 1. We started on the North Island, where I flew into Auckland, and trekked southward and finally over to the South Island. This map will give you a visual reference for the trip:

New Zealand: 2 Weeks, February 2018

One thing I feel is certain: if not for this intrepid, challenging year of pushing myself to step outside my comfort zone, I wouldn’t have truly considered canceling my Florida getaway with any seriousness. I’m usually someone who makes a plan and sticks to it, even if there’s a more fun option tempting me outside it.

The fact that I said yes to such an invitation—which did involve some tough decisions about priorities—and planned an international trip to the other side of the world in just over a month… who is this woman I see looking back at me in the mirror?

Whoever she is, I like her. A lot. And I can’t wait to see where else this takes us.

Airbnb Traveler Tip:

I’m an avid traveler with Airbnb, so allow me to share a big tip: when you book your rental, pay attention to both the host’s cancellation policy and Airbnb’s fine print. Your host may have a Flexible or Moderate cancellation policy (awesome when you can find them), but for any reservations over 28 nights, the policy automatically flips to Airbnb’s “Long Term” policy. In that term, the first month is non-refundable.

I understand the need for this—in most cases, we’re dealing with a person, not a corporation, who depends on the income—but I learned the hard way. I thankfully had booked my Florida stay with an accommodating and fair pair of hosts who was willing to negotiate with me.

I know now to be more cautious… and will consider booking stays of 27 nights or less.

Mom thought I was joking, messing around, being dramatic. “Come on, Amanda, get up. We have to do this.”

It wasn’t until I didn’t respond that she realized I’d truly passed out.

I recovered without incident, and several years passed before I had another episode. It wasn’t until I passed out in the front of a classroom in middle school (what a great place to make a scene, huh?) that I went to the doctor and got a diagnosis: vasovagal syncope. It’s a generally harmless condition in which my body hits its Reset button when it gets overstimulated by certain triggers. It’s the same response that triggers people to faint at the sight of blood.

My trigger? Pain. Intense, sharp pain.

My doctor’s advice was straightforward: “As long as you don’t hit your head on the way down, you’re fine.” Simple enough.

A variety of painful incidents have triggered me to faint over the years: ear piercing, flu-related stomach ache, cramps, a dislocated kneecap, vaccines, and a time I had to have an IV inserted prior to surgery.

When I’m close to fainting, I can feel it coming. In the span of, say, 10 seconds, I feel weak, my joints ache, my ears start ringing, blood drains from my face, I break out in a cold sweat, the world around me slows, and my vision narrows in a dark, closing tunnel before all the lights finally go out. I usually awaken 30-60 seconds later with startled, wide-eyed faces hovering over me (most often my mom), but it takes just a few minutes for me to feel pretty normal again.

You can imagine how much psyching up it requires for me to get my flu shot every year.

With this history in mind, you now understand why this intrepid activity is particularly significant: I tried acupuncture, a process which includes having 45 needles stuck into my skin and left for 24 minutes.

People say, “It’s different. It doesn’t feel like getting a shot.” But those people don’t have my pain tolerance. I didn’t fully trust it until I experienced it myself.

I can now say, it’s different. It doesn’t totally feel like getting a shot.

Acupuncture: An “Alternative” Therapy With a History Centuries Older than “Western” Medicine

I decided to try acupuncture when I became frustrated with the amount of stress- and anxiety-triggered sweating I was experiencing. While I work on controlling those triggers psychologically (like everyone else in America), I didn’t want to just throw more chemicals at the problem (i.e., medications, anti-perspirants). I wanted to fix the issue, not just cover it up.

I got a referral from my massage therapist (she has an appointment of her own every week) and made an appointment. In preparation for my first visit, I filled out a 12-page form that covered my major medical history as well as more nuanced questions: do you have cold hands and feet? Take water to bed? Have nose bleeds? Worry? Anger easily? The form was extensive, but I was fascinated to see what sensations and occurrences we shrug off or ignore on a daily basis can point to a condition or malady.

At my first visit, the practitioner reviewed the form with me and talked through it, then she did two things that she’s done at the start of each subsequent appointment: 1) she checked the speed and strength of my pulse, using three fingers, on both of my wrists; and 2) she examined the top and bottom of my tongue, specifically its shape, color, and coating. Our conversation and these two physical checks help her decide where to place needles that day.

For the needling itself, I wear a tank top and shorts so she can easily access my arms and hands, legs and feet, and collarbone, as well as my face and ears as needed. For my particular needs, she inserts 4-5 needles in each ear, one on the very top of my head, one near my elbow, a couple on my hands, one near my knee, a few on my feet, and others in various locations that usually add up to 45 total.

When I had a bad cold, she put some around my sinuses to ease congestion. When I was preparing for a flight, she added a couple additional around my lungs to keep them strong against airborne pathogens.

How does the needling process feel? Some really sting, I’m not going to lie, but that’s the minority, and the sensation fades within a second. Those, particularly a couple spots in my ears, feel like a hard pinch. Others I can’t feel anything more than the pressure of her hand. Most fall somewhere in the middle of the sensation-and-pain scale.

Take it from someone who knows how to judge the intensity of pain: I don’t find it to be troublesome at all.

When all the needles are in, she puts a heat lamp over my feet to keep them toasty and comfortable, turns on some gentle music, dims the lights, and leaves me to relax on the table for 24 minutes.

Why 24 minutes? That’s the length of time it takes the energy in our bodies to make a complete circuit through all channels or meridians and return to where it started. I’m usually so relaxed by the end of those 24 minutes that I could almost slide into a nap.

The timer beeps, she comes back, and one by one she removes each needle, stopping to count them at the end to make sure she got each one.

I usually have one or two specific points in my ears that bleed a little bit when the needles come out—the same location on each ear, a point associated with anxiety. She said that bleeding is a sign that the body is “clearing that channel”, and in traditional Chinese medicine, it’s neither good nor bad, it’s just a sign that the body is at work. I find this particular element of the experience fascinating but difficult to wrap my mind around.

With that, I’m done and on my way.

I’ve had five treatments so far, each 2-3 weeks apart. I can honestly say it’s helping me, and I’m thrilled. Before my first appointment, I figured at the least it wouldn’t make things worse, and unlike so many Western medicine treatments (medication, lasers…), I didn’t worry about adverse side effects or permanent damage.

I may get faster results if I had my sweat glands destroyed with a laser treatment… but that sounds like a treatment I want to save as a desperate, last resort.

Until then, I’m willing and open to having 45 little needles stuck in me every two weeks. Coming from me, that’s one of the highest compliments I can give.

 

Score:

• Did something outside my routine: +1
• Left the house: +1
• Did something entirely new: +1
• Activity benefits my health/wellbeing: +1

Through the magic of a well-targeted Facebook advertisement, I learned that Newfields was hosting weekly Wednesday-morning sunrise dance parties through the month of January. Their name was excellent: a Seasonal Affective Disco. The name alone made me want to check it out. I finally got around to it on the last possible day: January 31.

I arrived just after 7:00 a.m. as my fellow dancers were following a warm-up in the entry atrium of the Indianapolis Museum of Art. A DJ spun disco versions of old and new music, and our two leaders were dressed in fun attire: one in sequins and gold leggings, the other in 80s workout gear.

Over the course of the next hour, they led us through the Electric Slide and other throwback (but simple) dance numbers that got us moving and grooving as the sun rose beyond the three-story glass windows.

I was glad to see that my fellow dancers, male and female alike, ranged in age from their 20s to 60s. It brought out a fun side in everyone. (A local news station was on hand to catch some of their smooth moves, too.) It wasn’t as much of a workout as I’d have generally liked to have, but it was a great way to start the day. I hope they do more events like this in the future, because I’ll be sure to go again.

Score:

• Did something outside my routine: +1
• Left the house: +1
• Did something entirely new: +1
• Activity benefits my health/wellbeing: +1
• Burned real calories (so I got some exercise): +1
• Signed up for an activity without knowing anyone else involved: +2
• Had a conversation with a stranger of at least 30 seconds: +2
• Learned someone’s name: +3