Curveballs: The Divine Comedy of Nomad Life

You want to get my attention, put anything with Amy Poehler on it in front of me. 

Pretty much never have I watched her and not cackled. 

For my birthday this year, my sister gifted me a Masterclass subscription. What was the first class I hit play on? Amy’s “Prepare to be Unprepared” in which I watched her explore and apply rules of improv to everyday life. It’s so good that I just rewatched it again this week and thought, gosh, you know what also feels a lot like improv? 

Nomad life. 

You gotta be quick on your feet, follow the flow, be in the now AND still think a few steps ahead at the same time. Also, it’s a litttttttle outside most folks’ comfort zone.

Today I write to you fresh off a drive to beautiful Albuquerque after having closed out a month-long chapter of exploring the Denver area. And to be honest, for a while it was tough to not focus on what didn’t feel great: my stuff was missing. It was taking longer than I anticipated to get my bearings. So much of me was anxious about future housing situations and regretful of past decisions that it felt impossible to be totally in the moment. 

There I was, one foot stuck in worry, the other in this place called Colorado.

According to Amy’s rules of improv, I seemed to be breaking a big one: Can’t be halfway in—commit!

Sounds pretty logical. But how?

As I lay fanned over an upholstered chair during a rare in-person coaching session, Rebecca offered me this tool: what if we saw these whirlwind experiences through a lens of . . . humor? And what if we focused on the joys that emerged from that?

I saw her point. But some of this stuff felt anything but funny. Then again, I maybe somewhere inside me was a tiny, pocket-sized version of Amy. Could I laugh a little about all this, bringing back some semblance of levity? Because who, in the end, was I actually bringing down by ruminating?

So in honor of one of my favorite comediennes, that’s where I’ve decided my focus is now going. Not down the crapper to what could or has gone awry, but toward the moments—even the curveballs—that have not-so-traditionally lifted me up, immersing me in their quirkiness:

The meltdown over someone beating me by hours in booking “the perfect” AirBnB for a month. And the change in my travel schedule that came days later, anyway.

Or that during much of the drive yesterday from Denver, I kept seeing signs pointing to Las Vegas, drawing closer to me than Santa Fe. Okay, I thought, I’ve always had a pretty dismal sense of direction, but how can I really be this close to Vegas? Only to discover, that yes, there’s a town called Las Vegas, New Mexico. 

Or the thunderstorms that came rolling in seconds after reaching my car post-mountain hike. Twice.

It goes on: Learning that “Colorado” literally means the color red (Spanish roots!) while being dwarfed by massive red rock formations. And that it took me thirty-five years to know this supercool fact.

The 115 degree forecast during a weekend trip to Zion National Park, and the full immersion (baptism?) dunk, backpack and all, into the river of The Narrows trail that decided for me how I'd cool off.

Or how after an especially grouchy day of dwelling on this ridiculous storage fiasco and how much I’d lost (but also how ridiculous I was acting about it) flinging up my hands and deciding to heed the suggestion of my mentor to give something away for good. And that mere hours after announcing a live animal communication session giveaway on Instagram, in roared an abundance of paid sessions and some heartwarming notes from people I’d never met.

And perhaps my most favorite of them all . . .

When every cell in my body emphasized that it was time to find a change of scenery and fresh space to call my own for this empath introvert. But the brain was like . . . okay, where? That doesn’t cost like $1500 a week?

Which led to creating a killer online profile one night filled with my pup-sitting prowess, applying to a too-good-to-be-true gig within the community that is TrustedHousesitters, and landing it the next day.

For a whole week, I got to care for Sir Walter the Whoodle (that’s a Wheaten Terrier/Poodle mix, for ya). He came with a sprawling oasis of a home nestled near the mountains and a hankering to explore, reminding me that it’s often when I'm accompanied by a supercute pup that I tend to find pals in new places. Because when have you ever heard a pup dole out an “I’m too busy” in response to a suggestion of scoping out another trail?

Walter’s big-hearted humans, by the way, have become beautiful fast friends of mine— the milk bone on top of the kibble when it comes to remaining open, in a heightened state of connection and in listening mode, which in the end, lead to ripe conditions for magic to explode.

And that’s no joke. Especially, of course, when you apply another one of those principles: keep saying yes. 

Which I just did to another fabulous pip sit. This time, for Gus the Golden Retriever, who’s led me to some new trails with jaw dropping New Mexico mountain views, too, and breathes his hot little breath behind me as I type away.

By the way—a “selling point” of that original storage facility (last time I’m bringing it up, promise!)? This line on their homepage: “Trusted by people and brands you know and love” next to a photo of Amy Poehler herself. Probably used without her consent, but again . . . just a little hilarious. To keep following the my nomadic journey, join my email list.

Walter the Whoodle being his handsome self in Boulder, CO.