Roughing it in the Bahamas

When people hear that I lived in the Bahamas for a year, their idea of the life I led there is drastically different from the reality. True, the island chain’s turquoise blue water, white sand beaches, and towering cliffscapes are not exaggerated on postcards and brochures. It really is an island paradise, and I really did have those at my fingertips.

But my days were not spent sprawled in a lounge chair catching a tan, sipping fruity drinks, and staring out at a blue expanse of nothingness. I caught a tan while scrubbing salt water and lemon juice into dirty laundry, while painting shutters in a bikini in stifling 100 degree heat–with no A/C to escape to. I drank warm water that I’d siphoned into bottles from a freshwater jug. And more often than not, my view of the ocean was interrupted by “the bush”–an impassable tangle of green and brown roots and leaves that traversed the remote island I called home.

About half the time I lived in the Bahamas, I did not have electricity. For all but the first month, I did not have running water. Part of this was due to setting up camp in the shell of an abandoned property while slowly–ever so slowly–renovating the house. Part of this was due to the ensuing aftermath of Hurricane Joaquin.

Every morning, I woke at 6 AM and cooked oatmeal over a portable stovetop. I poured salt water over my toothbrush to wet it before brushing my teeth. Then, I put on a mismatching bathing suit top and bottom before heading outside to the well on property. No freshwater source existed on the narrow island, so the well tapping into the water table only produced easy access to salt water. I tied a rope around glass bottles I’d plucked from the shoreline, long ago washed up from the tide. Dangling the bottle down into the 10 foot well, I hauled up five bottles of water, a gallon each, to suffice for the day: one for dishes, two for the toilets, one for laundry, and one for showering.

Next, I plugged up the kitchen sink and filled it with one of the bottles’ contents. All of the dishes from the day would soak in here throughout the day. Before bed, I would scrub them then set them out to dry, streaks of salt residue the next day affirming their cleanliness.

By now, it was nearing 8 AM. I would decide my projects for the day. This varied every day. Some days I scavenged and hauled 20-pound rocks from the surrounding bush and aligned them on the property, the humble beginnings of a garden bed forming atop the hard coral rock surface beneath my feet. Other days I drove 40 minutes into town on the one road, potholed, no-lined highway to get groceries: $7 for a head of moldy cauliflower that took a week to get from the U.S. to Nassau to Long Island, Bahamas; $10 for a pack of 5 tampons. On Saturdays, though, I went to the Farmer’s Market for local produce and socializing with the women selling me fresh mangos, guava, breadfruit, and arugula.

When it wasn’t laundry day, I set to work painting the entire exterior of the two small buildings on the property–once a command center for the adjacent unkept runway, then a nightclub, then a home. Eventually, I would paint the inside.

Some days I climbed down into the well to scoop out the Cuban tree frog tadpoles and drop them in the water’s edge at the end of the runway. I’d return to scrape the muck out of the old well, a futile attempt to purify thecontaminated salt water.

By noon, I had made a lunch of potatoes–Greek lemon or mustard potatoes–or lentils. Then I headed back outside for more laborious tasks. The heat of the day peeked at 3 PM, an unbearable time to be outside, skin baking and burning even in rare, coveted shady spots on the land. Indoors, I wrote for hours, taking breaks to read a book, play cards, or glue seashells together to make shell creatureswhich I would eventually bequeath to my Bahamian friends as I said my farewells a year later.

At 5 PM, I’d explore a new nook of the island, turning down unmarked after unmarked dirt road to find yet another vacant beach on this 80-mile long island of 3,000 inhabitants. I collected sea glass and sea shells, dead coral and bones. I encountered dozens of adult sea turtles while snorkeling in a cove; came face-to-face with a bull shark in open water.

At 8 PM I made dinner. Before the sun fell below the horizon at 8:30 PM, I was asleep–awaken throughout the night by the loud incessant croaking of Cuban tree frogs that had long ago matured from the well.

In the wake of Hurricane Joaquin, I would understand what it meant to be white and privileged showcased by my ability to choose to live this way, and the choice to return to “normal.’

It Gets Better

Ten months ago, I thought life as I knew it would never be the same. In a way, I was right. I am a stronger person than I was 10 months ago and a better version of myself. But the difference is that I thought my world had been zapped of sunshine and butterflies, that I would forever be spluttering, drowning, splashing but never surfacing for a breath of air. I hated my new normal but it didn’t feel like anything would ever change.

I had forgotten that it was possible to wake up in the morning with a peaceful rhythm in my chest. I had forgotten it was possible to start my day without a tightness that made each breath calculated, or to sleep more than three hours in a night. I had forgotten what it felt like to really, truly live.

People promised me it would get better, but at the time, these seemed like false, rose-colored, unproven words of hope. Because I couldn’t see past the fog, so how could they?

But it did get better.

I have made some big changes since January that have shaped my days to be filled with light instead of darkness.

I went back to therapy.

I started seeing my therapist again and found myself looking forward to our weekly appointments. While I’ve been able to cut back to monthly or even every other month appointments, I still recognize and appreciate the value in having a licensed professional with whom to talk through the ups and downs of life.

I prioritized certain people over others.

Some people in my life have been catalysts to my pain. I cut ties whether directly or indirectly with people who discouraged me, judged me, disrespected me, or were straight up rude or mean to me.

This was extremely difficult for me to do because I really do love humanity, and I really do love the people I surround myself with. But it turned out I only loved some parts of some of these people because there were other parts of them that weren’t good to me or for me. When I realized this, I had a clear idea of who I needed to let go.

I moved.

I still live in Seattle, but I moved in with a new roommate in a new apartment. I feel comfortable in this home environment, something I hadn’t felt for the two years prior. That meant for two years I would go from an uncomfortable work environment (see below) to an uncomfortable living environment every day, which made me unable to unwind and just relax.

My new living situation (which isn’t so new anymore) is working out great. I don’t know what will happen when my lease is up, but I’m surprisingly not worried about it, which shows me how much progress I’ve made.

I got a guinea pig.

Cilantro Clementine aka Clemmy aka the best guinea pig in the world has made my days immensely brighter. She relies on me and I rely on her. When I start to feel anxious, I pick her up (if she isn’t already by my side or in my lap). Just by petting her, or getting kisses from her, or hearing her little noises, my heart is instantly happier. She helps me to remain in the present. It’s truly amazing how a teensy furball can make such a big impact.

I quit my job.

The final straw toward gaining back clarity, peace, and happiness turned out to be quitting my job. For two-and-a-half years, I had stayed afloat in a hostile work environment, thriving professionally but sinking personally. I was often cornered aggressively, literally blocked from escaping a barrage of negative commentary, blamed for things that weren’t my fault, and discredited for pivotal business accomplishments for which I’d gone above and beyond. Without my consent, I was forced to shift from a 32 to 46-hour work week and cover the work of two employees without additional compensation, all the while jeopardizing my creative careers and, most importantly, my mental health.

I had made leaps and bounds in nurturing my health since reaching my lowest low, and I realized this job was the only thing keeping me from progressing.

So I quit. After two years of striving weekly to make changes within the workplace, and a year of casually yet non-directionally looking for other job opportunities, I was exhausted. I had no energy or time to commit to job searching, and so finding a job before quitting simply wasn’t an option. A lot of people are scared to quit without anything lined up, and it certainly can be scary. But I wasn’t rash in this decision. I saved all the money I made from six months of overtime work and set it aside to help me transition.

After my co-worker and I were unjustly yelled at on the end of our shift one evening, I had this “Aha!” moment where I recognized I didn’t deserve to be treated like that. I handed in my resignation the next day. Immediately, I felt that I really was going to be okay after all, that it really does get better. (Coincidentally, on my last day there, I found out I was cast in a theatre show.)

I changed careers.

I also made the decision to leave the veterinary field. Did you know the veterinary profession ranks number one in the national suicide rate? Did you know that veterinary professionals are two to four times more susceptible to mental illness than the general population? In speaking with half a dozen of my friends in the animal field who were also struggling with mental health and the same problems I had with this field of work–such as ethics and compassion fatigue–I thought about what jobs have made me the happiest. I made a list of my skills and objectives, and I set aside time every day (even today) to apply to jobs.

So I made the decision to transition out of the animal world, at least in my previous capacities, at least for now. Around this time, I was also given the opportunity to have my own animal web series, combining my love of animals with my love of writing and acting. It could not have been more serendipitous.

What’s the moral here?

It really can get better, and it will get better if you work at it. That’s the kicker though. It takes so much effort, so much strength and belief in yourself. It takes relying on others, being vulnerable and asking for help, but at the end of the day, it is only you who can pull yourself through to the other side.

It’s easy to doubt yourself and to doubt the words of hope when you feel so helpless and hopeless. But I promise you, it gets better.

Just a Receptionist: Be the Change You Wish to See in the World

Last week, I picked up the phone at the vet clinic where I work. The woman on the other end was a potential new client, asking a myriad of questions in a rude and demeaning tone. I held my ground, opting to bat away her belittlement with kindness.

But then she followed up one of her questions with, “Oh well, you wouldn’t know. You’re just the receptionist.”

Time paused for the next half a second. I was, of course, incredulous that a human being would talk down to another human being, a stranger no less, through a speaker. But we are in the midst of a politically and emotionally charged atmosphere. True colors are flying, and they’re not always the rainbow we want to look at.

I had three options for how to respond here:

1. Go off on a rant
2. Correct the woman by listing off my credentials and actual job title
3. Laugh in her face

I opted for #3. Here’s why:

1. Going off on a rant doesn’t solve anything, especially over the phone, and especially when the listener is not invested in the cause. Emotions are often irrational, and they bring a charge to a conversation that quickly crosses the line from discussion into argument.

2. I stoop down to her level if I play the high and mighty card. And, for the record, no one is ever “just a receptionist.” I have known many receptionists in my life—most of them women. Off the clock by night, they are mothers, sisters, daughters, wives, chefs, caretakers, volunteers, dreamers, travelers. On the clock by day, while listening to an earful from people on the other end of the line, they are therapists, organizers, greeters and problem-solvers. And they do this all while often being harassed, overworked and grossly underpaid.

3. Laughter is the best medicine. I laughed three times over her continued barrage of insults, and then calmly directed her elsewhere, saying our clinic would not be a good fit for her.

While I believe this was the appropriate response, I will say I am terrible at standing up for myself. I will be the first to have the back of a stranger, but the last to correct someone for walking all over me. I’m working on that. But as little pacifist me hones my confrontational skills, I’m remembering to stay true to my values, not the least of which is love. I will fight for dignity and equality for all—yes, even those who put me down—but I will not enter into cyber-bullying, name-calling and haughtiness. I will fight for women’s rights, LGBTQ rights, religious freedom, racial freedom, and basic human dignity. I will fight for change.

In my film premiere last night, my character—the wisest psychiatrist there ever was—says, “Change isn’t always progress, but it is evolution.”

When we vote, we vote for change. People don’t always agree with the progress of that change, but I believe politics are a lot like religion. At the heart of it all, don’t we just want good to come of it? The votes have been cast. I’m not unfriending people. I’m engaging them face-to-face to unite for the greater good. We need to live our lives reflecting the change we wish to see in the world.

I’m stepping down from my soap box now. There is a good and right part of history in the making. I’m giving you the microphone. Which side are you on?

How My 2016 Was Shaped By My 2015

One year ago, I penned a piece on my radical sabbatical. Re-reading it, I’m finding how much it predicted my future.

1. I WAS asked in a job interview about the 1-year gap in my resume. I explained my belief in the value and virtue of self-discovery, self-awareness and self-worth. I got the job.

2. I took this year to be single, to date myself, to embrace my neuroses, viewing them not as flaws but as unique traits that make me stand out among the crowd. I invested in therapy to deal with my recent hardships but ended up facing unchecked problems of my past. I realized that I really AM invaluable to my own success and happiness.

3. Taking a plunge, throwing away any sense of stability I had previously laid out in my life and starting anew in Seattle WAS incredibly challenging. But even moreso, it WAS vital; it WAS necessary.

4. There is a disarming truth to society, which is that we, as individuals, do not believe in ourselves. I had to believe in myself to fight through the rejection of the art industry, and I AM better off because of it.

5. Like 2015, 2016 was ALSO filled with unanticipated emotions, ups and downs and everything in between. But I like my emotions. It makes me a better writer. It makes me a better actor. It makes me a better animal caregiver. And more importantly, it makes me a better human.

I know myself better than I thought I could ever know another living, breathing thing. It is a beautiful, beautiful achievement that no one can ever take away from me. It is something I wish for everyone to achieve in life. Learn who you are, and be head over heels happy with who that person is.

My 2015 Year in Review: A Sabbatical for Myself

In December 2014, I quit my job. It wasn’t exactly something I’d methodically planned on doing, but when I look back on it, I know it was a long time coming. I’d spent the last eight years dedicated in heart, mind and body to my zoological career, and I needed a break. I’d spent the last three years living in the same town, and I needed a change. Life had become monotonous when living, for me, is fueled by the unknown. So I took a chance.

In our mid-20s, we are still young and impressionable. We are at the peak of our productivity, our brains—sharp as tacks—are eager to learn, our futures are untethered and therefore filled with wide open doors of opportunity. It is, as this would suggest, a pivotal time. We begin building our ladders for success; we step higher and higher toward that shining ray of achievement and happiness. We can mold our careers… or we can mold our individuality. I guess the real question here is, what defines our success and happiness?

The former description lays way the ideal groundwork for our professions, but that exact same illustration paints the perfect chance for self-exploration. Our mid-20s is the ideal age to understand who we are and what we want before diving into a lifelong commitment for something we will statistically give up on ten years down the road.

Jane Hirt, former VP at the Chicago Tribune, quit her job and took a year off, recently penning a reflective report of her 2015 “Radical Sabbatical.” Similar to Ms. Hirt, the reactions in response to my career break were a combination of curiosity, misunderstanding, incredulity, disapproval, scorn and regard.  But despite those who disagreed with my seemingly “radical” decision, the vast majority offered me respect. The statement I heard most often was, “I wish I could do that.” The responses were the same when I set off to bunk with a tribe in the Amazon and backpack Europe solo; the disarming truth of these statements is that people do not believe in themselves.

We view our jobs as a sense of stability because they offer us finances and health benefits. We then relate our jobs to happiness and success because we find ourselves outwardly secure when, perhaps inwardly, we are less secure. Jane Hirt is a middle-aged corporate executive and she sacrificed stability for a sense of self.

It is unnerving unleashing yourself from the ties of the American workforce, ignoring societal expectations and stepping away from the “real world.” I will not put words on a page that hold no merit and I will not speak words that bear no authenticity. It is not easy embracing change. But far greater than its difficulty is its importance, its vital necessity to our well-being. Change is healthy; change is good.

My year of change turned out to be a year of growth, reflection and discovery.

I traveled, tried new things, took chances, made new friends, caught up with old friends and visited family. Much of my year was shared with someone else while other moments were spent in quiet solo appreciation. I experienced a year full of waves of unanticipated emotions spurned by unexpected—sometimes indescribable—experiences.

I went paragliding, hiked to Machu Picchu, picked wild berries and made my own jam, rescued and rehomed an injured island dog, started freelance writing, learned how to bake with a dehydrator, cried a lot, laughed a lot, lived through a natural disaster, scaled a glacier, saw my first wild Grizzly bear, flew co-pilot, survived heartache, planted a garden, met members of indigenous communities, jumped off a cliff into the ocean, ate seven types of potatoes, painted my face in bug guts, visited ancient geoglyphs, swam with a bull shark, got featured as an inspirational woman, locked myself out on a third story terrace in Latin America, became a master at Cribbage, learned how to wield a glue gun without burning myself, went sandboarding, volunteered and donated, cooked over an outdoor fire, started a beach combing collection and decluttered my life.

I learned to love me for me. I accomplished unwritten goals and fell short of others. I realized I want to be defined by more than one passion. I discovered strengths and weaknesses within myself. I have no regrets.

If a potential employer asks me at a job interview why there is a one-year gap in my resume, I am prepared to tell them. And they better strap themselves in because I know how to sell myself. I know how to market the value and virtue of self-discovery, self-awareness and self-worth. I know that I want to love what I do and who I am. I know that I am an invaluable employee, but even more so, I know that I am invaluable to my own success and happiness.