It’s so easy for me to slip into negative thought patterns about money and relationships, chastising myself for not following a traditional life path. My life in Wānaka is normal; most of my friends are either on their second kid or their first divorce. To slip into a comparative mindset is second nature for me. It takes some heavy self-reflection to step back and reform the narrative. I know, I know, a lot of therapy talk. Listen, I paid an absolute shit-ton of money for therapy over the years, and I’m going to make every penny count. 

So, shifting my thoughts toward positive things may be harder, for it will be me, but it will be better in the long run. I try to focus on my successes and wins. I dwell on travel memories and lessons I’ve learned over the years. How different I am at 36 than 26. Older, wiser, more botox, you know, the usual.

5 crazy solo female travel facts that will blow your mind

But some things stay the same: I’m an introvert, and I hate people. This means I’m still rocking the good old solo female travel lifestyle. To be honest, I don’t really see this ever changing. I love traveling on my own as much as I did 17 years ago when I boarded a one-way flight alone to Spain to study abroad for a year. In fact, I’ve solo traveled so hard for so long that I don’t even think of it as anything but just travel.

What I find fascinating is how the travel landscape has changed. I still used calling cards on pay phones to ring my family that year in Salamanca. I would travel by train, arrive in a new town, and just rock up to the information center and ask about hotels. No one had smartphones and actually had to ask people for directions. I can still remember the first time someone asked ME for directions in Spain in Spanish – felt like a dream come true to appear local even though I had zero idea of where they wanted to go.

Perhaps something I didn’t anticipate was that I found solo female travel in your thirties even more rewarding than when I was younger. Why? Because I’ve changed. After ruminating on this for a while, I’ve decided to pop down six reasons why solo female travel in your thirties is amazing. I’m curious if you agree with them. Enjoy!

1. Your confidence shines brighter than ever

One of the best benefits of getting older is that you start to give less fucks about so many things. A lifetime people-pleaser, it’s always been hard for me to say no. But the past few years have been amazing; I just don’t care as much as I used to. 

I can be direct with people in ways that were extremely difficult for me in my twenties. When I was trying to sell my car a few years ago, this guy was on the phone, borderline harassing me and telling me what to do, saying I knew nothing. Instead of waiting to wrap up the conversation, I just said, “I’m not enjoying this – goodbye,” and hung up. This may seem silly to some people, but for introverts, shy folk, and people who just hate conflict, it was a big deal. And standing up to men who demean me, talk over me, mansplain, or tell me what to do? That is starting to feel really good. 

Learning to be more direct and not being as afraid of rejection in whatever capacity is empowering. This carries over beautifully with solo female travel in your thirties. Traveling on your own as a woman can be scary. You probably haven’t honed your bullshit radar or learned to trust your instincts over being polite. But in your thirties? “Sir, I’ve already paid you twenty bucks to ride this camel around the Pyramids. I’m not paying you more. Period.”

God, I can’t wait til I’m 70, and I can just boss people around left, right, and center with zero fucks to give.

2. Your bank account looks way better

I want to preface this by saying you probably have more money in your thirties than in your twenties. I’m sure some people don’t. In fact, at one point in my thirties, I had negative money for quite a while. But for the rest of you guys who know how to live within your means, this is for you. 

When I first started backpacking and traveling on my own at 19, I was cheap for a long time. I had to be. My jobs paid me between $5.85 and $7 an hour in the US. Yes, multiple jobs. And also, being at university when I somehow thought it was a good idea to go to a school where a four-year degree costs $200,000. I say this with privilege, but I think it’s safe to assume that many of us by our thirties have managed to sock some money away and have better jobs and, hopefully, a smaller student loan debt.

Finally, gone are my years of staying in 15-bed hostels and sleeping on airport floors. I will pay more for better seats on flights or even upgrades (travel is my work, remember), I don’t fly shitty budget airlines if I can help it, and I’ll take Ubers over public transport. 

However, I did just get horrific food poisoning from my business class breakfast on my LATAM flight home from South America. So fancier doesn’t always mean better, though I will say it is much nicer to spew your guts out in the private bathrooms in airport lounges. 

3. Your tastes in *literally* everything have improved (or evolved)

Wine. Food. Travel destinations. Style. Men. I can guarantee that your taste has improved across the board. This likely goes hand in hand with your financial situation improving too. Did I really used to wear dresses over jeans, with my hardcore side part fringe and pierced lip? My Facebook albums from 2007 sure show that I did. Last time I was in America I walked into an Urban Outfitters and then immediately walked right back out.

I remember studying abroad in Spain, and we used to drink Don Simón red wine in a box that cost one euro. Now for me, food culture has become one of my favorite parts of travel. I love exploring places through food. And good food does not always mean more expensive. I will sit on a bucket and devour street soups in Hong Kong just as much as I enjoyed a degustation lunch at Lung King Hee, the first Chinese restaurant in the world to receive three Michelin stars at the Four Seasons. What’s NOT great is that I can’t eat like I did in my twenties; such a bummer.

Even my taste in destinations has changed. I used to want to backpack and move as much as possible. I didn’t get to travel as a kid, and as soon as I could pay my own way, I went far and wide. Nowadays, Ibiza, Mykonos, and Las Vegas don’t really appeal to me anymore. Even though many cities aren’t as appealing, I’d rather stay in small towns or in the countryside. I suppose this is more of an evolution, not necessarily improving taste, but you get the drift.

4. Slowing down, mindfulness, and self-care matter

With age comes wisdom (allegedly), like jumping off a very high bridge in Slovenia in your twenties (omg, this is an adventure of a lifetime!) to in my thirties, where I reflect and think, wow, that was wildly unsafe. Nowadays, I like to slow down, go on a big hike or tramp, and challenge myself in other ways that are equally fulfilling in my thirties.  

My definition of self-care while traveling in my twenties was staying in the same hotel for more than one night and not eating instant noodles for breakfast. Instead of wanting to see everything, I now like to take it slow and base myself in one place. I even love to return to places I’ve been before that I loved so I can dig a little deeper. Solo female travel in your thirties is great because it taught me to be more mindful in every way.

I’m also way more aware of my presence and impact now when I’m traveling versus when I was younger. You know, simple things like following rules.  

5. Shifting priorities and no more discotecas

Gone are the days of “bartender, can I please order your strongest, cheapest drink?” I bet the things that interested you in your twenties while traveling are not the same as those in your thirties. In my twenties, I wanted to tick every single adventure off my bucket list. I just wanted to go full throttle.

Skydiving in Switzerland? Diving with sharks. Backpacking through Southeast Asia. Remember Vang Vieng in Laos? Or how about Thailand? I can still remember doing my advanced diving course in Koh Tao and waking up so hungover the next morning (and not in my room – oops) that I almost puked in my regulator and couldn’t finish the dives for the day. Shame, shame, shame. 

Nowadays, my priorities have shifted from parties, boys, and going big to birdwatching, spas, and yelling at people to turn the music down after 8 pm. While I travel for the same reasons: curiosity, experience, and adventure, my definitions of those things are no longer the same. Solo female travel in your thirties has really evolved into specific experiences that usually involve fine wine tasting.

 6. You realize that those cheap 6 am flights are never worth it. Don’t do it.

Enough said.

The post Solo female travel in your thirties? It’s so much better than you think appeared first on Young Adventuress.

You know, I’m talking about solid, unflappable folk. The Type A humans of the world. I think many of us have friends with personalities that just stay on top of their shit. Like anything that comes their way, they can accept it gracefully, even if it’s bad. Productive, reasonable people with only one window open with one tab at a time on their computers. 

Yeah, I’m not one of those people. Never have been. 

I’m messy, emotional, and thrive in chaos. I know it, and I own it. And while it only took me 35 years to reluctantly accept this about myself, it feels really good to know who you really are more than always feeling like you’re not good enough. Please note the *reluctantly,* as I still have to remember to be kind to myself all the time. Self-love is a work in progress, I guess. 

As I reflect on who I am now, I’ve started to accept that I’m a big empath, and I feel everything, often deeply. I’m a solid INFP-T on the old personality test. And you know what, it’s not a bad thing?

Part of me believes that being this way contributes to my writing, creativity, and work. I’m a dreamer and an eternal optimist. I’m not perfect, and I hope I don’t appear effortless online. I regularly share hard things, my hurts, my struggles, and fuck ups, along with my wins. It’s always been important for me to share the full, glorious, messy story. I’m a blogger of the people. Feel free to remind me when I forget. 

Whether your heart’s broken, or you’ve lost a parent, or someone stole your work, or you’ve royally fucked up, or you’re just plain sad, I know how you feel. Those moments in life that bring you to your knees, I’ve been there weeping on the ground too. You’re not alone. I know what it feels like. And I’ve shared it all in the hopes it makes you all feel less alone. It’s certainly not easy to write publicly about these things.

Growing and evolving have always been important to me. I will always strive to be a better person.

But one thing I’ve always struggled with is letting go. Sticky, difficult situations often trap me far longer than what’s good for me. As a high-functioning yet highly anxious person, I regularly let negative thoughts spiral out of control or allow them to take up way too much space in my brain. Anyone else? 

Underneath my exterior is often a swirling shitstorm of emotions. Few things are effortless for me, and many mundane things no one else thinks about will stress me out for days. To truly let certain things go, I must drag myself kicking and screaming to the precipice or even trick myself into dropping it. 

I’m a dreamer and letting go of dreams, for whatever reason, is challenging. Of course, once you let go, you feel infinitely better. But man, getting there is so hard. And it’s so easy to fall into despair instead.

Time really does heal everything

The past year has forced me to face things I would have happily avoided indefinitely. I’ve had to learn to accept deeply unfair things and let go of dreams in order to better care for myself. Of course, it seemed to happen all at once, too. Thank you, universe.

I don’t think I’ve ever been more tired in my entire life than I have been this past year. And not from a few bad sleeps. I mean serious, long-term fatigue. I’ve been running for so long, living in full-panic mode, forgetting that the body keeps score. There’s so much trauma I’ve been hiding for such a long time.

Having a heart attack. Losing a parent. Losing a close friend. Crazy family stuff I can’t talk about. Depression. Severe anxiety. Closing a business. Failure of a big relationship. Financial failure. A pandemic. An unjust lawsuit. I mean, it’s a hell of a lot. I’m sure so many of you guys can relate. As soon as the pandemic calmed down (however you define that), we just went right back to where we left off, processing nothing that happened to us. 

Since returning to New Zealand after unexpectedly closing NODE down, working in the Arctic and Antarctic, and wrapping up older work things, I feel like I can deep breathe again. But my body just freaked out. After returning to my home in Hāwea, I slept for a week straight, and when I tried to work to do anything, I royally fucked it up. I got times wrong and info wrong and forgot everything. Some of this brain fog still lingers.

Bessel van der Kolk’s magnificent book, The Body Keeps Score, talks about the complex impacts of trauma.

“In order to change, people need to become aware of their sensations and the way that their bodies interact with the world around them. Physical self-awareness is the first step in releasing the tyranny of the past.”

As I try to move on and confront things I really don’t want to confront, as I let myself relax and not live in a state of fear and panic anymore, my body is like, WHAT IS HAPPENING?!?!? A fundamental change of the self would never be easy, I guess. I’m actively trying to process these huge, heavy things instead of shoving them under the rug.

Deep down, I know that for me to move forward, I’ve got to accept and let go of painful things. We can do hard things, eh? Here are some of the major things I’ve had to learn to let go of the past year. 

Letting go of business goals

One of the hardest things I’ve ever done is close my houseplant shop, NODE. 

I opened NODE, a designer houseplant shop in Lyttelton, during the pandemic when our borders were shut. My travel work disappeared overnight, and I wanted to create a happy, joyful space for people who loved indoor plants, my biggest hobby. There is an insane demand in New Zealand for houseplants – I regularly sold rare plants for over $500 a pop! It even got me my first book deal. 

But it was all tied to a life tumbling down around me. I had moved to Lyttelton for love, leaving Wānaka behind. I opened NODE in the same small building as my partner; we shared it. When we broke up, I couldn’t stay there and be face-to-face with my old life every day. But NODE, as a physical shop, needed me there full-time. I slowly abandoned it. 

I struggled so hard with what to do. I let it drag on for over a year, commuting five hours between Wānaka and Christchurch every few weeks, before I finally came to terms with the fact my life had changed drastically, and my heart wasn’t in it anymore. I couldn’t do the business justice. I had the whole brand, including the physical shop, for sale for a while, but in the end, I had to make a snap decision just to close the physical premises and relist it as an online store. I should have done that first. I should have done it a year earlier.

Superficially, it feels like a failure. NODE was meant to be my nest egg, my work for years and years, and it was cut off at the knees. It was successful and made so many people happy. It made me happy. I loved living in Lyttelton and being by the sea – I would have easily continued a life there. But circumstances change, often out of our control. In the two weeks I spent closing up, I had a bus hit my car in Christchurch, and then all of my things were stolen out of the hire car. I don’t believe in signs, not really, but that was the final straw. I was done with this city.

Letting go was incredibly hard and took me so long. But once I did, it was like I was 100 pounds lighter.

Some people just suck

I know this sounds SO naive, but I learned a really hard lesson that there are just bad people in the world. I knew this already, obviously, but I didn’t have to face it firsthand in such a punch-in-the-face way as I did last year. I’ll try to keep this brief.

Two years ago, I hired a young girl on a casual contract to help pack online orders for me at NODE. In New Zealand, this means they work as needed with no guaranteed ongoing work. She worked for me for about a month, a few hours weekly, depending on how many boxes needed packing as orders came in. We then had a super dry spell, so we didn’t have hours for her for a while.

A month later, she hired a no-win-no-fee lawyer and filed an official employment grievance against me, saying I unjustifiably dismissed her and that she should have actually had a part-time contract (with benefits). Therefore, she was seeking tens of thousands of dollars in damages and lost wages. She escalated this up the official ladder for nearly a year, refusing to drop it, each time asking for more and more money. In the end, it got up to her asking for $26,000 plus her perceived lost wages, plus her legal fees, and also two separate financial penalties for me. Bear in mind that she only earned around $1,000 the whole time she worked for me, and I only met her once briefly. 

We had a hearing scheduled that I flew back from the Arctic early to attend, my only chance of potentially getting some of my own costs back. Then, she dropped the case the week before the court hearing. The amount of money I spent on lawyers, appearing at mediations, paperwork and the chance to potentially earn back some of my legal fees over a year—poof—gone. 

What a piece of work.

This happens all the time in New Zealand; she essentially was extorting me for money and would have taken a smaller payout from me to make this go away. The mental toll this took on me was tremendous – I had high blood pressure for a year, and this kept me awake more nights than I care to remember.

I just couldn’t understand how there were people like this out there; it’s not something that would ever even enter my mind to do. Many of her legal documents had dozens of bullet points telling me how I was a horrible person who ruined her life and made her afraid ever to work again. It’s awful to read that about yourself, especially in a legal setting. It couldn’t have come at a worse time; I was so broke, hanging on a thread, and having to borrow money to deal with this.

I have no problem admitting I’m wrong; if I mishandled this, I would have paid up and negotiated. But I followed the law perfectly, and I was still fucked. Why do we even have contracts if they don’t protect you? There’s a lot more I could discuss, and I have all the receipts; the judge even told her she had no case multiple times, but suffice it to say this was a big part of my decision to close my physical shop. There was no way I could trust hiring a new employee again, and I couldn’t rely on contracts to protect myself. 

I cried. I seethed. I raged. I was going to write about her, name and shame her. I wanted to show everyone what she was doing to me and warn others what she was like. But in the end, as hurt and angry as I was, I knew I had to let it go. The truth is that I feel sorry for her. What a sad, miserable existence. As someone who has long struggled with my mental health, I know what it is to feel so low. She fucked me up for a year, but she’s fucking up her own life indefinitely. At the end of the day, I pity people like this.

In the scheme of things, it could have been so much worse. I know I’ve been lucky not to have been whipped by the legal system in my life so far. But you know what? It still really, really hurt. I worked so hard to build such a strong, solid team at my shop, a safe space where we literally can talk about anything. We’re all still tight friends, too. But man, I missed the mark with this girl. There was nothing I could have done differently, so I had to learn to just let it go. There are shitty, manipulative people out there, and it is what it is. The ultimate lesson in learning to let go.

Coming to terms with my career

Over the past two years, I’ve spent a lot of time contemplating the current state of the social media landscape. And the truth is, I wasn’t loving it.

I started this blog in 2010 to keep track of my adventures and to help and inspire others. By 2013, I was blogging full-time and really embracing Instagram and other social media. I was one of the biggest and most well-known creators worldwide, leading the pack. I helped turn Instagram into a job in New Zealand before most brands were even on the platform. I crafted conferences teaching people how to turn online storytelling into a business. I loved it. 

But I’ve grown, and so has this world, and sometimes I wonder if I even fit in it anymore. I don’t want to dance for clicks or make jokes for likes. I’ve always considered myself someone who digs deeper (in the least pretentious way possible). I write 3,000-word articles all the time. I go in-depth with my stories. I use big words and complex syntax that Grammarly hates. I make real connections and hope that I don’t share crap just for the sake of posting crap. 

A lot of social media feels superficial to me; influencers post ads for the most random things every day. It feels disjointed and ungenuine; yes, I know I’m making sweeping generalizations here. Every collab I take on (and I don’t take on many), I spend so much time and energy putting together projects with real impact, creating valuable content that I hope inspires others to care about it, too. If I promoted something and no one bought it or clicked on it, I would be horrified. 

Then, I went through a period where I was getting turned down on projects I knew I was perfect for. Hell, sometimes I wouldn’t even get replies. Ultimately, it made me reevaluate what I wanted with my work and where I wanted to go with it. To be honest, sometimes I don’t want to be an influencer; I certainly never identified with that word. 

I love writing, storytelling, growing and guiding, sharing, and inspiring others. I want to write more books and work with sustainability—and conservation-forward brands long-term. I had to let go of who I thought I was as a big fish to embrace the unknown for the future. It was terrifying yet liberating.

Starting work as a polar guide

One of the greatest things about letting go of things that weigh you down is that it frees up space for many other things. Sometimes, you have to learn to let go of the idea of who you were to embrace who you want to be. Damn, did I just write that? Sounds like something you’d see printed on the side of an inspirational mug. “You got this, b*tch!”

While I was letting the threads of my old life as a houseplant hawker and travel influencer come apart, I was also opening myself up to the secret dream I’ve always wanted: to be a polar guide. 

I traveled on expedition ships to the polar world for nearly eight years as media before I finally stood up and made guiding happen. Imposter syndrome is real, guys. But when I was hosting a group of amazing people in Antarctica a few years ago, I realized I loved teaching and sharing these places. I wanted to be part of the expedition team. Now, I’ve spent five months working as a guide in the Arctic and Antarctic, and I don’t plan on stopping.

I’ve had to learn to let go of the idea that I wasn’t good enough or couldn’t do it or that it would be too hard. Spoiler alert – it’s really hard – but so worth it. Can’t stop me now!

Losing a close friend

Guys, this one is so hard to write. The long farewell. 

About two years ago, a close friend of mine, someone I lived with for years and years, was diagnosed with cancer. They gave her a year. Omg, I can’t even write this without sobbing; writing about someone you love in the past tense is just. so. hard. 

We all have to face big, adult, scary life lessons. And guys, death is the hardest one. While I experienced sudden loss when my stepdad passed away during the pandemic, the slow goodbye was new for me. Watching someone you love waste away 40 years before their time was a whole different type of grief. It was the first time I lost a close friend.

When she first passed away, I found myself so upset and angry. It was so unfair. She was sunshine incarnate with a hilarious, cynical side. She was a really great person who helped shape me (and others) so many times without me even realizing it. She was a rock, a rainbow, with grace and an unmatched personality. When she lived past her one-year cancer anniversary, she had a cake made that said, “Not dead yet.”

There are so many awful people in the world. Why her? To be honest, I don’t think loss is something you ever let go of. Rather, you learn to endure it. A quiet acceptance that life can be bloody unfair. 

Looking forward 

It’s funny when I look at the state of my affairs. One way of looking at it was that I lost everything. My breakup and decision to close NODE cost me every penny I had and more. Everything I put into them was gone. But you know what? I couldn’t be happier. 

Isn’t that wild? The weight of all the negativity, the unkind stories I told myself, the toxicity of things in your life that should disappear once you let it go, holy shit, is it liberating. I’ve been close to rock bottom a few times and always managed to claw my way out by my fingernails. And I’m doing it again. 

The pain that accompanies so many of these worries, once you face it, it gets easier. I’ve had to learn to let go of so many fundamental things this past year, and yet I am really happy. I feel free. I feel hopeful. I know who I am and have a vague idea of who I want to be down the track. And I’ll get there eventually. 

The post A year of learning to let go appeared first on Young Adventuress.

Way back whent, I was blogging full-time and could live anywhere. After my lease ended in Wellington, I headed south. Preferring the chiller Wānaka to Queenstown, I ended up settling here. It was an easy place to fall in love with. It still is.

The 10 most Instagrammable spots in Wānaka

Like so many expats who settle here, I came for a little while and just never left. Well, I did move to Lyttelton (Christchurch) for a couple of years during COVID, you know, for love, but I’m trying to forget that. As soon as things went tits up, I ran straight back into the arms of all my friends in Wānaka. Home.

While my feelings for Wānaka have become more complicated over the years, and I’m still reconciling myself with them, it still feels like home to me. Don’t get me wrong; I love it here. But Wānaka’s changed so much over the past decade, growing and expanding rapidly, just like so many resort towns worldwide. 

Truthfully? I’m mostly disillusioned with the cost. The average house costs around $1.5 million today, which has changed the town’s vibe. I’ve never owned a home before, and I don’t really see how I could ever afford my first house to be here. It’s $175 to fill up my car. One bag of groceries is $100. Lunch is $30. It’s really hard to get ahead. Recently, I was in Melbourne, and it was cheaper than Wānaka!

Anyways, New Zealand is officially in a recession. I also know this is just how things work. Towns grow, especially beautiful ones. As I reflect back on these ten years, my heart fills with emotion. While I’m unsure I’ll be here forever, Wānaka definitely buried under my skin and has become a big part of me.

Here are ten of the many reasons I fell in love with Wānaka.

1. The epic landscape and mindboggling views

Ok, I’m going to be honest here. Wanaka could have a million things going for it (and it does), but one will always top all the rest: it’s insanely beautiful. Like, it doesn’t look real kind of beautiful. This is why people pay millions of dollars to live here. And why young people will live in their cars for the chance to spend time here. 

You’ve seen it all over social media. No matter where you walk outside, you have a beautiful view of the mountains. Right next door to a national park and nestled along a pristine blue lake with even bigger mountains as the backdrop, it’s no surprise that we all are wooed by her beauty. You can’t take a bad photo here. You can’t.

You’re never far from an amazing hike or outdoor adventure in Wānaka. A mecca for outdoor enthusiasts as well as curious travelers, you couldn’t ask for a more picturesque backdrop.

9 day hikes in Wanaka that should be on your bucketlist

2. Small-town vibes for real

Even though the population here in Wānaka has doubled in the decade I’ve lived here, it still exudes small-town vibes. A kind and friendly place (also very wealthy); you’ll always see people you know when you go out. It’s the kind of place where everyone knows your name, from the postie to friends of friends to your barista. It’s wonderful but also makes dating hard and somewhat incestuous.

Crime is never on anyone’s mind in Wānaka; it’s the kind of place where you can leave your wallet and phone on a cafe table, and it’ll still be there when you come back. In fact, our weekly news bulletin, The Messenger, has a Crimestoppers column written up by the local constable, and it’s generally hilarious. Firstly, because the “crimes” a often not even crimes, like the one time the police went to the local petrol station at night to inspect an alarm going off and accidentally set off the anti-burglar fog canon on themselves. 

Or the fact that they love to share their own thoughts and opinions on the crimes themselves: “Now you’d choke on your cornflakes if you saw how many crashes we’ve had on our roads over the past two weeks. I won’t bore you with the list, but we’ll share a couple. Oh, to be a tow truck driver…”

Love it.

3. You’re surrounded by adventures

One of the first things I noticed while living in Wanaka was that there is no shortage of adventure to be had here. And there is no shortage of badass adventurers, either.

The gateway to Mount Aspiring National Park, Wānaka, is the perfect base for those who love to spend their time outdoors. Established in 1964 and covering over 3,500 square kilometers, the national park sits at the bottom of the Southern Alps and sprawls towards the Haast Pass to the west coast, across to Glenorchy, and down to Fiordland. Lorded over by the perfect peak, Mount Aspiring/Tititea (3,033 meters) and many glaciers, it’s a beautiful place to explore. 

Whether you’re tramping in the mountains, sailing on the lake, skiing fresh powder, rock climbing down the valley, or mountain biking after work, Wānaka was made for the adventurous.

In many ways, adventure here is much more down to earth than in Queenstown. The hikes can be really hard and often not easy to access. If you want nature, you chuck on your boots and walk to it.

4. Every season is amazing

One of my favorite things about living in Wanaka is that we have four distinct seasons. Granted, they are reversed from the northern hemisphere but you get used to it. Christmas in the middle of summer is actually awesome. 

In autumn, everything turns red and gold. We have almost no native deciduous trees in New Zealand, and sadly, all of the natives were burned for farming once humans settled here. But because of all those farms, many other trees were introduced, like poplars and other old-school European trees. Also, there are tons of vineyards, so the landscape here pops with color come autumn (April). It’s one of the best places for fall foliage.

20 photos of autumn in New Zealand that will delight you

We have two epic ski fields nearby and snowy mountains in winter. Spring turns the landscape into a rainbow of colors, and our summers are super hot and dry, where everyone hangs out by clear blue lakes. Perfection.

5. Hāwea is actually the best

Is it weird that one of my favorite parts of Wānaka is Hāwea? A little suburb of Wānaka, Lake Hāwea is just fifteen minutes down the road towards the West Coast on another magical alpine lake. Spoiler alert – Lake Hāwea beats Lake Wānaka. I will die on this hill. Clearer and quieter, it is colder, but it’s so relaxed and beautiful. Sometimes, I’m the only person on the beach, as far as I can see.

A decade ago, Hāwea was just a little collection of baches (holiday houses) and home to the hippier hippies of Wānaka. Artsy, quiet, and creative, it seemed so far away back then. Now, many of the paddocks are being developed and turning into those cookie-cutter neighborhoods, a little more “affordable” at around a million dollars. It’s where all of my friends have moved to and built houses. 

I’ve lived in Hāwea for nearly two years now and love it. It is still really chill. We have a corner shop, and that’s about it. I take long walks daily and can easily stroll to my friends’ houses. In the summer I swim in the lake almost every day. It’s magic.

When I was working on a ship in the Arctic, I met a passenger who had an artist friend they met traveling living in Hāwea. They wrote him a letter and asked me to give it to him. I had no idea who he was. When I got home I posted the name of the person in our community Facebook group about it and found him to drop off the letter. Everyone loved the story. 

6. Work doesn’t define you

Wānaka is the kind of place where the people who live here really want to be here. You have to really want it to afford it. It attracts really creative, interesting, chill, and outdoorsy people, all united by a love of nature. Without the job opportunities of big cities, people just take whatever work they can get to continue living in Wanaka, even for a little bit. 

But what is so cool is that your passions and hobbies matter more than your job. Who you really are. No one really cares what your job is. I love that. 

I will say making friends in Wānaka isn’t super easy. A transitory town by nature; if locals think you’re only here traveling or seasonally, they might not bother with you. Harsh, I know. But once you’re in, you’re in. And one of the best ways to meet likeminded people here is getting involved with the outdoorsy stuff. There’s so much of it.

7. Epic ski fields nearby

By and large, Wānaka is a ski town. Cardrona and Treble Cone are two of New Zealand’s most iconic ski fields, and they are both next to Wānaka. Wintertime is just as busy as summertime here. It’s very much a resort town but not as super duper flashy, like Whistler. We also have great heliskiing too. 

We’re old school here and proud of it. There aren’t any big gondolas to carry you up to the top of the mountain. You have to drive up dirt roads to reach the ski fields, and there are only a few chairlifts at each. But it’s so amazing. Above the alpine layer, we have no trees, so the views out are spectacular. Also, surprisingly, we have the calmest weather in winter. Not a lot of wind. We get plenty of bluebird calm days in the sunshine.

Wānaka in the wintertime is really just perfect.

8. It’s close to all the best spots

One of the best parts of living in Wanaka is not just what’s around town but the fact that it’s so central to some of the best areas. Just over the hill, you’ve got the bigger hub of Queenstown with the main airport, plenty of single men, and, most importantly, Kmart. 

In addition to being surrounded by national parks, wine country around Central Otago is less than an hour’s drive away from Wānaka, with some of the best pinot noir around. Clyde, Cromwell, and Alexandra are easy to get to. We have two great ski fields within an easy drive, and Cardrona and Arrowtown are both cute stops on the way over the Crown Range to Queenstown.

The coast is only a few hours away, with most of us either bopping down to the Catlins or Riverton or heading over to the west coast for some sea air. Dunedin, the main city for our region, is three hours away.

9. It’s super cute and quirky

While development in Wānaka is booming, the great local haunts endure. Full of charm, history, and super quirky, they’re the places that make so many of us fall in love with living in Wanaka.

We have a huge fence covered in bras down the road at Cardrona. Not much more to it than that. The Cardrona Bra Fence has been going strong for decades, though occasionally pissing off locals enough that they rip them all off during the night only for them to reappear quickly.

Our local cinema, Cinema Paradiso, has comfy chairs, couches, and even a convertible car for watching the latest films. During intermission, they also serve freshly baked cookies. Puzzling World is a weird and beloved local attraction filled with optical illusions, deceptively hard mazes, and other deceptively hard puzzles. We also have a toy museum. 

Long live small, eccentric towns!

10. The clearest night skies

Finally, one of my favorite things about living in Wanaka has to be our clear night skies. Still remote compared to the rest of the world, we have little light pollution in and around Wānaka. This means that on clear nights, the stars are incredible—even in town. 

You can step outside your home at night and see the Milky Way. And if you’re lucky, we often have the aurora or Southern Lights dancing on the horizon.

Well damn. Writing this just made me fall in love with Wānaka all over again!

The post 10 years of living in Wānaka as an expat appeared first on Young Adventuress.

Growing up, I didn’t travel much. And by much, I mean not at all.

My mom was a single mom for a good chunk of my childhood. I have great memories of going to Virginia Beach in the summertime, but that was about it. But I have had the travel bug since I was little, and I can still remember plowing through copies of National Geographic my mom had kept on shelves in our guest bedroom upstairs. 

Infinitely curious; I was always trying to figure out when I would get the chance to explore these places for myself one day. When I had the chance to study abroad in Spain during university at the tender age of 19, any free moment and any extra dollars I had went towards travel.

I had a big black backpack, and almost every weekend, I went somewhere. It was so cheap to get around Spain and Europe back then. I would intentionally book super early flights and sleep in the airports or take overnight transportation. Those big 16-bed hostel dorm rooms were my home. Every minute was for exploration.

Hungry to see it all, I wanted to do everything.

To describe my travel style at 19, I’d say it was pretty manic.

My eyes were bulging at all the new things I was soaking in, and my brain was exploding at everything I was learning (good and bad). I wanted to fill in all the blank pages on my own travel maps. This prompted things like taking day trips to Bratislava just to say I’d been to Slovakia. I couldn’t tick off everything on my bucket list fast enough!

It’s crazy to think about that now. I travel so differently these days. It’s taken me years to learn, but I feel my travel style has evolved into something entirely different. If I had to put a finger on it, I’d say it would be mindfulness. Along with my passion for conservation and sustainability, the big old lesson of being more mindful when on the road has come. Whether I’m spending one week in just one place or just turning off my phone for a while, supporting local and even being prepared with travel insurance, I’d say mindfulness, in general, might be the big theme of 2023 across the board.

Here are my thoughts on how to embrace mindful travel now. Enjoy!

1. Don’t be afraid to slow down

I believe the biggest step anyone can take towards more mindful travel is to slow down. You don’t have to see every single thing to feel like a trip is worth it. 

Instead of changing accommodation every day or two, book a place for a week and base yourself there. The longer you stay in one place, the deeper the stories, connections, and memories you’ll find. Instead of scratching the surface and taking a selfie, you’ll likely have some extraordinary experiences that only happen to those who slow down. 

And for heaven’s sake, put your phone away. Seeing those photos of a million people standing before the Mona Lisa, I get so sad. There are so many more incredible museums and art to soak in around Paris. 

Nowadays, I usually have my phone on airplane mode or do not disturb when I travel. I also have disabled all the notifications on my phone, barring emergencies and texts. It’s so easy to get sucked into the internet void. Create some distance for yourself and allow yourself to be present while on the road. 

These memories last a lifetime. 

2. Be sure to respect local customs and cultures

The world wasn’t as “woke” as it is now, way back in 2007 when I started backpacking around the world. Only as we collectively evolve have I become more aware of other narratives and perspectives, especially of marginalized people. Sure, it sounds easy to say “respect local culture,” but in fact, it’s harder than you think. 

I’ve been blogging for thirteen years now, and there are things I’ve written in the past that I wouldn’t write now. But even back then, I was coming to terms with this, especially regarding feminism and how to dress in conservative countries. Cue my crazy experience of getting harassed in Egypt or getting naked in Istanbul. 

Travel is a privilege, and do some research before hitting the road. I think a lot about how to be a respectful traveler and what I’ve learned from past mistakes. This encompasses everything from learning a few key phrases in the local language. I don’t take people’s photos without permission, and I treat places with care and respect, not like a zoo. This has never been more important, especially around indigenous groups. Awareness, respect, and kindness are everything; it’s quite the lesson to learn just to be quiet and listen. 

At the end of the day, respecting the local culture and customs is a core part of mindful travel. This isn’t about you – you’re in someone else’s home – their rules. I’m very careful about how I dress these days when I travel and how I behave. For me, to travel is to learn and to grow.  

3. Be prepared

Here’s a secret tip I’ve learned (by accident) over the years about practicing mindful travel – be prepared. 

Perhaps this goes without saying, but mindfulness is often synonymous with being conscious or aware of things around you. This means thinking beyond myself, my impact on others, and how not to cause challenges. As a magnet for misadventure, I couldn’t be more aware of this. Whether crashing a scooter in Bali, falling off a camel in Jordan, or interrupting a honeymoon sesh in the Maldives, I’ve always been a magnet for misadventure. 

I learned long ago that the more prepared I am when traveling, the less burdensome repercussions I have on others. I think this speaks to the heart of mindful travel. Bring essentials to sustain you in an emergency and try not to challenge local resources (looking at you, the Australian man who had to be rescued twice from Mt. Aspiring for refusing to turn around in bad weather.) This can be anything from ensuring you’re prepared for all tramping scenarios. Perhaps you plan how your transport might look in small and remote places – so you don’t have to beg someone to wake up a taxi driver to get you there (Matera, Italy 2012). Or the easiest option of all? Invest in travel insurance.

Southern Cross Travel Insurance (SCTI) has long been my go-to provider for all things insurance-related on all my travels worldwide. Their annual comprehensive policies are perfect for someone on the go like me. They also offer single trip policies too. Their motto is “Relax; we’re with you.” Just what we need! It never crossed my mind to get travel insurance back in the day, and only after enduring various mishaps did I learn it was worth it. For me, nowadays, travel insurance is non-negotiable.

4. Embrace being offline

I cannot even begin to tell you how lucky I am that I began my travels in the pre-smartphone days. I know I’m showing my age, but for the first year I lived in Spain, I used calling cards to ring my family in the US and used the computer in the hostel lounges if I needed to book a room or send an email.

And I’m so grateful for it. And not only because there is no evidence of some of the stupid and embarrassing things I did. 

Even though I traveled with a frantic energy of feeling like I must see and do everything, at least I was present.

I had a little point-and-shoot camera and journals. For the holidays while living abroad, I bought a rail pass and backpacked around Europe for a month, hopping on and off trains. I can remember that I chose to leave my old iPod (with the clicky wheel) in Spain because it would have been too much of a pain to charge it up on the road. I happily rode trains silently for hours with no technology and only a Lonely Planet for company. Seems crazy now. 

5. Support locals and local operators

Another easy way to mindful travel is to pay more attention to where you drop your dollars.

As a small business owner in a tourist town, I make a point now to try and support as many local businesses as possible when I travel. I know how much even $20 can mean. And I know how disheartening it feels to have dozens of people come into my shop from a cruise ship, take photos, and leave without buying anything. It is AWFUL.

Wanaka, New Zealand, is a very touristy place. It’s a small town, and it often feels like it’s bursting with tourists at the seams. In peak season, I can’t get a table at my favorite restaurant, and I’ve caught people camping in their cars by my driveway. I’ve seen people treat it like Disneyland, oblivious to how it impacts locals. Apart from bad behavior, the local communities bear the impact of tourism; at least make sure they get some kind of financial benefit from it. 

But perhaps the biggest point here is being careful when visiting local cultural places. Try to ensure you’re putting your travel dollars in the pockets of the people whose culture you’re soaking in. Stay at a local home or apartment instead of a hotel chain. Try and book a tour with a local operator. It makes a difference. 

Have any other tips to add to embracing mindful travel? Share!

Many thanks to SCTI for sponsoring this post – like always, I’m keeping it real  – all opinions are my own like you can expect less from me!

The post 5 tips for embracing mindful travel appeared first on Young Adventuress.

Slowly this realization dawned on me while crossing the infamous Drake Passage on the Ocean Endeavour on the way back from visiting Antarctica. I was with twenty cool people who took a chance and decided to join me on this adventure, my first group tour to the Antarctic and my seventh polar expedition. I will never stop thanking Chimu Adventures, who believed in me and gave me this opportunity.

Bumping up and down with the swells as albatross sliced cleanly through the clouds, I was so deliriously happy.

Curious about traveling to the Arctic or Antarctic?
Learn more here

When I’m onboard expedition ships, exploring some of the most remote places on earth, in the company of other like-minded folk and a shit ton of wildlife, I’m happiest.

I love sliding around on the deck as huge swells roll beneath my feet. I sleep like a baby snug in a tiny little bunk. My knowledge of where we are bubbles out of me, and I become an extrovert talking to people all the time. I, like, START conversations sometimes with strangers! (My fellow introverts will understand).

But every minute that we inched closer towards “real life,” towards 5G, and all of the responsibilities of running two businesses, I felt an uncomfortable weight sink deeper into the pit of my stomach. Whenever I thought about what awaited me back on land, I wanted to vomit.

And I don’t get seasick.

The past three years have taught me so much. From the losing a parent to a failed long-term relationship to starting a physical business (NODE) to writing a book, I found strength I didn’t know I was capable of. Looking back, I’ve done some really hard things. I’m still in the middle of doing hard things.

But the biggest lesson of all? Letting things go. Quiet acceptance. Slowing down.

These collective experiences put things into perspective, about focusing on what really matters and makes me happy. And what doesn’t.

Somewhere around 60° south, I finally acknowledged a few key truths I was very good at burying:

1. I’m happiest at sea in the most wild parts of the world. That polar travel fulfills me in ways that are hard to explain.
2. I want to be an expedition guide. I love sharing my knowledge and passion for this with others. I put my guest’s experiences ahead of mine, ensuring they felt how special it all was.
3. Finally, life is too short to put off your dreams.

On all my trips to the Arctic and Antarctic, I traveled as media/press. I wasn’t a guest, but I wasn’t crew either. While I absolutely loved this role, in some small way, I always felt a little left out, like I didn’t belong anywhere. I was hungry for more.

Looking back, I think I’ve known this all along since my first expedition trip to Svalbard in 2016. Watching polar bears cross the pack ice and being offline in the wilderness fulfilled me. It prompted my subsequent polar travel expeditions since. This is the life I want, spending a chunk of every year on these ships.

But like so many of us, particularly women, I put it off. Why? I am so mean to myself. I told myself I wasn’t good enough or qualified and didn’t have the experience. I wasn’t a scientist or hardcore adventurer. For over ten years, I’ve been undervalued, and belittled for my work as a blogger and influencer, even though I know I’ve achieved so much. But no matter how far I flew, imposter syndrome always kept me company. Fucker.

But it was time to change this. We can do hard things.

The ship I take guests down to Antarctica as a host with Chimu Adventures is called the Ocean Endeavour. It also runs in partnership with my old friends Intrepid Travel.

During the southern hemisphere summer, the Endeavour hangs out around the Antarctic, so November to March-ish. Then it voyages north to spend the northern summer in the Arctic with Adventure Canada.

Now, I can finally share that after months and months of hard work, my polar travel dreams are coming true.

For the first time ever, I’m skipping the kiwi winter and heading north to work on the Endeavour in the Arctic with Adventure Canada. I’ll be away from New Zealand for four months, working onboard from Scotland, Iceland, the Faroes, and Greenland to remote Canada. Part of the expedition team, I’ll be working mostly with photography and writing, guiding, and sharing stories from this part of the world.

I’ll finish and return to New Zealand in the spring before returning to Antarctica with Chimu and Intrepid next season. I’ll be fully guiding and hosting trips. Sign up here to learn more.

I couldn’t be more excited. Literally, every single thing excites me about this opportunity.

I’m excited to be a rookie again. To be at the bottom of the ladder and work my way up through hard work. And I know it’s going to be really hard. I can’t wait to spend less time online and more time working with my hands in my favorite places. I’ve been slowly chipping away at qualifications like getting a powerboat license to drive zodiacs, undergoing maritime security courses, doing first aid courses, and more.

I love learning new things; I’m a sponge.

It’s easy to carry on with familiar work and life patterns. What’s truly hard is to find the strength to shove them aside and jump at something new. Turning 35 a few weeks ago, I’ve been thinking a lot about this. Life is too short to fuck around and not do what you really love.

Filling out the paperwork for these trips (omfg, so much paperwork), they ask questions I haven’t been asked for a long time, like what are my hobbies and what I do for fun. Um, crickets.

I work, work, and then do more work. A lot of the stuff I do in nature is for work. My photography and writing technically count as work. Travel is usually work. I go to the gym – does that count? I read, like going for walks, and I watch TV at night to try to turn my work brain off, but that’s about it. Fuck. When did this happen to me? I feel like I don’t know how to have fun anymore. I force myself to schedule time to spend with friends.

A friend told me recently that I light up when I talk about my upcoming time onboard. Not many things light me up anymore, which I was sad to realize. I feel like with all of the shit I’ve endured over the past two years, my spark is gone, snuffed out.

But now I know I want it back. Desperately.

One of the biggest things I hope to achieve with this new polar travel chapter is that it’ll give me the freedom to have good chunks of time off. I’m hoping it’ll teach me balance. I’ll work my ass off for a few months on board, then have a few months off to do whatever I want. I will still be here sharing stories, but hopefully from a new lens.

It’s time to stop messing around with things that don’t mark your heart sing. Our dreams are real and valid; if we don’t chase them, someone else will.

The post A new polar chapter begins appeared first on Young Adventuress.

Over the past few years, I’ve been slowly coming to terms with the fact that not only do I have anxiety, but I’ve also had it for a long time. And not just any old anxiety, nope, not me. I always have to dream big, and somehow I managed to score the mental health trifecta: anxiety, severe social anxiety, and depression. Go me!

Moreover, I know I’m not alone. At least a quarter of the population here can relate. The awareness that comes from seeing your worries creep closer to the forefront of your mind is actually really powerful. Once you are conscious of these thoughts and feelings, they immediately lose their power over you. 

The more I reflect on this as I put in the mental hard yards, the more I realize that there is one constant in my life that actually has really helped me combat my anxiety: travel.

Now, I know what you might be thinking, how do anxiety and travel go together in a way that’s positive? On the surface, you can easily think that travel is anxiety-inducing. And don’t get me wrong, it can be. Canceled flights, lost bags, food poisoning, crashing a scooter in Bali in front of a million people, etc. Sure. But those are ephemeral anxieties with easy solutions.

I’m talking about those bigger worries; will you get that job promotion? Will you finally meet your life partner? When will you buy a house? When you’re at home caught in the wheel of routine, it’s easy for thoughts like those to creep into your mind and keep you awake at night. I know they do for me.

And you know what pauses them (besides therapy and meds)? Travel.

For a long time, it’s been known that travel has been linked to stress reduction and can ease the niggly symptoms of anxiety and depression. And even though this is backed by science, we know that exploring new places, immersing yourself in new cultures, and learning new things have a noticeable, positive impact on your mental health. Travel is good for us, and we all know it intuitively.

How many people go to Italy on holiday and come back like, wow, that really messed me up, and I totally regret it? Um, not many.

There’s nothing quite like traveling to stimulate us mentally. And traveling regularly? Even better. 

Getting out of your comfort zone, living within uncertainty, and letting go of worries to explore and learn are a few of the things travel guarantees. From teaching patience to emotional growth to empathy and happiness, the mental health benefits of getting out and seeing the world go far and wide. Not to mention traveling is an epic self-development opportunity.

Anxiety sits by the wayside as hopeful and happy feelings hit the main stage. From trying to order a coffee in French to getting lost in the back streets of Tokyo to making new friends with others on your Rome food tour, travel allows us to escape from the worries and cares of daily life at home and hit the reset button on our busy brains. The trick is to ensure we bring these lessons home with us afterward.

After sixteen years of traveling to nearly 100 countries, here are five ways travel has helped me tackle my anxiety – enjoy!

1. Travel takes you out of your head and can calm you

When it comes to overthinking, I am the queen. Getting lost in my thoughts is a well-worn path in my mind. Most of the time, it’s a good thing. I love being a deep thinker. It’s how I can write books and come up with creative stories. But it can be a pitfall too. Like how I laid awake all night on Monday thinking about my business.

The great thing about travel is it takes you straight out of your head and insists you focus on the present. You must focus and make decisions around entirely new experiences and situations. Do you stay another week in Thailand, or do you hop on over to Cambodia? You’re experiencing all new and exciting things. Travel is a fully immersive sensory experience. In fact, in some ways, it’s a form of escapism. 

According to psychologist Dr. Michael Brein, “Travel escapism that invites you to increase your self-esteem and self-confidence…tends to ground you in the present and requires you to deal with virtually everything that is normally mindless back home.”

2. Travel helps relieve the stress of everyday life

Wake up. Coffee. Drive to work. Work. Go home. Tv. Bed. Repeat.

While I find a lot of comfort in routine and the daily life of the home, there is a lot of stress involved with work and living demands. The monotony can build up, stressing you out and building up all kinds of ugly feelings inside. It’s only natural you need a break, and god knows I know that feeling well. Burnout has been my longtime companion, and recently, I’ve been thinking more and more about how I could go away for a month or two on a real holiday (with no laptop, no emails, no phone, and absolutely no work).

It’s so easy to get caught up in work stress and the daily routines that we often forget or don’t have time to do the things that we actually love or that are meaningful to us because we need to clean the bathroom and do our taxes. But when you travel, you say goodbye to the daily grind. And the new experiences that come with it rewire your brain, boosting self-confidence.

Travel is a great way to reset yourself. Taking time off to travel is a great way to let all that stress, tension, and worry go. It also teaches us patience. Only then can you fully relax and recover. In fact, studies have shown that nearly 80% of people queried say that travel not only helps reduce stress, but it also improves their mood and outlook on life. Now that’s priceless, isn’t it?

3. Travel makes us happy

I’ve often said that you can’t be sad when traveling. And that travel is the best balm after a breakup or heartache. I know that’s a gross exaggeration, but I’m sticking by it. We all know travel makes us happy, and that’s why we go. 

Faced with new places, faces, and experiences, your brain is full of travel. There’s not a lot of room for prolonged sorrow. Travel is a sensory overload in many ways, and it’s a great way to take your mind off unhappy things. You must live in the moment, and letting go of worries and anxieties is easy.

We know that buying experiences over objects makes us happy. Intuitively, we know that traveling makes us happy. You gain self-confidence by learning new things and operating in an uncertain environment. You likely spend less time online and more time in the present meeting new people. And when you return home from a trip, you bring those happy memories with you, which only get better and more cherished over time. I still talk about when I moved abroad to Spain in 2007 and how much that meant to me.

4. Your brain will function better with travel 

By now, it should be no surprise that it is good for the old noggin. By immersing yourself in new experiences and cultures, your mind increases its ability to think deeper and jump around different ideas. I’ve not traveled anywhere that didn’t make me question my own beliefs and opinions, have you?

Renowned author Adam Galinsky comments, “Foreign experiences increase cognitive flexibility and depth and integrativeness of thought.”

Travel and the new experiences that come with it are beneficial for boosting brain function and improving mental health. Chronic stress negatively impacts memory and your ability to perform well. Time off and traveling to a new place tend to increase productivity at work and help you focus more.

Here in New Zealand, I often escape to quiet little cabins by the sea to chill, read, hike, and relax. Even just a few days off in a different place doing different things allows me to return to writing with renewed energy.

5. Travel teaches new things and boosts creativity

As an adult who loves learning new things, it makes sense that I love to travel. What is travel if not a great teacher?

From learning to ride horses with the nomads in Mongolia to making $100 last for a month to tracking leopards in Sri Lanka to how to pour a good Rioja reserve red from a wineskin from several feet away to your mouth without spilling a drop, travel gives you an education no school can offer. It also teaches you resilience and to toughen up.

Getting out and exploring the world can boost your creativity. People who travel more can come up with diverse ideas. Jumping into new cultures, learning a new language, trying different food, and even making new friends have all been linked to better problem-solving skills and stimulating creativity in the brain.

Travel helps you see the world in a new way. 

Has travel helped boost your mental health? Helped your anxiety? Where did you find the most surprising lessons? Share!

The post How travel actually helps me tackle my anxiety appeared first on Young Adventuress.

Sixteen months have passed since my break up when I felt my life fall to pieces before my eyes. And you know what? I’m finally feeling really good and happy. Wow, that feels so good to write down.

I’ve finally reached that point in the journey that I could have never imagined sixteen months ago. I’m glad it happened. I feel relief, and I feel pity. Don’t get me wrong; there are still things that are triggering and a few unresolved feelings, but by and large, I’m feeling really good. Though I’m definitely also at that phase where I think all men are trash. Not sure I’ll ever get over that, haha.

When it happened, I consciously shared my feelings about it publicly; the bag, the growth, and hopefully, the good. This was not easy for me. When you experience that amount of pain, betrayal, and trauma, I think some ancient instinct kicks in, encouraging you to hide. My inclination was to throw my phone off a bridge and run away. With our borders in New Zealand still closed, I couldn’t run far. 

Like many of us, I don’t like the theatrics of social media, how no one shares the mess, pain, or lessons instead of handing out wisdom and perfection afterward. I wanted people to feel seen, that I know that specific circle of hell that most of us go through at least once in our lives. 

It was important to me for people to know that they weren’t alone in their suffering. I was there with you. Sometimes moving on from a breakup felt impossible.

And perhaps the most surprising part? You all helped me, too; you guys really had my back. So many messages of hope and care pinged into my inbox, providing little snippets of serotonin and comfort just when I needed them. I can’t thank you guys enough for that.

As a profoundly pensive person, I reflect a lot on the past, especially lately.

Do you know what’s really wild? I don’t remember most of last year. Like, I literally can’t remember where I was, what I was doing, or how I was feeling. I don’t even really remember much of writing my book! It’s as if my brain chose to block out everything during those horrible months. I was half alive, just going through the motions of day by day to get me going. Then little by little, things began to flip from bad to good again.

Slowly, as time went on (the only cure to a broken heart, along with a shit ton of therapy), I felt a little lighter. My eyes lifted, and I began to laugh more. I started to say yes to socializing. It took me over a year to begin to not feel like a zombie.

Now I look back at least a year and don’t recognize myself from last year. Who was that half-dead girl? Was it really me?

Now I feel so much stronger than I have ever felt before. I’ve learned some big lessons (not that I asked for them). I feel confident in a way that I haven’t been for a long time – funny how being gaslit for years will do that to you. And I see so many red flags I had ignored repeatedly in my past. 

There are only a few things that still really upset me. The main one is that I feel like a total failure like I wasted years of my life.

Even now, sometimes I wake up crying, thinking this isn’t what I imagined for myself at 34. It feels like I’m starting over as I failed at life. Sometimes I still get mad at myself, thinking, “you should have done this” or “why didn’t you do that.” But then I stop, take a breath, and remind myself that I did my best when dealt shitty cards. Self-love is a constant process.

The life I planned is gone, and it’s never coming back. This is something I fight every day to make peace with. But I know it’s time to let it all go and start a new chapter. And starting new chapters as you get older is scary and hard, am I right?

I’ve got one more big, horrible, painful, icky thing to do soon that I’m dreading. Deep breaths. Big gulps. I’ve got this. You’ve got this. We’ve all got this. Now let’s fucking go!

What are your tips for moving on from a breakup? I’m curious. Share!

The post Time really does heal everything appeared first on Young Adventuress.

A year of work combined with 12 years of self-publishing online and a lifetime of dreaming has finally brought me to this moment. Even as I hold this book in my hands, I still can’t believe it’s real. I started NODE in Lyttelton, New Zealand, two years ago because there weren’t any design-focused houseplant shops on the South Island. Then I spent a year researching and writing this book because I was frustrated that all of the houseplant books in New Zealand were from overseas. The irony of an American writing this book isn’t lost on me.

I’ve poured my heart and soul into Houseplants and Design, sharing stories and lessons I’ve not spoken about before. Full of knowledge of houseplants, how to care for them, style them, grow them, and design with them, this book is so much more than a plant book. I go in-depth into the history of the houseplant trade and spill the tea on all the latest science behind our most beloved plants. While I tell these stories through the kiwi perspective, this book is universal and will help wannabe plant parents worldwide.

This book is about why we are connected to nature. It’s about how bringing nature inside can create a thriving space for us and cultivate wellbeing. To nurture an indoor garden is to nurture ourselves.

Preorder my new book Houseplants and Design now

About once a week, I get a message asking if I’m still running NODE. And the answer is hell yes, I am!

Since I launched NODE in the middle of the pandemic, I’ve managed to compartmentalize my two businesses – here I am, Young Adventuress the bLoGgeR who shares inspirational and personal stories of adventure, nature, and birds and musings on life (at least that’s how I see myself). Over at NODE, I wear that cap of CEO and boss lady of a stylish designer home and houseplant brand where I spend way too much time looking at budgets and spreadsheets and talking to suppliers.

Every day I am working behind the scenes at NODE, developing the business and trying to make it better and better; but it’s not a side of me I share heaps on here. Why? I’m not sure. Maybe because I want to make NODE into something bigger than me. Perhaps part of me wanted to prove I could build a successful business apart from my YA identity.

Right after my breakup last year, I took an unintentional break from NODE. My ex and I share the same building in Lyttelton, and I needed to be in Wanaka with my friends to heal. I also needed some space from a brand I had been so tied up in, mostly on my own, for a year and a half.

It was also the perfect excuse to finally finish my book. Luckily, I have a fantastic team I can depend on who gets me and support me through everything. Even though I’m based back in Wanaka now, I still go to Lyttelton all the time. I’m excited about this next chapter of NODE. Maybe I’ll see you there,

When I got an email a few months ago that my final (final, FINAL, DEFINITELY FINAL) draft of my book went off to the printers, I was left speechless. I cannot believe that I have written a book. It actually chokes me to say this, but I am really proud of myself. I can’t believe I managed to make my biggest, oldest, scariest dream a reality.

My whole life, I’ve dreamed of writing books, but part of me was too scared to try and make it happen. I put that dream on a pedestal for decades. Looking at it. Watching it. But too afraid to do anything about it.

Two months after I landed my book deal, my life completely fell to pieces. My world was smashed, and I didn’t know which way was up. All the things that gave me comfort were gone, packed up in a cold storage unit. Home was with whatever friend let me crash at their place.

I was lost, sad, heartbroken, depressed, and totally in the worst position ever to undertake my biggest project to date. Or was I?

Rock bottom became the foundation for my book, and writing became the beacon in my swirling world of turmoil. It kept me sane. This book gave me purpose. Writing and hiding was the perfect excuse for my running away to Wanaka. My friends picked me up and helped me break it down into manageable tasks. They read my drafts and held me accountable.

And while I managed to achieve the top writer’s award of missing just about every deadline I was given, in the end, it was done, polished, and a joy to behold – in my opinion, of course. There’s something to be said for stubborn optimism and blind hope.

Photo of me credit of the exceptionally talented Wanaka-based photographer and longtime pal, Mickey Ross

Why houseplants and why now? How a millennial burnout and global pandemic inspired a return to a thoughtful home full of plants.

For the past twelve years, this little old blog has taken me around the world many times. By 2019 I was incredibly burnt out. I craved routine. Dreaming of stability, I would count the days until I returned to Wanaka. I needed a home. To balance the busyness of my life, I started to collect houseplants.

It started with one, then somehow, I ended up with hundreds. No one has ever accused me of doing anything half-assed.

I’ve always been gripped by a deep, primal love for things that grow. As my mind and heart were healing from a decade of self-destructive behavior, an inability to set boundaries with my work, some not-so-great addictions, and a lifestyle that was anything BUT healthy, I found therapy in nature.

And I mean in the nature all around me, but also by surrounding myself with plants at home, where I felt safe. 

Houseplants have been a huge part of my life for years, and it’s a side of me that many of you might not be familiar with. Perhaps it’s my superpower, along with my vulnerability. 

I know the scientific name and history behind every houseplant on the market these days. I can spot mealybugs from miles away and diagnose and treat your sad plant in under a minute. I’ve elbowed my way into an old-school industry with the bolshiness of someone with absolutely zero fucks to give. 

There was no life, no style, and definitely no vibes. Houseplants are seriously the most millennial trend ever; why are there no plant places for people just like me? Where were the plant places that put care and thought into their products? Where were the extraordinarily knowledgeable and creative sellers? Who inspired thoughtful living spaces?

No one had created a plant shop I wanted to spend time in, so I built it. No one had written the plant book I wanted to read, so I wrote it.

Honestly, where does this bravery come from? I couldn’t tell you. Usually, I’m the quiet person in the back of the room, observing, introverted, and totally happy on her own.

Yes, this is a book about plants. But it’s also about way more than plants. It’s about crafting a safe and comfortable space at home that cultivates wellbeing. I explore why we are compelled to bring plants indoors. I also dive into the science behind the benefits houseplants provide when it comes to our health.

As someone eternally searching for meaning in everything, I can genuinely equate my love for houseplants to positive mental health. They gave me purpose when I needed a change. Caring for houseplants taught me to care for myself. 

Putting our phones down, and being present with nature, even if it’s just repotting an old houseplant, is profound. With dirt under my fingernails and an ache between my shoulder blades, after a day of working with my plants, I feel recharged. Looking after houseplants is very much a form of self-care. 

So now for all of the nitty-gritty details around my Houseplants and Design book. It’s on sale for preorder here through my shop, NODE. It will come out on November 1st, 2022, here in New Zealand and Australia. 

In addition, it will be available through many bookstores and retail spaces in New Zealand and available on other sites online worldwide. I’ve set up international shipping through my online shop for the book, which you can see at check out. But be warned, global shipping right now is (how do I say this delicately?) a fucking disaster, which is reflected in the prices. Luckily for my non-kiwi friends, the New Zealand dollar has dropped a lot in value, so you’re getting a good deal. While it’s $45nzd here, it’s roughly $40aud, $27usd, £23, and €27. If your country doesn’t show up in the shipping options, email us at hello@thenode.co.nz, and we’ll suss it out for you.

Oh, and I’m signing the first 200 copies sold through NODE. 

It’s a fat and happy book, weighing in at a whopping 352 pages. My Houseplants and Design book has everything you need to know about houseplants and then some. She’s extra, just like me. And while I’ve written it from the New Zealand perspective, it’s totally applicable to houseplant lovers worldwide. I can guarantee there’s some stuff in there you would have never heard or known about. 

Now for the hard sell. It would mean the world to me if you would support me by investing in my first book. I don’t ask this lightly. There is no fluff or fodder here – this book is inspirational, educational and entertaining. I hope I make you guys proud.

Preorder my new book Houseplants and Design now

The post So I just wrote a book about houseplants and happiness appeared first on Young Adventuress.

Hearing that filled me with rage, though at the time, I lacked the depth and emotional awareness to express a reply beyond “fuck you, that’s messed up.” It’s a memory that pops up from time to time in my head, usually when I feel low or bad about myself. Liz, you’re damaged goods; just give up. It’s an easy narrative to play into; after all, we live in a world that values youth, purity, and Mary-like behavior over wrinkles, scars, and Magdalenas who’ve been through the wringer.

A few months ago, I turned 34. It was a surprisingly lovely birthday considering the shitty-shit-total-shit-did-I-mention-shit of a year I’ve had. Nowadays, it seems like all my friends have loving partners. They’re often on their second or third baby and have mortgages and regular paychecks. I’m 34, and I’m still sleeping on an air mattress. I know I shouldn’t compare myself to others, but I can’t seem to help it. I’m ready for an upgrade, I don’t know about you guys.

As humans, we seem wired for comparison. As women, well, do I even need to finish this sentence?

My perspective has changed so much every year that goes by. I was speaking recently with friends and remarked how self-conscious I was in my early 20s; I dreaded even taking my t-shirt off over my bathing suit at the beach. A decade and a lifetime later, I care so much less.

As time flows, I settle into my skin more and more. I’m flawed. I’ve made mistakes. But I’ve also learned to say sorry and grow from them. While sometimes I find my asked falling into that familiar troupe of negativity, of hating myself, I’ve learned to myself and say, “Liz, we don’t play that game anymore.” There’s always hope.

I’m not damaged. I’m educated, experienced, empathetic, and above all, self-aware. All the crazy, awful, painful moments I’ve gone through in my life inform who I am and strive to be. Call me crazy, but I think that’s a good thing.

While I’m still very much in the post-breakup-rage-phase-of-all-men-are-awful-I-chose-to-be-alone-forever, even I, in my heartache, know that I’m worthwhile and I’m not damaged, and my hardware hasn’t crashed. I’ve upgraded.

I don’t know about you guys, but I’m starting to feel like the world is losing both empathy and patience.

Lately, I feel like people are grumpier, more selfish, and less generous. Sometimes, I even notice it in myself. Is it because of COVID? Inflation? It feels like things that used to be easy are now hard. Prices have gone up a lot, and finding people to help or work with is much harder than before. I even feel like I’m noticing people and businesses trying to take advantage in ways they perhaps wouldn’t have done before.

This strikes me as interesting because it seems like the hard yards of lockdowns and border closures are over, yet we’re only just beginning to get a taste of the past few years’ impact on us. Are we hardening to match a hardened world?

God, I hope not. We could all use a little more kindness, I believe. And we definitely could all use being a little kinder to ourselves too. What do you think?

The post When it’s time to upgrade your life appeared first on Young Adventuress.

I know I was a weird kid with weird tastes who loved to get up to no good and push as many buttons as possible. Feeling like an outcast and an underdog, I never felt part of a group. I remember popular kids throwing peanuts at me during lunch (I was, and still am, super allergic to them), and I never went to prom or homecoming. It didn’t help that I would turn around and yell at them that one day they’d be washing my car.

There’s always hope

In my small rural town in Virginia, I always felt like a black sheep. I knew I always wanted to escape and see the world. I dreamed of having a big life full of adventure and fun stories. To be my own heroine. I was an only child growing up with a big imagination. Oftentimes I find myself reflecting on the fact that I feel very lucky to be part of the last generation who grew up without smartphones or social media. So very lucky. 

I’ve always considered myself to be introverted. In fact, I was recently diagnosed with severe social anxiety. That explains a lot! When I tell people this, it’s often met with disbelief. I get it. I’ve gotten really good at being a fake extrovert for my work. But the reality is that I need to rest and recharge alone in order to function well. Even now, after all this time, I still consider myself a stranger peering into a social world that feels foreign to me.

Sometimes I wonder if the fact that I still behave like an outsider stems from all of these stories. I may seem open, and I am in many ways, but I’m actually quite solitary. I try never to ask for help, believing I don’t deserve it, that I’m still that odd duckling eating lunch by herself. I wonder why? What made me like that? I can so clearly see how I’ve become the kind of person who stubbornly refuses all help. I can take care of myself, thankyouverymuch.

In saying that, the past eight months have taught me how much I need my friends and family. I absolutely hate it, but I’ve had to lean on so many people, and it surprises me every time that people show up and care for me. I think I expect abandonment; isn’t that terribly sad? And now more than ever. How do we recover from betrayals as adults?

I can feel my story shifting beneath my skin of who I am versus who I tell myself I am. I feel like, over the course of my life, I became very guarded, but this past year has ripped me to pieces.

As I rebuild my life, I find myself wanting to hide more than ever to protect myself. The truth is I’ve actually realized the opposite is better for me. Perhaps that joy I’m seeking is beyond my walls, and to live more openly is actually less scary and painful than I had imagined.

Perhaps it’s time to let people in again.

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I could stare in the face of failure, pain, and horrible, gut-wrenching mistakes and think, she’ll be right. Like that time, I totaled a work car on the biggest job of my career (at the time) or when I got dengue fever in Sri Lanka (omg, the worst), or when I low-key had a heart attack. Then there was that time the world imploded, and I lost all of my work when COVID began or when my stepdad passed away.

Or all those innumerable days where I couldn’t get up and face the world. Or even open my eyes.

I’ve struggled with depression and anxiety all of my life; I’ve spent many days hanging around rock bottom. In fact, rock bottom is a familiar place. Oh, hello there, dark and gloomy pit of despair, here I am again. Well, there’s only one way out of this, and it’s up.

I think in many ways, my stubborn (perhaps even blind) optimism has saved me from true defeat. Optimism and my family and my friends. And definitely NOT the healthcare system in New Zealand, which does not support mental health enough (not ready to fully write about that yet). Thank fuck for my friends, family, and my stubborn hope; that’s all I’m saying.

I know what it is to feel alone, abandoned, unheard, overwhelmed, sad, and worthless. I know that horrible pain very well, the one that sits low in your gut like you’ve eaten a bad oyster, that voice that whispers hate in your ear late at night when the world sleeps, that feeling of abyss.

I know it well.

A few weeks ago, I got an email that my final (final, FINAL, DEFINITELY FINAL) draft of my book went off to the printers; let me just say, it’s left me speechless. I cannot believe that I wrote a book. Actually, come to think of it, have I mentioned I wrote a book here? In case I haven’t, then yes, I wrote a book. It’ll come out at the end of the year, and it’s still a secret.

It actually chokes me to say this, but I am really proud of myself. I can’t believe I managed to make my biggest, oldest, scariest dream a reality. And I managed to do it when I was in a very low, rock bottom place.

Two months after I landed my book deal, my life completely fell to pieces when my partner and I broke up. My world was smashed, and I didn’t know which way was up. All the things that gave me comfort were gone, packed up in a cold storage unit, and home was with whatever friend let me crash at their place.

I was lost, sad, heartbroken, depressed, and totally in the worst position ever to undertake my biggest project to date. Or was I? Dun, dun, dun.

Rock bottom became the foundation for my book, and writing became the beacon in my swirling world of turmoil. It kept me sane. Having a deadline gave me purpose. Writing daily was a routine. It was the perfect excuse for why I ran away to Wanaka. Don’t get me wrong, writing a book is very overwhelming. There were days I thought I was a complete fraud. But hope kept me going.

My friends picked me up and helped me break it down into manageable tasks. They read my drafts and held me accountable. And while I managed to achieve the top writer’s award of missing just about every deadline I was given, in the end, it was done, polished, and a joy to behold – in my opinion, of course. I can’t wait to share the details soon of its launch, I can safely say that you guys probably can’t guess what it’s about – please try in the comments! 

At the end of last year, I didn’t know how I would make it to June.

Hell, I didn’t know how I’d make it to the weekend. But I got by with my friends who I leaned on, letting go of my pride, talking with my family, and getting up every morning and washing my face. I grasped at whatever straw of optimism I could, going through the motions of recovery until it finally felt like real recovery.

And I think I am very close to understanding that I’m a better person for going back down to rock bottom and coming out of the other side. Guys, there is always hope. Always.

How do you find hope in the darkness? Have you struggled with this too? Share!

The post There’s always hope appeared first on Young Adventuress.

Recently I was chatting with friends, and someone asked if we could go back to any age what would it be. For some reason, this has stuck in my head, and my answer hasn’t changed. I wouldn’t go back. I’ve enjoyed many moments in my life, some years far better than others, but none remarkable enough worth repeating.

There’s no amount of money I could be paid to go back to high school. Remembering my twenties makes me so tired – where did all that energy and tolerance for booze come from? I feel like every age is unique and has meaning, and I’m looking forward to turning 34. I feel like I’ve become more comfortable with who I am and what I want.

My need to please others has taken a backseat as I try to put myself entirely and utterly first. So far, it feels pretty awesome.

It’s also been six months since my breakup, and my life upended — six months of a broken heart Or perhaps six months of growth, resilience, and optimism.

I suppose life is all about perspective, and I’ve really enjoyed challenging myself to acknowledge my sorrows (fuck you, heartbreak) and reframe my anguish (hmm, maybe this was a good thing for me?). While I’m not in the place that I pictured I would be at this moment in my life, I suppose whatever path I’m on is right.

Sometimes it’s hard to feel positive when you feel like a mess. My life sprawls across two continents, among storage units, friends’ garages, and my car. I have no idea what the hell I’m going to do with myself. In many ways, I’ve struggled with “moving on” because I have trouble letting go of “what might have been.” I expected to be working towards buying a house with my partner, running NODE in person, raising chickens and children, and planning for this new chapter of my life.

Now that that isn’t happening, it feels like anything else is going backward, a direction I really don’t want to be traveling in. 

At the end of March, I left New Zealand for the first time in two and a half years to travel back to see my family on the East Coast of the USA. I can’t even begin to explain what that meant to me, especially after the grief and loss of my stepdad. 

I accomplished about three things while in the States for five weeks: family time, eating, and finishing my book. Yes, I wrote a book, something that has absolutely consumed me for the past four months. But more on that coming soon. 

I spent endless days slouched across my mom’s sofa, wearing the same pajamas and a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch balanced on my stomach while As Time Goes By played on the tv quietly. I feel 17 again, and not in a good way. At this point in my life, I thought I’d be coming back here with a partner and a plan.

Damn. This didn’t feel like a success. In fact, it makes me feel like a total failure.

But perhaps this is precisely where I’m meant to be. I’ve pushed myself for over a decade. And I’ve had a rough couple of years, losing my stepdad, some insane life-changing family circumstances, being stuck behind a closed border, and then having my relationship and life implode just when I thought I was nailing it. Oh, and COVID.

I guess I’m surviving. I can sit in these murky waters as I figure out what to do next. Uncertainty doesn’t have to be bad, does it? We’ve been conditioned to believe that we have to follow the formula to thrive, be happy, and have a plan. I’m learning it’s ok to be untethered. We’re all just out here surviving.

Even now, I have to remind myself not to compare myself to other people on the internet. If I think deeply, I’m happy here on the sofa, with my mom, in my old pajamas. These tender moments are everything. They are what really heals the heart. Let’s remember to be kind to ourselves. We need it.

I’ve been back in New Zealand for nearly a month.

I’ve spent nearly half my life as an American expat overseas. For the first time in a very long time, I didn’t want my trip to the US to be over. It’s been years since I was with my family because of the closed borders of New Zealand. I get why they did it, but I don’t believe how they did it with MIQ was ethical. In fact, I think it was cruel. I  believe the collective trauma from it is incalculable.

Recently I’ve found myself dwelling a lot on the idea of home.

When I say home, do I mean back home in Virginia, where I grew up, or do I mean back home here in New Zealand, where I’ve been living for a decade? I don’t actually know. Perhaps that’s the prerogative of expats, always having our feet in two worlds. When I’m in New Zealand, I sound American. When I’m in America, I sound like a kiwi. It’s a beautiful thing to have the privilege of two countries, but it is also challenging.

Do I belong to both, or do I belong to neither? It depends on my mood, I guess.

Here the days are getting crisper, and the sun disappears by 5 pm.

Winter is coming to Wanaka, and for the first time in a long time, I’m considering skipping it. I don’t have a concrete place to live; I’ve got my current Wanaka flat til July 1st. Do I find a long-term rental in Wanaka while I save for a house? What about returning to Lyttelton and throw myself back into my plant shop, NODE? Or should I fuck off overseas for a few months and seek sunnier shores and bigger influencer paychecks? Do I go back to my family in the US for a while?

Don’t get me wrong, I love winter, and I am excited to be back by the mountains; I’ve always been a four-seasons kind of girl. But my life is still very much in limbo. I usually have a pretty clear path I follow.

With my anxiety, I’ve learned to make decisions quickly so I don’t end up in limbo, which stresses me out. But I’ve been in limbo since my breakup in November, and I still don’t know what direction to go! Usually, this is not something I would have shared in the past, but I’ve decided to be open about it so that others might relate to my struggles.

You are not alone.

It’s been six months of feeling lost.

I’m trying to figure out what to do. I think I’m still coming to terms with having the rug pulled out from under me. I’m a homebody and introvert, and it’s always been so important to me to have a safe, comfortable space at home I can retreat to. I thought I had that, but it disappeared, and I find I don’t have the energy or will to rebuild it on my own right now, even though I crave a routine. 

Do I keep my stuff in storage and try to see this freedom as an opportunity? Do I buck up and admit to myself that my old life is gone and it’s time to build a new one? Being untethered both sucks and is wonderful at the same time. I guess I’m just hoping the right opportunity will present itself soon. And trust in the process. If this isn’t a test of growing up, I don’t know what is. 

And if you have any advice for lost wanderers like me or have advice on turning 34? I’d love to hear it.

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