Because clean sheets are overrated and bed bugs need lovin’ too!
I’m kidding, jeeeeez. The common misconception is that hostels are dirty, dingy, and dangerous butttttt that couldn’t be further from the truth! I mean, sure, sometimes you check in to a hostel in San Diego to find that your new roommates have locked you out in an effort to finish cleaning up vomit on the floor so that you don’t get a “bad impression” of them. And then *click* the door unlocks and you’re greeted by the strong smell of limes, an extremely intoxicated 20-something, and a teen cleaning up the mess. You spot the empty bottle of tequila, a condom wrapper, and Flaming Hot Cheetos on the nightstand. All this and it’s ONLY 7 FUCKING POST MERIDIEM.
Ah, hostel life, you sigh, before muttering, I’M TOO OLD FOR THIS! and you hop back down to reception where you inform Bradley that I’M TOO OLD FOR THIS! and he skeptically asks, how old are you, and you say, 27, and he failingly tries to disguise his surprise as he agrees that, yes, maybe you are too old for this, before assigning you a new room.
And, yet, I continue to choose to stay in hostels because that’s where all the hella cool people are. Minus the vomming folks but I’ve been there too so, like, whatever.
From the 61-year-old man from the South Bronx who stayed at Hostel Fish and kept calling me ‘sista’ after learning that I too am from New York to the 30-something working there who once walked ACROSS AFRICA in the name of clean water, hostels are filled with the stories of incredible travelers, wanderers, and curious characters.
My most recent stay at Hostel Fish in Denver took me back to my first time staying at a hostel four years ago. Remember that time I met the coolest people who crammed me in a car and invited me to venture to Canada with them? On that same trip, I ended up ziplining and hitchhiking. The great thing about staying in a dorm-style hostel is that it serves as an endless revolving door of awesome people. Most recently in Denver, one of my roommates was 23-year-old Michelle from Reno, NV. It was her first time staying in a hostel and she reminded me so much of myself– I too was 23 when I embarked on my first solo adventure and stayed at a hostel for the first time.
Upon meeting me, Michelle asked if I was going on the hostel’s pub crawl and if I was “old enough to drink.” I literally cackled. When I told her I was 27, she was like, “I THOUGHT YOU WERE, LIKE, 19.” Ah, jeez.
She seemed a little nervous and unsure– all feelings I had when traveling alone for the first time. Meeting her was like meeting myself all over again and being able to observe how much I’ve grown as a traveler over the years.
Then, there was the old man also staying in our room who “accidentally” mooned me as he was getting dressed one morning. There was the charming 30-something fella with the “#1 Dad” necklace, worn proudly around his neck. We bonded at the bar over our mistakes in marriage and our mutual desire to travel and explore as much as we can.
Staying at a hostel gives you the opportunity to meet folks from ALL walks of life. Back in Denver, I also met Max from Ukraine. He’s a smiley dude working at Hostel Fish and his general excitement about life is magnetic. He told me he feels like he’s exactly where he needs to be at the moment and it was hard not to believe him. Another incredible human working at Hostel Fish is Diego. An extremely talented artist, yoga teacher, and wanderer, this Colombian native is so inspiring. We talked for a while and he was kind enough to show me a bunch of his sketches, complete with stories to go along with each. Check out his work here! He also has the most unique handwriting of anyone I’ve ever met and keeps journals just to practice his penmanship.
If you’ve never stayed in a hostel, I cannot recommend it enough– especially if you’re traveling solo! In fact, I still keep in touch with plenty of folks I’ve met in hostels throughout the years. From Laura (we met in Berlin) who lives in the UK to Shelbie, Dalton, and Alan…all of whom I met when in Seattle, I have a growing network of fellow adventurers around the world now!
Here’s a list of all the hostels I’ve been to in my travels– feel free to message me if you want more info about the hostel life!
HI Fisherman’s Wharf, San Francisco
Green Tortoise Hostel, Seattle
HI Downtown Hostel, Vancouver
Hostel Fish, Denver
Lucky D’s Hostel, San Diego
Kabul Party Hostel, Barcelona
Singer109 Hostel, Berlin*
The Circus Hostel, Berlin
Copenhagen Downtown Hostel, Denmark
Budget Backpackers, Edinburgh
Makuto Hostel, Granada
Kex Hostel, Reykjavik
The Yellow Hostel, Rome
*I would NOT recommend staying here if you’re looking for a fun hostel where it’s easy to make friends. I stayed here for one night in Berlin before switching to The Circus Hostel where I had a MUCH better experience. That being said, Singer109 was really clean and well-maintained…just had ZERO atmosphere and felt more like a hotel.
And that’s all for now folks! Time to explore more of Sunny D before reluctantly heading back to Michigan.
Ah jeez. Just when I had my heart set on moving to Montana, I had to go and venture to Colorado. Another beautiful state with an abundance of snow-capped mountains. 😍
Sure, folks come here for the good ol’ cannabis…in fact, one of my hostel roommates who introduced himself as “Ty Ty” said:
“I just travel to the weed states. I’m going to Seattle next.”
God, I love hostels.
Anyways, I’ll pass on the pot. Not my thing. Luckily, Denver is so much more than dispensaries…though Hostel Fish is conveniently located NEXT DOOR to one if that’s your thing. No smoking IN the rooms though unless you feel like handing over $150. Think of all the edibles you could buy with that! I actually have no idea. Anyways…
I decided to jet to Denver because it’s a hella cheap flight from Detroit.
Like, just 50 smackaroonies. Wooooooo!
If you’re traveling solo, you should ABSOLUTELY stay at Hostel Fish. Weird name, right? Denver’s not known for fish…wait, what about rocky mountain oysters?
NO, THOSE ARE TESTICLES. DON’T LET THEM TRICK YOU.
Okay, okay, the owner’s last name is Fish. The hostel is NOT fish-themed or anything. Nothing fishy about it.
If you’re looking to come to the Mile High City (named for its elevation not the pot stuff jeeeez you guys!), you may come across the 11th Avenue Hostel. DO NOT STAY THERE. I’ve heard that it allegedly smells and there may or may not have been a thrash of bed bugs. I can’t say for sure, but, like, why take a chance?!
I’ve stayed at tons of hostels both in the states and in Europe– Hostel Fish has BY FAR the friendliest staff I’ve ever encountered. Like, they actually hang out with the guests and every single one of ’em has an interesting tale to tell. Plus, the rooms are themed, clean, and – holy heck! – the beds are legitimately COMFY.
There’s a fun bar area (guests get a free drink each night!) and a kitchen too. Every Thursday, the hostel hosts a pub crawl – all the main bars are literally around the corner from Hostel Fish. I went on the pub crawl and tbh the highlight was spotting this WOLF at one of the bars:
The hostel is also located above a super cool restaurant/bar/dance joint called Ophelia’s Electric Soapbox. Even the locals recommend this spot, so you know it’s good. We actually ended our pub crawl at Ophelia’s and had a super fun time on the dance floor.
Much more to say about Denver but this gal needs to get her butt up for an early flight to CA tomorrow!
Ever locked eyes with a handsome stranger in aisle 1,467 of Walmart as you reached for those Slipper Genie Dusting Slippers that you saw an infomercial for that one time as you sipped your rosé and laughed to your cat named Smittens, thinking, those are SO silly! but then you awoke to cold feet and a lackluster floor and, well, here you are. Wait, where are we? Ah, yes, the handsome stranger! Unbeknownst to you, mystery Joe over there is making a mental note of not only your velvet scrunchie and neon Skechers but also your seemingly pathological indecisiveness when it comes to choosing a color! He laughs to himself as you muse aloud, “Ooh, lavender might be nice. Calming, even. But I do LOVE green.”
Green it is. You grab the box, smile politely at Joe, – whoa, are his eyes BLUE–GREEN?!?!? – and make your way back down the 1,467 aisles, among all the people of Walmart, to fork over the $10 that you were going to spend on another three bottles of wine but the slippers just seem more important right now. Your floor IS dirty.
And then there’s Joe. Ah, Joe. He’s moved on to aisle 837 (socks) and is now kicking himself that he didn’t say anything to the brunette in the cat-hair-covered sweats in aisle 1,467. In the 6.43 minutes you spent choosing slippers, Joe was cooking up one-liners as he mindlessly picked up and put down various items in the As Seen On TV aisle (aisle 1,467, to be exact).
Hmm, maybe a Bacon Wave would be nice, he ponders. Then, you make your lavender comment and Joe stifles a laugh. He’s thinking of something to say, something like, You know what’s a foot long and slippery? A slipper! Good God, Joe, could you BE any creepier?! He keeps his mouth shut, puts down the Bacon Wave, picks up a Quick Taco Baking Rack because why the hell not and, well, here we are.
Two people and a silly shared moment. Two people noticeably noticing one another, yet not sharing a word. In the olden days, perhaps a mail carrying pigeon would be sent by one in hopes of finding the other. But, alas, we live in the modern era – oh, joy! Oh, JOE. He can’t get the scrunchie-sweatpants gal out of his head.
THANK GOODNESS FOR CRAIGLIST MISSED CONNECTIONS.
Joe, 28, scurries home to let out grandpa – his dog, not his relative – and then sits down for a nice mindless scroll on the ol’ Insta, @yoitsjoe747. He has a new follower, @itsmefromcraigslist. (Oh, wait that’s ME. #shamelessplug)Huh, people still do this? Maybe I should…nah, that’d be WEIRD. Ah, what the hell. *chugs another beer*
Subject: Walmart, Aisle 1,467, Anywheresville, USA
“To the brunette with the scrunchie – was that velvet?? – and neon Skechers picking out those silly “As Seen On TV” dusting slippers this afternoon. I didn’t need a TV to SEE you.I think I might be in love with you.I’ll give you a mess to clean up!
GOOD GOD, JOE, GET IT TOGETHER.
I think you’re lovely and I was amused by your delight in picking out those slippers! I ended up buying some ridiculous taco shell maker thing myself. Perhaps we can have an As Seen On TV date! Fish tacos, anyone? Let’s taco bout it soon! Oh, by the way, I’m Joe!”
*uploads…aaaand it’s live.
And wouldn’t you know it, our mystery brunette, Daria, 26, is a fellow weirdo who LOVES a good missed connection. In fact, it’s a bit of a nightly ritual for her to read through the posts from Anywheresville, USA. She’s just finished dancing/dusting around her studio apartment – Smittens looking on in HORROR – and she curls up with her laptop. And that’s when she sees it:
“Walmart, Aisle 1,467, Anywheresville, USA”
Daria is SHOOK, as they say. She reads the post, immediately recognizing herself in it. She laughs, it’s silly, but oh, good God, what the f–
Fish tacos, seriously?? Does this ass think he’s being FUNNY?
RE: Subject: Walmart, Aisle 1,467, Anywheresville, USA
Are you serious, Joe? Fish tacos? Are you some kind of pervert who hangs out in aisle 1,467 just for funsies? I bet you’re the type who would make some sick joke like, “You know what’s a foot long and slippery? A slipper!” But you wouldn’t be talking about a SLIPPER, would you, Joe? I AM SO GLAD I MISSED OUT ON YOU.
Well, we showed him Smittens.
A reply? Already? *clicks* oh my God, oh my God, I am an IDIOT. Fish tacos, I literally meant FISH like– oh BLOODY HELL. I do wish I were British so I could say that more often. UGH BUT WHY DIDN’T I JUST SAY CHICKEN. JEEEEZUSSSS. I KNEW I SHOULD’VE WENT WITH THE BACON WAVE.
Or, Joe could’ve just said something in-person?! Gah, I’m endlessly amused and fascinated by the Missed Connection section on Craigslist. In fact, yes, I recently made an Instagram dedicated to these poetic posts. It’s as sad as it is heartwarming– all of these lost souls, exchanging sweet smiles and small talk at gas stations, bodegas, and dog parks around the world (JK, we’re all just looking at the doggos and puppers there). I’m a weirdo; equal parts cynic, equal parts romantic. I mean, I married my first fucking boyfriend because HOW ROMANTICbut in retrospect, so silly omg (it didn’t work out, most marriages don’t – THE CYNIC IS BACK YAY). ANYWAY… I used to dream of the person who’d finally fall madly in love with me and how it could literally be anyone and I’d walk around thinking, could it be him? That guy stocking shelves in Trader Joe’s! He was humming…a JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE song?!?!? Señorita?!!?! And he smiled at me! And omg I’ll never see him again but WHAT IF IT’S HIM AND IT’S MEANT TO BE. *posts a note on Craigslist* JK, never did that, but I LOVE the people who do. And SURE there are creepers like fictitious Joe out there, well OK, maybe he actually wasn’t being gross but Daria will never know what really lies behind those blue-green eyes, will she?! But there’s something weirdly romantic about someone taking the time to write something out, to try and get your attention, to say “hey! I noticed you! did you notice me noticing you? will you notice me back?” When I worked in NYC, I thought about this OFTEN, like WAY too often, as I rode Metro-North to and from Grand Central every day. What if, instead of a quiet car we had a social car?! These are things I’d think about. ALL THE TIME. And I still do, tbh. As introverted as I am, I wish folks were more social and less weird about, well, being weird. But, I guess it IS easier when alcohol is involved. C’est la vie. In closing, (lol am I writing a fucking dissertation? idk), here are some curated Craigslist Missed Connections for ya – a lot of y’all are missing each other at various marts of Wal, FYI.
From Hawaii to North Dakota, folks are just trying to find love at their local Walmart. Follow @itsmefromcraigslist for alllll missed connections, not just Walmart.
HI, IT’S JACKIE HERE. I’m currently listening to the 80s pop channel on Pandora (sidenote: apparently I’m a grandma for still using Pandora?!?? whatever), sitting in my new, cozy room in Michigan (yes, MICHIGAN), and reflecting on what the hell has happened in 2018. It’s been a fucking journey. I went back to read the blog post I wrote this time last year and realized I DIDN’T EVEN WRITE ONE. Like, I wrote a “Cheers to 2016!” and “Cheers to 2017!” but I was in such a crappy place this time last year that I couldn’t even properly ‘CHEERS!’ to the New Year. In fact, I was DREADING 2018. This time last year I was four months into a marriage that I knew I shouldn’t be in. I eloped for all the wrong reasons and felt young, dumb, lonely, and lost. And it makes me sad for my 26-year-old self. But, GUESS WHAT!? I’m 27 now (weird) and things are great (fab, in fact) and I’m SO EXCITED for 2019.
I learned so much about myself in 2018. For starters, I let go of a relationship that was sucking the life out of me. It wasn’t an easy thing to do but I’m so much happier for doing it.
thank u, next.
I reflected A LOT on my own self and what brings me happiness and why I am the way that I am and all of that good stuff and I wrote THIS piece and so many of you responded with such kind words and I can’t thank y’all enough for that. I wrote another piece for a writing competition (which I hope to do more of in 2019) that was more of a reflection on my past relationship and, though it didn’t win, I’m thinking I’ll share it on here soon. It’s 5,000 words though, so…grab a cup of coffee first. Writing is extremely cathartic for me but sharing my words is a bit more difficult and I haven’t mustered up the courage to publish that piece yet but I’m working on it…
Earlier this year, I moved to Astoria and then, after six months, I realized it wasn’t for me. I was raised to be a city girl and I have plenty of close friends who live in and around NYC but I craved something a bit simpler, yet more grand and awe-inspiring. I’ve always loved lakes and mountains and I felt like I was forcing myself to be Carrie Bradshaw. Although, we all know she wouldn’t have EVER lived in Astoria. Anyway. I moved back home to Northern Westchester and gave myself some time to figure things out…
…But not before attending a gala, because duh that’s what everyone does in NYC, did you not watch Gossip Girl? JK we kinda snuck in but shhhhhh it’s fine it’s fine. 😂😂
It was my first time back in Europe since Sept. 2017 when I went to Spain with Shanna and her family. This time around I went back to Iceland for a quick 20-hour stint before hopping along to Scotland, Denmark, Germany, Switzerland, and England! I traveled by myself, with my best friend, and with friends both new and old…and it was splendid.
^Monica captured a real ‘Jackie’ face there. 😂
Read more about my time in Europe here, here, and here!I did A LOT of cool things in Europe. From eating danish danishes in Denmark and searching for Nessie in Loch Ness to partying in Edinburgh and taking a dip in Iceland’s Blue Lagoon, it was an adventure. But, the true highlight may have been nerding out at the Michael Jackson On the Wall Exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery in London. OH – and when I was in Berlin I saw the balcony where he dangled baby Blanket from that one time and that was great too. 😂😂😂😂😂
And then there was my GOLDEN BIRTHDAY. I turned 27 on the 27th of September and on that day I found myself on a flight to Kalispell, Montana. By myself, with my Man of the Woods album in hand (of course), I was ready for another adventure. And I’ll save the ravings because I already wrote about how freakin’ awesome it was HERE.
But here are some pics to prove just how PRETTY MONTANA IS:
From Montana, I flew to LA where I reconnected with some of my FAVORITE people who reminded me to listen to my heart and soul and that making big moves and changing things up can be scary but super duper fulfilling. ❤
Back in NY, I celebrated Spencer’s 30th (he doesn’t look a day over 25) and I was even a bridesmaid at Shanna’s wedding! So much good stuff to be happy about — I love you guys! ❤
Holy bananas, 2018 was a good one. I mean, I even witnessed a dog WALK ON WATER earlier this year, like, COME ON ARE YOU KIDDING ME!?! LOOK AT THAT MAJESTIC CREATURE.
My goal for 2019 was to finally move out of NY but woohoo I hit that goal earlier than expected! I’m in Michigan for now but it’s more of a stepping stone (though I’m enjoying it so far!)…I’m getting my feet wet before making the bigger move to MONTANA. I can’t wait! I’ve let go of a lot of things this year (both material and emotional) but it’s allowed for really exciting, incredible things in my life.
Also, this has been my first full year working completely freelance with no in-office jobs and it’s been a hustle but sooooo worth it!!!!
Anyways, thanks for being a part of the adventure! And thank you to all of my new and old friends who’ve made 2018 super kick-ass.
After gettingSO much positive feedback after posting this piece on Instagram, I’ve decided to post it here on my blog! I hope y’all can relate — please share your thoughts in the comments! I’d love to hear from my fellow only-children!
Hi! I’m Jackie, I’m 27, and I’m an only child. Err…only-adult? I’m basically Harry Potter. I have a scar on my forehead and everything. Ask me about it later. Or now. Nah, read this first and then ask later. Sidenote: Did anyone actually LIKE Now and Later candy as a child? They were impossible to chew! It was like trying to eat a piece of concrete smothered in glue. So gross.
But I digress.
So, what is “only-child guilt” and what is going on and tell me more…
RIGHT. So, it’s only recently that I’ve realized that I have this “only-child guilt.” It’s weird and I don’t totally understand it and so, naturally, I feel compelled to write about it. Perhaps someone reading this will be like, YES, I GET IT! ME TOO! *raises fingers and feet and eyebrows*
A writer can only hope.
I’ve been doing a lot of self-reflecting lately…“why I am the way I am” and the whole bit. I mean, I already know that I have OCS (Only Child Syndrome). But, like, all of the good parts of it (independent, studious, extremely loyal) and none of the bad (selfish, bratty, etc.).
Written like a true only child.
I was curious to see if I’d coined the phrase “only-child guilt” – I really want to coin a phrase before I become one with Earth’s volcanic ash, bits of turquoise, and sparkly gems – but alas I didn’t. In fact, upon Googling, I came across many articles about parents suffering from “only-child guilt.” That is, feeling guilty about having just one child. Well, that’s a bit different because I am not a parent. Rather, I’m a child. An only one. No siblings here. Wait, do dogs count? And on we go!
Only-children are stereotyped as many things…selfish brats who don’t know how to share, play well with others, or share. Did I mention sharing isn’t really our thing? I’m learning. Shh.
In fact, in 1977, psychologist Toni Falbo stated that the presence of siblings “is popularly assumed to have both positive and negative effects, but the lack of siblings is believed to have only negative consequences.”
Now, I don’t believe that to be entirely true– being an only child has been quite a positive experience.
DON’T TOUCH MY COOKIES. GET YOUR OWN YOU CRAZY MONSTER!
Deep breaths. There are enough cookies to go around. (We all know there aren’t.)
Growing up, I wasn’t just the only child in my immediate family. I was also the only grandchild on both sides of my family for the first nine years of my life. The only niece. The only nephew.
Wait, that’s not right…
You get it. I was the only baby-toothed rascal in a world of folks who were taller than me. (Spoiler alert: Nothing’s changed except those babies are now adults with fillings and crowns because I’m actually the cookie monster. Shhhh. Root canals are fun!)
I loved it. Being an only child, that is. (Root canals are NOT fun.) I never felt I was missing out by not having a sibling. I’d watch my friends fight with their brothers and sisters and think, Thank GOODNESS I don’t have to deal with that crap! Sharing is most certainly NOT caring!
I promise I’m working on it. Sharing is great. Except don’t touch my cookies.
SANTA, I’M LOOKING AT YOU.
As an only child, I was the apple, orange, mango, and kiwi of my parents’ eyes. Sometimes a persimmon if I was lucky, but let’s not get greedy. Sure, I was kept in a bit of a protective bubble but I was the only kid my parents had! I mean, wasn’t it fair that my mom didn’t let me join the high school tennis team out of an irrational fear that I’d break my wrist?
My parents had huge hopes and dreams and goals and all that good stuff for me. And I was the academic nerd who would deliver! Don’t do drugs! Sex equals babies! Babies suck! I’m an only child! Perfection is key! Roar, roar!
It’s a funny thing when you don’t have siblings. You’re not just one of your parent’s kids.
I didn’t take many risks as a kid. I played it safe. I looked both ways before crossing the suburban streets riddled with squirrels and crunchy leaves. I never snuck out of Fort Knox– er, I mean my house. I studied and stayed home reading rather than going out most weekends. I knew that my parents literally lived and worked for me so who was I to do anything daring or rebellious, surely risking death or worse…cataclysmic embarrassment!
I didn’t know it as a youngin’ but all of this craziness would stir into a mad mix of bubbly emotions that I’m now calling “only-child guilt.”
I got good grades, was admitted into a great university, landed an incredible job in my chosen career, and was very much making my parents proud. But I felt lost and unhappy a lot… as if I was living a life that wasn’t really mine. It was the one chosen for me. Purchased for me. Where I grew up, it was common to be told you could do and be anything with the underlying expectation that that really meant moving into the city (New York, that is) and working your way up the corporate ladder of whatever industry to be “successful.”
And that sounds hella privileged and I realize that but my feelings shouldn’t be discounted because of the situation I was born into and please know that I am absolutely cringing writing these words but I hope people can relate to it and know that not everything is so very black and white. UGH.
In having just one child, my dad could afford to put me through college and I’m so grateful for that. I can’t imagine having to pay back student loans on a writer’s salary (we can’t all be Carrie Bradshaw, folks). But now I feel this only-child guilt more than ever. I’ve been given so much and often feel as though I’m not living up to what’s expected of me. But I don’t want my life to be about climbing some elusive, imaginary ladder and I don’t care about making much money. I rather climb real mountains! Hoorah!
But then I feel guilty that I’m not making the most of the resources I’ve been given.
Why am I not happy where I am? I just want to give everything away and go somewhere new and different. Away from everyone and everything I’ve ever known based on a feeling. A warm, happy, incredible, adventurous, magical feeling that I want to chase chase chase.
But, you see, my parents are my parents. And sometimes I worry that that’s the only identity they have, especially since they had me while they were still so young. I’m not sure they know who they are without me. That’s a lot of pressure. And I don’t have a sibling to offset any of that pressure.
I’m SO different from my parents in so many ways and I often feel bad that they don’t have a child who is more like them.
How the hell did they end up with such a weird unicorn of a child?
Not that I don’t have anything in common with my mom or dad, but I do have a compulsive need to travel and go go go go go that neither one of them really shares. I mean, my mother has never even been on an airplane.
It’s weird to share my DNA with people who I’m so completely different from.
Writing this piece stems from a conversation I recently had with my parents about me moving. I’ve lived in and out of NYC since graduating college (as expected) and I recently moved back home to save money while I figure out my next move (as very much not expected). And now I’m thinking that my next move will be farther than either of my parents had ever imagined.
I received a lot of pushback from my folks during this conversation which surprised me; they’ve always supported my travels but they know that I always come back. I may be a Runaway Rapetti but I always seem to run back to NY.
On top of that, I have folks telling me that I shouldn’t move because it’s so far away and what if something happens and family is the most important thing and what the hell is in Montana and your degree will go to waste and you won’t have the same opportunities and it’s SO far away.
And then I find myself feeling guilty again, asking myself: Why don’t you just go back into TV? Why don’t you find a company you actually like enough to stick with and make enough money to live on your own and create a life in NYC? Why can’t you just be happy here, near your family? Why can’t you just be everything you were ever expected to be?
And then I realize it’s because I’m not happy here. Sure, I’m ambitious and smart enough to climb the corporate ladder if I wanted to…but I don’t. I’ve been ambitious enough to create a living for myself without having to report to an actual office every day — I’ve hustled and worked hard for the nomadic life I’ve created for myself.
I want a storied life. I need it.
My dad calls me a whirlwind because I’m always changing my mind about things, which is absolutely true. But I’m learning now that my “only-child guilt” is a major factor in every decision I’ve ever made. I’m a whirlwind because I keep coming back! I appear to never know what I’m doing because I feel guilty about actually diving full-steam ahead into what I truly want…which isn’t the same as what my parents want for me! I may not have realized that ten years ago as I embarked on my college career, but I’m finally learning.
It’s like I’ve been denying my innermost desires so that I can stay close to home and try to live up to my parent’s expectations. The thing is, I didn’t choose to grow up in suburban NY. But I can choose where I go next.
I love my parents and am thankful for the life they’ve given me but this is not just a new chapter in my life, this is a new BOOK. And maybe they need a new book too.
People need to know that they can’t have children and expect that they will want all the same things that you may want for them. You can’t expect that they will think and act and be just like you. And you can’t expect them to stay stay stay because just like stagnant water that shit can be HAZARDOUS.
I may be 100% of their combined DNA but I’m also stardust and light and adventure and I’m no longer the kid who is content with sticking to what’s “safe”. I’ve always been a bit weird and quirky and I’m finally ready to embrace that completely, even if it means following pursuits that my parents don’t fully understand. They don’t have to.
I am not my parents and no longer do I have to feel guilty about that.
I will be their ‘Wacky Jackie’ no matter where in the world I am.