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, and on to Windy Wellington.
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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, and on to Windy Wellington.
New Zealand is 8,200 miles from my home in the Midwestern United States. Before January of this year, I let that distance keep me from seriously considering making a trip there myself. 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.
I had plans to spend the month of February—escaping Indiana's miserable winter—in sunny Jacksonville, FL. That all changed on January 4 when I got a 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.
The first time I fainted was a couple days before my eighth birthday. It wasn’t until I passed out in the front of a classroom in middle school that I went to the doctor and got a diagnosis: vasovagal syncope. 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.
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.
Have you ever discussed a shared memory with a friend and realized that the two of you had very different recollections of the same moment in time? My latest intrepid activity—a Vibrational Sound Therapy concert—and the comparison of personal experiences immediately afterward—reminded me of exactly that phenomena.
Traditional rules for polite society dictate that we don’t discuss religion, but we have to know when to break the rules, yes? Consider this your fair warning if you’re a sensitive soul who prefers to avoid potentially divisive topics. In the interest of authenticity, open vulnerability, and honesty, I’m going there today.
The company holiday party: after three or four years of avoidance, I decided to be intrepid and go to mine this year. Big parties at which I have to yell to have a conversation with the person standing next to me aren’t generally my thing. Add to this my usual lack of a willing +1, and you can understand why my enthusiasm for attending in the last few years hasn’t been terribly high.
My first memory of volunteering just for the purpose of doing something for the community—not because I would enjoy it or benefit personally—was bussing tables for a church breakfast over Labor Day weekend when I was in middle school. I'm scarred for life from the experience. The good news: I’ve found loads of opportunities to volunteer and give back in ways that I find much more enjoyable, and the holiday season offers many such opportunities.
Imagine a feeling of complete weightlessness, of floating in a completely dark space, and the loudest sound you hear is that of your own breath. Now make it blissful: this space of peace and quiet and relaxation is all yours, uninterrupted by beeps, dings, messages, conversation, or cries for a full hour. I’ve been there. It exists. It’s called floatation therapy, and I tried it.
I met 30 of the most ardent, dare I say obsessive, Outlander fans on a recent Saturday when a friend invited me to join a lunch gathering of the local chapter of the fan club known as “Heughan's Hoosier Heughligans”. I thought I was a big fan until I found myself thoroughly outdone by the folks in this group.
What activity do you so love that you unconsciously quiet your mind and find yourself completely present and in the moment? For me, hiking fits that bill. So, why do I usually save this bliss for vacations? The answer to that question is simple: for no good reason at all. But I finally made a step in the right direction with a hike through Eagle Creek Park.
I’ve been dragging my feet on both writing this post and doing the actual activity: I created a profile on the dating app du jour, Bumble.
I consider a favorite author to be one whose books consistently draw me in and lead me to seek out more and more of their work. And if I find that author interesting or inspiring as a public figure, they move even closer toward the top of the list. John Green is one who fits this bill.
Libraries are some of my favorite places to be: stacks and stacks and room upon room of books, all sitting quietly, waiting for me to choose one or six to take home with me for three weeks. My usual haunt is my local library, but the Indiana Writers Center’s “Meet an Author, Be an Author” event gave me the perfect excuse to make a long-overdue visit to the Indianapolis Central Library.