I live in a pretty scary place. Yellowstone National Park rests atop the one of the world’s largest volcanic systems. The Yellowstone Caldera, or Supervolcano as it is often called, produced the largest eruption in the history of the earth about 2 million years ago. In recent months, there has been hype about a new eruption, like this past spring when people recorded some bison running down the road as if they were sensing volcanic activity. The area experiences over 1,000 earthquakes a year, and there’s a good chance there have been a few (that I haven’t felt) since I’ve been here. There are thermal pools everywhere that, if you stepped on a piece of the ground that was too thin, could swallow you up instantly. The park is home to tons of wild animals: grizzly bears, bison, elk, wolves, coyotes. Many people have been seriously injured or have died here, even just from getting too close to the edge of a cliff. I’ve seen a lot here already, but there is so much more in the 2 million acres of the park that I haven’t explored. I had the whole day off today and wanted to go on a hike. NPS (National Park Service) strongly recommends hiking in groups of 3 or more. So, of course, I decided to go hiking alone. 
I like being alone, especially now after my solo road trip. I needed some “me time” and wanted to connect and check in with myself. Still, I deliberated for an hour before I left; what if I can’t find the trail? What if I get lost? What if I slip and fall and die and no one is around and they never find me or I get eaten by a bear? What if it’s too hard and I can’t do it? Maybe I should just ask someone to go with me – it will be so much easier… but because the thought of going by myself scared me so much, I knew I had to do it. I chose to hike Mount Washburn, one of the most popular hikes in Yellowstone for its panoramic view of almost the entire park and beyond. It is about 6 miles round trip and summits at about 10,ooo feet. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever done a hike that long or that high. I was really nervous. I was convinced that my heart and lungs – and maybe my spirit – weren’t strong enough to make it. But I was determined to prove myself wrong. 
I packed up and drove an hour and a half to the trail. I thought, Oh, it’s right there at the end of the parking lot. What was I even thinking? I started along the path with bulky gear hanging off of my backpack like an blatant novice, or at least that was what I thought I looked like. The views were already amazing and I had barely even started. 
It took me about 2 hours to reach the top. I was getting pretty tired after about 30 minutes into the ascent (remember, I’m still kind of a noob to hiking). When I saw that I was close, I got a burst of energy and started walking faster with the mantra “I CAN DO ANYTHING!” playing in my head. 
It felt amazing to stand on the top. I felt like I not only accomplished a great physical task, but I also conquered my fear. And it really wasn’t nearly as scary as I thought it would be. In fact, it wasn’t scary at all. I didn’t die. I didn’t get hurt. I didn’t even get lost. (Driving back was much scarier when I almost hit a bison head on…) Most things seem much scarier in your head than they actually are, and sometimes they’re actually not scary at all. Fear is important; it helps keep us alive, but it can also carry us away to fantasies that debilitate us if we let it. We make excuses all the time; I can’t go on that trip because it’s not financially responsible. I can’t be an actor because it’s unrealistic. I can’t say what I really want to say because I might sound stupid. It could leave me just sitting in my dorm and going to work and nothing else. Imagine what we could be capable of if we did what we wanted in spite of – or because of – our fears. Fear is telling us something else; what you’re afraid of may be hard and it may change you. Our brains don’t like change. But when we do things we’re afraid of, we can discover so much about ourselves. It provides so much strength, the gift of a challenge, not something to run away from (unless it’s seriously dangerous or destructive), but something to grow from. Not only does it help you survive, but it can also give you the opportunity to really live. What are some things you are afraid of? What holds you back from doing what you really want to do? Please share your thoughts below!
How a White, Middle Class, Jewish-American, College-Educated Woman Went From Nonprofit Professional to Professional Dishwasher
I have a confession to make.
I haven’t been entirely forthcoming about what exactly I’m doing in Yellowstone. I may have made it sound very romantic and flowery, like I was going to be frolicking through the forest and playing my guitar in the mountains. And yes, I get to do plenty of amazing things, but I also have a job.
I wash dishes for a living.
*Gasp!*
I’ve been ashamed to admit this to most people. When people would ask me what I’d be doing in the park, I said, “I’ll be working at a lodge,” which was as much embarrassment as I was willing to deal with before being interrogated about why I, a nice Jewish girl with a college degree and a great, clean job as a nonprofit professional, would take a pay cut and demote herself to washing dishes.
I used to look down upon menial jobs like this. I didn’t want to be an embarrassment to my family; this isn’t something “nice Jewish girls” are supposed to do. In high school, I trained at a restaurant for one day – not even a day, maybe a few hours – before deciding I didn’t like it and quit. In college I worked some part-time music jobs, which felt like a huge step up, and after graduation I got a job with a great organization and an office, business cards, long lunch breaks, and lots of perks. I was on the “right” track. I figured I’d never have to go back to working a job I hated…
[Best_Wordpress_Gallery id=”1″ gal_title=”dish”]
I was pretty much willing to take anything I could get to come out here, and entry-level jobs were the easiest to get because those positions are most needed. I was never expecting my job here to be glamorous, even though I didn’t know exactly what it was going to be. Honestly, I was kind of excited. I thought it would be refreshing to have a job that I could go to and leave work at work at the end of the day. I wanted something totally different, out of my comfort zone. Well…I got it.
For a really simple job, it’s actually really hard. I stand at an industrial sized sink for 8 or 9 hours rinsing plates of overpriced hotel food leftovers in one of the busiest commercial kitchens in the country. Servers yell at me to wash the glasses they need right away and the dirty silverware they throw in my face. At the end of the night I am near drenched with soapy water and food bits caked onto my skin and clothes. I clean the garbage disposal, sinks, and counters, and sweep up piles of food and garbage that have been sitting there all day. Then I walk home, physically exhausted from a day of hard labor, my humanity hanging by a thread.
Quitting crossed my mind after about the second day. I thought, “what the hell did I get myself into?!” I’ve left work in tears several times. But I realized that I am very good at quitting when things get too hard. I am honestly surprised that I’ve lasted three weeks already. I could leave whenever I want, but I’m not going to. Not everyone who does jobs like this has that opportunity, and I have a completely new-found perspective and respect for people who don’t have another choice. The privileges I’ve had in my life don’t make me better than anyone else. I even wrote “thank you, dishwashers!” on a comment card at a restaurant the other day.
Here’s the thing: I chose this. I came out here for a reason – not to wash dishes, but to take a risk to live a different kind of life. I gave up a lot of freedoms, like a “real” job and my own space, for a new kind of freedom. Now, I live in a dorm with a roommate. I eat in an employee dining hall. I work my ass off to prove I’m good enough to be here with the hopes of being promoted to bussing tables. But I am also realizing how strong I am, not just physically, but emotionally as well. This job has tested me and pushed me to my limits, and I know I can do it. I will be proud to say that I did it, and that I didn’t give up even though it was difficult. I got my challenge, I accepted it, and I will only continue to grow stronger.
As miserable as the job can be, it’s what allows me to be here, and I am grateful. I try to focus on the bigger picture and remember that this is all about the experience, triumphs and challenges included. I’m here to live in Yellowstone National Park and enjoy all of the beauty around me. When I walk outside after a long, draining (pun intended) shift, smell the crisp mountain air, and look up at more stars in the sky than I’ve ever seen before, nothing else matters. Yes, there is beauty in everything…even the dirty dishes.
The Top 6 Things I Learned as a Woman Alone on the Road
6 months ago, I had a silly dream about driving across the country. I never thought it would happen, especially not alone. I just didn’t think I had the guts.
In the past 2 weeks, I have driven over 3,000 miles through 12 states and visited 13 towns. 
I am now just outside of the North entrance of Yellowstone National Park, where I will start my new job tomorrow morning. Not only did I make it to my destination safely, I had the time of my life.
Here are the top 6 things I’ve learned through the amazing experiences I’ve had on this life-changing trip.
1) Most things are never as scary in real life as they are in your head. Before I left, I kept subconsciously imagining the worst. Not only did the things I imagined not happen, but the trip was better than I imagined. Our brains want to protect us, keep us safe within familiarity and stop us from trying new, potentially threatening things. This lesson came up more times than I can count or name, mostly right before I left. I was terrified that something horrible would happen or that I’d be debilitated by my fear (yeah, I was afraid of being afraid…) but when I got on the road, I was pleasantly surprised at how not scary it was driving in new places (even big ones with lots of traffic and the steep, narrow scenic roads), going out at night, talking to locals, and being on my own. Taking risks challenged me to grow and made me feel alive. I was surprised by my own strength. I did it!
2) Women can safely and successfully travel alone. Yes, traveling alone can be dangerous, and unfortunately, female travelers take a larger risk going solo than males. This almost held me back from going, but man, am I glad I didn’t let it. I’ve found a new sense of confidence, independence, and empowerment. I made smart decisions but still pushed myself to do things that I was afraid of, like check out a local bar in a tiny Wyoming mountain town, Buffalo, and talk to the two rugged cowboys about why they love their little town so much. Some people’s red flags might go off at a scene like that, but I also learned that most people in this world are good. Yes, you have to guard yourself to a certain extent, but being too cautious can cause you to miss out on some really great experiences.
3) When you are open to receiving, you will be received. I encountered several peculiar “coincidences” on the trip. At Snaggy Mountain, I ran into someone I knew from Sarasota. Last night in Buffalo, there was a group of young musicians hanging out at the campfire and one of them was also from Sarasota. In St. Louis, I sat down at a coffee shop and noticed that on the wall right in front of me were two license plates: Wyoming, and Florida right underneath it. And tonight I went to a saloon-type local restaurant in Gardiner and happened to sit next to a man from Miami, likely the only other Jew in this town and possibly in Montana. The odds of all of these happenings are slim, and whether or not they were some type of “signs,” they certainly felt like little gifts.
4) I am okay alone – better than okay. One of the reasons I was afraid before I left was because I was afraid of myself. I wasn’t sure that I liked myself enough to spend all this time alone. As it turns out, I’ve gotten comfortable being by myself, but not just comfortable – enjoying my own company. I would sing my guts out in the car and make up songs, talk to myself, smile and giggle to myself. I think that this also, ironically, made me more comfortable talking to other people. I was so proud to tell my story, and loved hearing others’ too.
5) It’s not about the destination, it’s about the journey. Okay, I know it’s really cliche, but it’s such a good, timeless lesson. Being on the road was a really great reminder of this because every time I got into my car to get somewhere or thought I had to rush, I tried to remember to enjoy every moment. When I was bored with driving and couldn’t help but thinking, “Are we there yet?!” I paused to reframe and appreciate the trees, the open road, whatever was around. There is beauty in every moment and it’s easy to miss when we are so focused on the end goal. It’s important to have a path, but the entire path is important, especially that which leads you to where you’re going.
6) Everything is perfect exactly the way it is. Not every moment of the trip was sunshine and rainbows. There were tough moments, too, especially when things didn’t go exactly as I had hoped or expected. There was so much I wanted to do and as much as I wanted to be spontaneous and challenge myself, I also had to learn when to say no. I had very little planned before I left other than a general route, and I eased into the idea of “going with the flow,” something pretty foreign and intimidating to me. I practiced non-attachment and releasing expectations and began to learn that whatever happens is exactly what is supposed to happen, even if not what you thought. Accepting things as they are makes life much happier.
There are so many more things I learned and experienced and I would love to share more one-on-one. I’m a little sad that this part of the journey is coming to a close, but it has led me to my next step and allowed me to learn and grow in ways I never would have otherwise. I’ll never feel like I missed out or that I let fear get the best of me. I’ll never look back.
What Happens in Kansas…
I have always wanted to go to Kansas. It’s such a great tourist destination. There’s so much to see and it’s incredibly lively and beautiful.
Said no one ever.
Actually, that’s not entirely true. I once wanted to go to Kansas. In moving out of my place in Sarasota, I found an old diary from when I was about 8 years old. As if little has changed about me, I loved writing, especially writing about travel. The journal entry read, “If I were to go to twelve places in all twelve months, I would go to…” and I listed twelve misspelled and scattered places, one of them being “Cansis.”
I have no idea why I wanted to visit Kansas. The only reason I can think of is maybe because I saw The Wizard of Oz. But when I saw that little childhood dream, I knew I had to stop in on the way to Colorado.
The night before I left St. Louis, I went to an open mic at a coffee shop. I was talking to one of the guys there about my trip and told him that I would be driving through Kansas the next day. I asked, “is there even anything there??” He said, “that’s where I’m from.” I took it as another sign and asked him if he had any ideas where I should stay. He told me that there was a town right in the middle where I could rest – Salina.
I was feeling very uneasy about Kansas. I really didn’t know anything about it and didn’t have any idea where I would stay overnight. I anxiously packed up in the morning, got some gas and food, and started driving west on one very long, flat highway.
As soon as I passed Kansas City, the westernmost state in Missouri, the buildings and signs started to disappear. The road started to open up a little and soon there were no more trees, just a few cows, prairie, hay bales for hundreds of miles. I took this as an opportunity for reflection. Why did Kansas, of all places, scare me so much?
I discovered a few things.
1) The unknown is utterly terrifying.
2) An unknown of a great deal of open space is even more terrifying. Up until now, I’ve been going nonstop in cities, meeting people, bustling. But now I can’t run away or distract myself. I literally had to drive through this plain, a vessel for me to really get in touch with myself.
3) This part of my experience was necessary for transformation. In my most recent chapter of life, there was pain that I hadn’t fully confronted yet. I often had a very difficult time being alone at home. The open Kansas highway forced me to open up. I remembered my friend Jordan telling me about a Native American blood ritual during which one makes cuts on his arms as a symbol of death and rebirth, cleansing. I imagined my drive through Kansas leaving me stripped and bare, allowing infection to drip away, cleaning the wounds, which must sting before healing. I can already say that since I left, being alone is much easier, even preferred at times.
After about 7 hours of rumbling road with no trees or clouds to shade the blazing sun, my head was aching and my eyes felt like mush. I decided to stop in that little town of Salina, right smack dab in the middle of the middle of nowhere. I drove around for a few minutes to see what a small mid-America town looks like…still not much. I found a cheap but decent hotel and fell onto the king size bed, physically and emotionally drained.
I drove through the second half of Kansas today with a different perspective, trying to remind myself that there is something to learn even from what seems empty. In fact, there can be even more to discover about ourselves in the wide stillness.
My friend Johanna, who I stayed with in St. Louis, shared this quote with me today. It really resonates with me in regards to the past couple of days as well as my journey so far as a whole.
“If you are brave enough to leave behind everything familiar and comforting (which can be anything from your house to your bitter old resentments) and set out on a truth-seeking journey (either externally or internally), and if you are truly willing to regard everything that happens to you on that journey as a clue, and if you accept everyone you meet along the way as a teacher, and if you are prepared – most of all – to face (and forgive) some very difficult realities about yourself… then truth will not be withheld from you.”
– Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat Pray Love
What Do I Do With This Shovel? And Other New Things I’ve Done Awkwardly in North Carolina
The first mountains!
Having lived in Florida for most of my life, mountains are really exciting. The drive from Savannah to Asheville was mostly long and boring. My eyes were a little heavy from about 300 miles of just road and trees. But right before I drove into North Carolina, I started seeing them in the distance, and yelled “ohmygodmountains!” to whoever might be listening.
I headed to downtown Asheville, where a drum circle was picking up and calling me. I sat and listened for a little while. Someone just came up to me and asked if I was okay. I was rummaging through my backpack so maybe I looked stressed. I said, “yeah!” He said, “oh, good, you just looked a little upset or something.” I took it as an example of the friendliness of the community, and I was right. Everyone else I encountered was extremely nice, asking me how my day was going as if we were long-time friends.
A bluegrass duo playing on the street. I had no idea how awesome the spoons can be!
After I had a great dinner at a local-favorite cafe, I followed the music picking up outside. I felt giddy as more street performers started to come out, even in the rain. There was everything from bluegrass, a spoons player, an electric violinist, a woman sitting naked in the lotus position painted entirely blue, and another woman who took off her boots and danced in the rain in the middle of traffic. (Not sure she was exactly a performer, but it was still entertaining…)
In the morning, the air smelled fresh, like pine and the country. I had breakfast with my friend Paul from Sarasota, who happened to be visiting also, then I had the rest of the day to do whatever I felt drawn to. I decided that I wanted to drive on the Blue Ridge Parkway. But just before I was about to get on, my tire pressure warning light came on, so I stopped at a gas station and pulled up the the air machine. I started at it for a long time. I rushed to put the valve on one tire. I had no idea what I was doing. Nothing seemed to be happening. My confusion must have showed, because someone came up to help me. Finally my tires were filled up and I headed to the Blue Ridge Parkway.
The road was really winding and narrow, and I had no idea what was around the corner. Sometimes a beautiful view of the mountains, sometimes a car speeding past in the opposite direction, a tunnel, oh, and a BEAR. I saw my first wild bear ever, a black bear. I turned a corner and it was hopping across the road like a rabbit. It startled me at first, but after a split second it was back in the woods. The ride was exhilarating, especially because it was a little bit scary and unknown. After all, that’s what this whole trip is about!
After a lovely hike with a 360 degree panoramic view of the mountains, I headed north again to my digs for the night, Snaggy Mountain Music Farm. I realized that I didn’t have any cell reception and didn’t have the directions to Snaggy. I had a map, though, with which I successfully followed to the nearest junction to take me to Burnsville, a very small mountain town – barely a town, actually, just a few scattered general stores, and ice cream shop and maybe some gas stations. I got slightly lost on the way and almost gave up, but finally found it.
There was a girl sitting on the porch talking on the phone. I hesitantly walked up empty handed just in case I was in the wrong place and asked, “Is this…Sna..ggy…moun…tain…?” She said yes and went to get Jared, the host. He welcomed me and showed me to an adorable little room with trees and animals painted on the wall. I found it very charming. There were chalk writings all over the living room walls, all positive quotes about life and music, a piano, and various guitars, banjos, and mandolins strewn all over. I felt right at home. I went to get my stuff from my car and when I walked back in, one guy offered to help me with my load. Then he looked more closely at me and asked,” Are you from Sarasota?” I said, “yes…” and then I realized who he was and said, “Oh my god!! Hi!” I remembered him as a teacher at a school where I worked with youth groups. He told me three of the other guys here were also from Sarasota. I couldn’t believe we all ended up here at the same time. There is always music playing here – we jammed all night. We played together in the barn while others danced.
In the morning, while it was still cool, I took my guitar to the hammock outside the house right over a babbling brook and plucked and it lazily while I gently swung back and forth. Andrew, my fellow Sarasotian, asked if I wanted to go over to Mountain Gardens, another farm. I said, “sure!” I was wearing a long dress and flip flops. Andrew said, “Oh, it’s actually a work party, so I don’t know if you want to change or if you want to work in that.” I said, “Oh…okay, yeah…I probably should change.” I figured work meant farm work, which I was excited about because it’s something I’ve been interested in, something else that’s totally different from anything I’ve done (I’ve killed many plants in failed attempts at “urban gardening”) and out of my comfort zone.
There were a bunch of other young, wanderer-types at Mountain Gardens. Joe, the founder and owner of the farm, was explaining what we were going to do. Everyone started picking up tools so I picked up a shovel. It was a lot heavier than I expected. I wasn’t sure how I was going to repeatedly pick it up and shove it in the ground. I still didn’t really know what I was supposed to do, so I just started moving dirt around, pretending I was an expert farmer. After a little while, I saw it coming together. We were basically digging up the earth on a hill to make beds to plant trees and flowers. We evened out the ground and I started developing a nasty blister on the inside of my thumb about 10 minutes in. About 3 hours later, we saw the finished product, which was incredible considering how we transformed the hill into a garden. We enjoyed some homemade pizza for lunch and drove back to Snaggy, where I felt like I had arrived at home, and immediately sank onto the couch from total exhaustion.
Now I’m sitting here on my bed held by a hand-made wooden bed frame. I wish I could stay longer, but as much as I’ve enjoyed being in the majestic mountains of North Carolina, I am feeling the pull to keep pressing on westward.
Moving Out, Moving On, and Moving Up: First Stop, Savannah
I have never done anything like this.
I’ve never driven for more than 4 hours at a time. I’ve never crossed a state line in my car by myself. I never really thought I could.
I’ve never been so free. And this is only the beginning.
Yesterday, I arrived in Savannah, Georgia, and I finally feel like my trip has really begun. (Read about my “Quarter-Life Breakthrough” to catch up on why I chose to make the road my home). I was in Orlando the past two days and it sort of felt like I was visiting for the weekend like I’ve done many times before and I’d be back to Sarasota in 2 hours. Though it was familiar, it was the perfect start. It got me warmed up a little. My best friend, Jessica, told me all about Yellowstone, as she worked for the same company that I’ll be working for a few years ago. I spent quality time with my brother and visited some of my old stomping grounds. Another look into the past, part of what has contributed to where I am and where I’m going.
Leaving my more immediate past in Sarasota was not easy. As exciting as I knew this adventure was going to be, it was also a big transition. After my last day at work, I had just over a week to move out of my apartment, spend time with my family and friends, and get ready for a huge life change. The process of moving out was very symbolic; as I was digging through everything I owned, throwing away, selling, and donating most of it, a lot of emotions came up. I cried a lot, especially saying goodbye to my cat. (And my parents, friends, coworkers, and apartment, too.) I also celebrated everything I gained from that season of life. I was excited for a new chapter, but I had to go through a sort of cleansing process first, a healthy deconstruction before rebuilding. I left everything I didn’t need behind – literally and figuratively. After all, the things I really need aren’t things.
After a week of rehashing memories and purging what no longer served me, I was finally all moved out. I was dripping with sweat from carrying load after load to the dumpster and car in the 95 degree Florida summer morning, and totally physically exhausted. Thankfully, my good friends and parents helped me with the move, and my friend Shayna was there to see me off. I dropped one last load off at Goodwill and then at my parents’ (cat stuff), and did the first leg of driving North.
After my nourishing visit to Orlando, I headed further Northeast yesterday morning to finally pass the Sunshine State. Of course, this was when the “scary” part began. I got knots in my stomach thinking about it before I left. What if I get lost? What if the roads are confusing and I accidentally turn into oncoming traffic? Well…it was great. I arrived in Savannah, one of the places I’ve wanted to see for a while. I took myself out to dinner at a great local restaurant specializing in Southern cooking with “the world’s best banana pudding” (which I would have to agree with), and read On the Road while my food was being prepared. I didn’t feel weird being alone. I felt like I was really taking care of myself, doing whatever I wanted when I wanted.
After, I went to the Historic District, finding it using directions from the hotel front desk clerk, Maggie, without my GPS crutch. I was so proud of myself. I realized that, though a seemingly small feat (I’m not known for being great with directions…), I really am capable of so much more than I give myself credit for. I parked at the square where Forrest Gump, one of my favorite movies ever, was filmed, and walked around wherever I felt like. Everyone was very friendly, smiling, saying “hello” and “excuse me,” a polite, Southern charm filling the air.
The sky was pink and orange with the setting sun over the bridge. I walked along the river, listening to an inviting cacophony of street music. I stopped to listen to a solo guitar player. He noticed I was listening and asked if I was a musician. I smiled and said, “yes.” He handed me his guitar and asked me to play something original. I hesitated. My allergies were still raging from the dust of the move and my voice was definitely not going to sound its best. But I did it anyway just to say I did, just to make sure I wasn’t letting my fear hold me back. And you know what? It didn’t sound that great. But I didn’t dwell on it or beat myself up like I usually do. I just had fun, and it still felt great to play like that just on the street – something I’ve always wanted to do. I felt like a traveling musician…taking baby steps.
Three days in. I’m loving this, especially the little surprises when I realize my own strength.
My Quarter-Life Breakthrough: Why I Decided To Change My Life
On my 25th birthday, I asked myself if I was happy. If I was fulfilled, accomplishing what I’d hoped. If I was satisfied with the life I had.
It didn’t take long to realize that the answer was no.
I was certain that the apocalypse was about to happen, or that my world would cave in on my quarter-life crisis.
It all started after I graduated from college with a B.A. in Music and moved back to my hometown of Sarasota, Florida. I kept wondering, “what am I going to do with my life?!” I felt really lost. I didn’t know what I wanted.
I’ve been a musician my whole life, but the voice in my head along with those of others kept saying, “It’s too hard.” “You’ll never make it.” “What are you going to do with a music degree…?”
I decided I should find an easier way to make a living. I figured it was time to start “adulting,” get a stable job and give up my silly music dream.
I wanted a steady paycheck. I wanted an office and business cards with a title that made me sound important. I thought that was what twenty-somethings were supposed to be working towards.
After four months of searching, applying, and negotiating, I accepted a job as a non-profit professional that I bet all of my happiness on. I moved out of my parents’ house and got my own place. My first apartment out of college, paid for by myself, all to myself! (And my cat, of course). I had it made. Right?
A year in, I started to realize that something wasn’t right. I developed some unhealthy coping mechanisms, seeking comfort and control.
Many of my friends were getting married and having children, but I was in a different place in life. Those were things that a typical nice Jewish-American girl from Canada should do, but settling down seemed like such a suffocating, boring thought. I didn’t want to get too comfortable. I didn’t want to settle for anything.
At work, I found myself trying to change who I was to fit in, move up, and get a raise. And I did. That, combined with other aspects of my socially acceptable life, was what I thought success was.
I was miserable.
I vented about all of this to my friend Dan, and he said, “Amber, you have one year. One more year in Sarasota, and that’s it.” So I made myself a deadline – August 31st, 2014. I had no idea what I was going to do, but I knew I had to do something.
I started searching for something that felt right. I went to Boston to visit a rabbinical program. (Oy). I went to Orlando to check out audio recording schools. I went to a couple of other places on a whim to see if I could just move somewhere and start from scratch. I made a huge list named “Paths” of Master’s and technical programs, which included everything from Women’s Studies to Dental Hygiene.
I also had a longing for adventure, an insatiable wanderlust, and a crazy dream about going on a road trip to Wyoming. Going out West and being embraced by nature. Pure, real beauty. I needed to feed my soul.
When I shared this with other people, they would say, “Why do you want to go to Wyoming?? There’s nothing out there.” I said, “Exactly.”
I longed to drive on an open road surrounded by mountains and sky. It was partly the nothingness, the stillness and serenity, that I wanted, but also the fullness, the vastness, the majesty of the natural world, the knowing that there is so much greater. I wanted to be so inspired by the land that it would take my songwriting to the next level.
It was one of those things you put on a bucket list and write off as a distant fantasy. So in my time of searching, I applied for a few jobs at national parks in the West, thinking, “What the hell?”
I felt so overwhelmed. There were too many choices. But I needed to go through every possibility, entertain every idea and fantasy to see if there was any potential. What stuck?
Then it hit me.
When I visited the recording school in Orlando, I cried the whole way through the president’s speech. He talked about being afraid – music is a scary business – and how if you choose your “plan B” (the “safe” option), you never really get to work on plan A (what you really want).
I realized that was EXACTLY what I’d done.
It became obvious that music is my calling. I knew I had been afraid to really pursue it, that I never really tried.
But I wasn’t sure if I could pull it off or what the next step was. I wasn’t rolling in dough or anything (remember, non-profit professional over here, getting paid mostly with the satisfaction of helping people and saving the world). I took some side jobs playing gigs, singing in a choir, and teaching Zumba.
Just as I was feeling desperate, my now-mentor and guru, Cherie appeared in my life. I heard that she helped people figure out their life’s purpose. Within 24 hours I had a meeting scheduled.
When we first met, she told me she had done an astrology reading about me. I did an internal eye roll and chuckled to myself about the absurdity of it, and then she said, “Amber, you’re a wild horse.”
Boom.
“You need to run free,” she said. “You’re trapped by all of these institutions.”
And it just made sense.
One day at work, I got a phone call from an unknown number. I hesitantly answered and the person said, “We have reviewed your application and have one more question for you. Why do you want to work at Yellowstone National Park?”
Omg.
“Well,” I said, “I’m at a point in my life where I need to do something new. I have dreamed about going out West, especially to Wyoming, for a long time. I’m also in the process of becoming an American citizen, and with that milestone, it would be amazing to explore my new frontier in Yellowstone.”
She said, “Thank you. We would like to offer you a job.”
I was shocked. I never thought it would actually happen. But it clicked. I knew it was right, and I knew I was going.
Yes, I had doubts and second thoughts. My brain told me, “there’s absolutely no way you can go alone. You should just wait – maybe one day when you’ll maybe have the opportunity to maybe go with maybe some friends or maybe a partner you’ll maybe meet.”
I had to process the idea that I was going to really do this, that I was going to bring up the courage to go out on my own, leave my hometown, quit my cushy job, break my apartment lease, sell most of my stuff, and separate myself thousands of miles from my family, my cat, my few good friends in Sarasota, and my comfort zone.
So this, in a nutshell, brings me to where I am now: on the brink of a solo road trip across the country to live and work in Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming, and to work on my music. And I’m really, really scared. But I am tired of living in fear.
It’s nice to be comfortable, but I’m tired of that too. I want to feel alive. I want to live my dreams without letting fear hold me back. I want to do all of those seemingly crazy and unrealistic things; why wait? As seriously freaked out as I am, I know I have to do it.
My name is Amber Ikeman, I am 25 years old, and I am taking my life by the reins to live my truth. My wild-horse spirit will finally run free.
