How to pack* for a month-long solo trip
*emotionally and physically
Good morning. I’m writing to you, solo, from a tiny, wood-paneled cabin in a small town in California. I’ve come here for a month in solitude to work on my book, spend time brainstorming on the next phase of my career, and be in nature. Something was calling me out here to do serious reflective thinking, dust out the cobwebs of my brain, and take a leap of artistic faith. You could, in a way, call this a self-imposed artistic retreat. Call me Bon(nie) Iver.
I feel so many blessings to be here. My heart is so full.
I arrived last night, in the dark, slick rain. I stopped at In-N-Out on my way to the cabin, spending 35 minutes in a drive-through line that looped around an entire shopping plaza. Yes, running in for my meal would’ve taken 5 minutes. But apparently, as soon as I get to California, I, too, don’t want to get wet. I am not above idling in my car, sitting in a drive-through for a burger, soda, and fries. Happiness.
The whole reason for heading straight to In-N-Out was not solely because it’s a delicious meal after a perilous day of travel, but definitely that, but also to compare their burger head-to-head with Shake Shack’s, which I’d had the night before. I think I like Shake Shack’s burgers better. More flavor. More seasoned, charred burger meat. Sue me.
I’ve never traveled somewhere for a full month, certainly not post-pandemic.
I was away a lot in 2018. Internationally, I explored Sweden, Tokyo, Italy, France, Croatia; domestically, I visited Seattle, SF, Portland, NYC, Austin, Connecticut. I went on about 15 or more trips that year. Many of these were business-related, and a few for pleasure. It was exhilarating, but I was never home.
Later that year, a few days after coming home from Japan, I adopted Samson—a soft, wolf-like canine with nary 12 lbs of fur, baby teeth, and ears the size of kangaroos. I got him for many reasons, but mostly, I think, it stemmed from wanting to tether myself to a place.
Samson changed every aspect of my life. He signified the death of my old life—a life of all-white Instagrammable furniture and measured-out tablespoons of almond butter and medjool dates, pre-yoga meditations and hours spent at the gym—and the birth of a new life: dirt in the house, pet hair everywhere, his needs before mine. Not only was I now tethered to a place, but I formed an undying connection with a big, doe-eyed sand-colored wolf.
I wanted to be grounded, stable. I wanted to be inconvenienced. And now I am. Gone are the days of running off to France in a jiffy. Traveling now costs me time away from Samson, money if I can’t bring him, a broken heart when I have to leave him behind.
So, here I am, writing this during my first morning in my cabin in California. I have a hot water bottle and Samson at my feet to keep me warm (he is here with me). As I look out the window, all the plants and vegetation are still. There is no breeze. I saw a massive 4-foot red-tailed hawk fly low over me this morning on my hike, sweeping so low I could almost touch him.
I booked this cabin in August of 2023. I knew I wanted to get away, back to the West Coast, to do some inner exploration and focus on my book. I wanted to get away from the East Coast traditions and its oftentimes oppressive, old-school ways of life. I wanted to remember there are other ways of living. I wanted to remember my California self.
So much of the book I’m writing takes place in California. If you’re new here, I lived in California from 2016-2021 during my influencer years. Though I’m happy in New York and feel it is my home (I grew up in a suburb of NYC), part of me will always be tethered to California, an invisible wisp of a thread hooked around my finger, cemented under the masses of rocks in the Golden State. There is something about this place, beyond the nature, the food, that is, plainly stated, a part of me.
I believe there are some places that we are connected to on such a level; whether we’ve visited it on a vacation, lived there for a period of time, or maybe even have yet to visit: a place that is so special to us, a part of our cellular DNA, for reasons that at times cannot be put into words.
AND YET, despite all this, I had some difficult emotions before this trip. Most notably, regret and worry. “Why am I doing this?”