You Might Die Tomorrow is a project to inspire you to live urgently, love wildly, and enjoy your life.
I have been traveling around the world for two years doing mostly nothing. The places where I did the most nothing are probably Indonesia, my six weeks in Japan and my collective three months in French Polynesia, but I have done nothing all over the world.
Love in the present. If you're worried about tomorrow, you can't experience the wild beauty of today -- right now.
That day in the café, I had this epic realization: I have absolutely no control over when or how I die, but I have complete control of how I live until that moment comes.
Here's a lesson I heard over and over again since age five that took me 25 years to learn.
It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.
I have been traveling around the world for two years doing mostly nothing. The places where I did the most nothing are probably Indonesia, my six weeks in Japan and my collective three months in French Polynesia, but I have done nothing all over the world.
Love in the present. If you're worried about tomorrow, you can't experience the wild beauty of today -- right now.
That day in the café, I had this epic realization: I have absolutely no control over when or how I die, but I have complete control of how I live until that moment comes.
Here's a lesson I heard over and over again since age five that took me 25 years to learn.
You Might Die Tomorrow stickers are ridiculously compelling and -- honestly -- the best conversation piece I've ever encountered in my life.
The current state of my life — mostly alone, sometimes forgotten about, with family members vehemently opposed to my chosen lifestyle, a sick dog, adjusting to stationary life, light on cash, job seeking and with no idea what I’ll do next — is exactly what I was looking for in travel. It’s a real life, in your face, lesson-producing struggle. And I’m so grateful for it.
We didn’t know at the time that our relationship was doomed. It wasn’t like we had gotten the dog as a last-ditch effort to save our marriage like some do with a child. We just both connected over this shared empathy and affinity for pit bulls and knew we had to get one.
After a collective two months aboard a sailboat in French Polynesia, I have come to realize two things: I have a lot to learn, and boat lessons are basically life lessons.
Pajamas and I are leaving this week for our next adventure: a 2.5 month road trip around the US. Pajamas just beat cancer and my brother is letting me use his old '03 Dodge Stratus so we're hitting the road to celebrate!
What will you regret at the end of your life? What will you wish you had done? Who in your life needs to be reminded that you love them before you don't have the opportunity to do so?
I went to Nepal largely inspired by the spirit of my late adventure role model, Dan Fredinburg. Dan was a fellow Googler who exuded warmth and joy and attempted to climb Everest, twice. On his second adventure, he passed away at Base Camp in the 2015 earthquake. I didn't know Dan very well - we had only spoken a couple of times - but I was always inspired by his adventure badassery. I also had a crush on him. I think everyone did.
I am so fucking happy to be alive. A buzzing spreads about my body from my gut and I can’t help but let the smile grow across my cheeks. I want to cry, I am crying.
I have this thing I do I call 'deathbed regret avoidance.' When I'm faced with a decision I'm unsure about, I mentally put myself on my deathbed and consider how I'd feel at that moment, looking back on how I made the decision I'm facing now. If, in this conjured future state, I feel regret about having done or not done the thing I'm considering, I know that's not the way to go. Conversely, if I look back and feel good about my choice, bam! That's my green light.
xAs a solo female traveler, I felt totally safe. I used Tinder and met some questionable fellows. I used the Couchsurfing app to meet some fantastic Russian friends. I had a drunk Balinese man knock on my window and whisper to me in Bahasa Indonesia at midnight, but nothing serious. Unless he was trying to whisper to me that he was having a heart attack, in which case I probably killed him because I was frozen in fear inside of my mosquito net.
When I was around thirteen, I took about forty Tylenol. I both wanted to die and also needed an outlet for my overwhelming despair. Today, I look back and my heart breaks for that sad teenager. I know now that everything which flows also ebbs: joy, love, despair...life. Nothing gold stays, Ponyboy. Like the gold, the blackness also fades. The hopelessness I felt then is minute compared to the insane gratitude and zeal for life that I possess today. Ironically, it was remembering that I am going to die which helped me truly live.
Why shouldn't we observe
the phases of the moon
like the hands of a clock? What better
calendar,
what better guide? Good day, good night,
good life.
91-year old Norma was faced with surgery, chemotherapy, and radiation to *hopefully* cure her uterine mass. Instead, she chose to live her last days on an incredible adventure, traveling around the country with her adult kids and dog in an RV. What a badass, right?
Today, I am here to talk about the extreme polarization I am encountering from people regarding the title of my project, You Might Die Tomorrow.
Love hard, be occasionally reckless, say yes to adventure. You can start by stepping your toe outside your comfort zone, or you can harness that rare desire to do so and jump out with an unreliable parachute.
“In my life right now, I’m eighty. There is so much left to do. So I would like to go back and give myself a bit longer, but as it is, I don’t know how long I have to live, but certainly it is that every year takes me closer to the end, whenever that end is. And so there is this feeling of desperation - there’s so many places I want to go, so many people I want to talk to, and so many hearts I want to reach.”
— Jane Goodall, Human documentary
She and her husband both accompanied me to the train station and we were mostly quiet as we snaked around the mountain. The mist was thick and the drizzle matched the way we felt, I think: a little sad to say goodbye.
Recently a friend and I were sitting at a cafe when someone walked by, apparently talking to himself. I looked over to her with wide eyes and high brows like, “Yikes.” She said, without a hint of sarcasm, “Let’s assume he’s got a bluetooth in his other ear.” That struck me; I realized it’s a really powerful thing to give people the benefit of the doubt.
It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.