THE BIG PICTURE IN LITTLE LAOS

In 2009, one of my best friends Jentry and I were able to join my brother, Trent, and tour Southeast Asia together for 3 months. It was an incredible trip full of unexpected twists and turns and more fun than I could have imagined.

The three of us floating around in Borneo. 

Throughout the trek, we were constantly weeding out the people trying to scam us. At times it was exhausting, and it made me a little callous to anyone trying to sell me stuff. I hated the idea of paying more than the locals did (this goes back to my obsession with finding the absolute best deals on things) and at points I found myself acting appalled when street vendors requested two dollars for fake Ray Bans when there was no way I would pay a penny over a buck fifty.

Here's us saving money in Thailand by copying the locals and cramming all of us onto a tiny scooter for the day. 

This cheapskate attitude was perfectly exemplified on a side trip to Laos. Trent needed to stay in Bangkok, so Jentry and I hopped on a bus to Luang Prabang for a little escape. It was 12 hours but we didn't care.

Until about 4 hours in, when I realized the seat I'd chosen was right above the exhaust, which was somehow spewing heat (and exhaust) back into the bus, under my seat. It was already hot out and there definitely wasn't AC on the bus. So 12 hours like that was, well, less than dreamy.

In addition, the headrests were white and covered with some pretty gnarly stains. So I just looked out the window and figured, well, sometimes you just have to roll with the punches to get someplace good. That was after a few round of dry heaving.

We finally arrived, tired, hot, and hungry. The tuk tuks were waiting, and locals swarmed us with brochures for their hotels. One of them looked pretty fancy, and the guy assured us it was only 80,000 Kip/night (about $10). I clarified with him a couple times, knowing well that there was a 95% chance he was full of crap.

We arrived at the hotel and began checking in. The front desk person asked us for 100,000 Kip.

“Hold on,” I said. “The driver guy told us it was only 80,000.”

“No, I'm sorry, it's 100,000.”

I argued with her a little longer, and then I threw in the towel, threw on my backpack, turned to Jentry, and said, “We're walkin'!”

Now, this is Jentry's favorite part of the story. He loves telling it, because when he impersonates me during this part, he does it in such a way that makes me seem 100% insane. Please observe:

Apparently he remembers it in slow-mo.

Anyway, the level-headed Jentry quickly reminded me that the difference was only about two U.S. dollars, and that it was a screamin' deal for how incredible the place was. So I collected myself and reluctantly obliged, scowling at the woman all the while.

About 30 minutes later, after checking into our amazing room, we were sitting in a restaurant drinking mango lassis, eating amazing cuisine, and looking out over the most spectacular view of rivers, valleys and mountains I'd ever seen. And all for only two dollars more than I thought it would be (by then we were also cracking up about how I'd reacted to the hotel lady).

I loved how Jentry never lost site of the big picture—a trait he's always had and I admire. It made me want to be better about not over-reacting when things get tough, stressful, or hard. And I, of course, still struggle with that.

So often I lose touch with that bigger picture, and the line between things that do and don't matter becomes blurred. I frequently make calls in the heat of the moment, and later realize it was a knee-jerk reaction to fear, stress or anxiety. It's then that I have to try and remember what's worth worrying or stressing about, and usually whatever it is I'm concerned about really isn't worth fretting over.

Because lets be honest, stress is a real lady-dog (trying to get creative with my attempts to swear less, sorry!). It ages you, exhausts you, makes you sick, causes anxiety and basically eats away at your soul. But we can choose out of it a lot of the time.

Look at it this way. Is the thing you're stressing about life or death? Will it drastically affect the course of your life? If so, then ya, you have full permission to stress until it's resolved.

But if it's neither of those things, and you won't lose your job, a loved one, or yourself, then take a second to put that into perspective and just remember, things will work out. They always do.

GET IN LINE. THE RIGHT ONE, THAT IS.

A couple months ago, a friend and I had the good fortune to tour and film with Phantogram for about a week. Since the bunks on the bus were full, we were given a rental car and like groupies, followed them from city to city, filming to our hearts delight.

Since some days allowed for us to drive at a leisurely pace, we tried to stop for lunch at local spots in an attempt to soak up a bit of Texas culture. On one particular day, I noticed we were passing right through Waco, and I insisted we stop there (It just felt like there was a good joke in there somewhere. One that was probably only funny to me.)

So I Yelped good places, and an adorable-sounding spot called the Gospel Cafe popped up. No reviews, but it was right around the corner. So we cruised on by, to find the line was out the door.

“This place is legit! Lets's Go!” I exclaimed.

The fact that we were in the worst part of town only seemed to solidify the idea in my brain that it was the most authentic place around.

So while Erich parked the car, I made friends with a guy in line. Everyone was staring at me, and I quickly realized I was the minority in several ways. I was thrilled, because while living in Utah has it's perks, diversity is not one of them.

“So this place must be good!” I chirped.

“Oh ya!” he said. “The best place in town! All kinds of casseroles. Any kind of casserole you want.”

Jackpot! A Southern casserole mecca. My excitement grew when I pictured all the sampling to be had.

Erich walked up and looked a bit uncomfortable. I attempted to lighten him up with my new-found friend's information—best place in town, casserole for days, totally legit. We had a culinary victory awaiting us.

We waited in line for a bout 30 minutes, and we finally got inside. It was a cute, quaint old house, with quilted Gospel-themed tapestries adorning the walls. It was nothing fancy, but then again the best places never are. I loved it.

Finally, we were two people away from paying, and my new best friend turned to me and said,

“The best part is, it's totally free!”

My heart stopped. I looked around again. It all set in.

Bad part of town. Line out the door. Poverty-stricken people. Uplifting gospel messages.

Yep. We were in line for a soup kitchen.

It was too late to turn back. I swore several times internally but kept my cool on the outside.

“Oh, free huh? That's cool. Do they take donations?”

There was no way in hell the two white upper-middle class people in line were not going to donate. I had no cash on me so I quietly turned to Erich and asked for his. He still had no idea what was going on.

We grabbed our macaroni 'casserole', bag-lettuce salad and Little Debbie desserts and sat down. I casually mentioned the reality of the situation. Then we ate and laughed about it (at least I did—a lot) and went on our way.

So if I were to translate this to a metaphor for life, it would be this: Always know what it is you want, and what it is you need to get there.

Granted, I wanted an authentic Waco experience, and I got it. So really this was a victory in my book.

However, I feel like so often in life we 'wait in line' for the things we want, only to find out that when we reach the front of the line, it's not actually what we wanted. Which isn't a waste of time--I think we have to have those experiences to figure out what it is we do want.

Sometimes we wait in the lines people tell us are worth waiting in, or that seem popular. We buy into the hype about certain lines and the promises that lie at the front of them (aka my Waco best friend getting me all jazzed about the 'casserole extravaganza' that turned out to be Hamburger Helper).

But once we know, and we're solid in our ideas of what we want out of life, it just doesn't make sense to wait in the wrong line anymore. Dead-end-job-you-don't-care-about line? Pass. Volatile-relationship-that-makes-you-feel-insecure line? I'm good. Playing-dumb-so-others-can-feel-like-they're-in-charge line? No thanks.

So muddle through whatever 'life-lines' (see what I did there?) you need to muddle through. We all have to do that, and I'm sure I have many more I'll wait in. But eventually, I hope we all find the right lines and reach the front and think, “Yep. Worth the wait.”

Take it From Twain: You Need a Vacation

I grew up in an average, blue-collar family. Fancy clothes weren’t in the budget (sorry, no Girbauds here), and cable TV was something we’d heard about but never actually seen. Even when money was tight, though, we always traveled. Nothing fancy, just the four of us piling into our 20-year old motor home for a weekend of fishing or exploring. Travel was a critical part of my parents’ lives, and eventually, it became essential for me, too. 

Today, I can always tell when a bout of wanderlust is creeping up on me. My daily routine of going to work, walking the dog, cleaning the house, repeat, repeat, goes from tolerable – even pleasant – to depressing.  I find myself Instagram-stalking friends’ vacation pictures. Before I know it, I’ve busted out the credit card and booked a trip to some new point on the map.

I’ve made some ill-advised purchases in my life (if anyone wants a slightly-used spray tanning gun, just give me a call) but I’ve never regretted buying a plane ticket. After a vacation, I feel healthier, and most of all, happier and more at peace with the world around me. I don’t think it’s just the after-effects of a hearty dose of Vitamin D, either. There’s actual scientific proof to show that travel is good for our mind and body. 

Women who travel at least twice a year have a lower risk of heart attacks than those who vacation every six years or less. (This study did take other factors, like income and preexisting health conditions, into account.) For 89 percent of people, just two days of vacation is enough to help them unwind and de-stress. 

It might be a little harder to quantify, but I’m a firm believer that travel is good for our souls, too. Being forced outside of my comfort zone to experience things I never would have encountered at home has taught me a lot about my own strengths and weaknesses. I’ve been inspired by the kindness of strangers I meet, like a café owner in London who fed my husband and I breakfast for free when our credit card wouldn’t work. I return home feeling like even though the world is huge, we’re all essentially the same people, sharing the same experiences and feelings. 

I could go on and on about the reasons why I feel like every penny I spend on travel is an investment in my mental and physical health, but instead I’ll leave you with one of my favorite quotes by Mark Twain.

“Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one's lifetime.”