I spent most of my adult life thinking I would never be a parent.

In my late teens and throughout all of my twenties, I made no secret of the fact that I was certain that having kids was not a path meant for me. I had a lot of reasons for this (I still think most of them were very good ones) so imagine my surprise finding myself here at 34 years old, knee deep in onesies and tummy time while permanently attached to a breast pump. Spending all of my little free time staring in awe at my 7 month old son.

It all happened so fast, yet somehow not fast at all. I lived an entire lifetime without Finn, and now all of a sudden he is my entire life. My pre-Finn life was one where I thought so infrequently about having kids, or starting a family. And now, I’m engulfed in it. It’s clear to me now that it was always meant to be, even when I thought it wasn’t.

It’s also the only explanation I can think of as to how a person (me) who has so little experience taking care of babies can be thrown into a life where that is all they are doing – and it just feels completely normal.

When I say “so little” experience, I’m being generous. Before Finn, I had zero experience.

I never spent a day of my life babysitting. Finn’s was the first diaper I ever changed, the first baby I ever bathed, or fed or rocked to sleep. By the time the nurses placed him on my chest after he was born, he was probably the 5th or 6th baby I had ever held in my entire life.

Yet for absolutely no logical reason, I still felt confident that I’d be able to figure it out when the time came. I have always leaned a bit more towards the “figure it out as I go” path anyway, and it turns out becoming a mother was no different. I could read all the books, and practice swaddling all the stuffed animals in the world (yes, I did this) but I was never going to fully know what it would take to be Finn’s mother until he arrived, and there was no real way to prepare.

And thankfully, it ended up working out. A lot of it did come to me in a natural way, and I was lucky to be able to draw on advice from friends, great doctors and the internet for the all stuff that didn’t. But that doesn’t mean it was easy.

I am still very new to this, but now that I’ve been Finn’s mom for 7 months, I have some thoughts to get out about the unexpected parts of becoming a mom in those first few months. The biggest aspects of new motherhood that I never saw coming (which is probably no surprise when you think about how unprepared I was in general) but even if I had expected them, I’m not sure I would have been any more prepared. So far, entering motherhood feels like one of those things that can only really be learned through experience.

#1: The love you feel is kind of scary.

On October 19th, 2020, five weeks before his due date and despite my lack of baby experience, Finn decided he’d come anyway.

I wasn’t ready. I needed that last month. We hadn’t packed a hospital bag, or picked a pediatrician. We didn’t take any of those sweet maternity pictures, and we hadn’t taken a single virtual baby class.

But, of course it didn’t matter if I was ready. It all happened in an instant. One moment I was cramping, and the next I was getting an emergency C-section. Al and I didn’t even have a chance to talk to anyone we loved first, or enough operating brain cells to remember to bring a camera into the room to capture Finn’s first moments. But in the end, I didn’t need the pictures anyway. I remember it all perfectly.

“There you are, sweet boy” was the first thing I heard my doctor say when she saw Finn and pulled him out. Those words were followed by three beats of pure silence, and then the reassuring sound of his cries. And that was it, the moment.

My son was officially a living, breathing part of the world. And I was officially a mother. Everything that came next was so incredibly difficult for me and for Finn that I am forever grateful that her kind, gentle words were the first that Finn heard.

We had a tomato plant sit outside of our apartment for several months this year. My best friend Christie happened to have an excess of plants she was caring for, so she kindly allowed us to adopt one in order to free up some space in her own garden.

For awhile, things were going really well for this little tomato plant. We nurtured it, loved it, and re-potted it to give it a more spacious home to flourish in. Al even occasionally played it a few songs on guitar once we read an article that claimed plants who were exposed to regular music grew faster and stronger than those without it.

I would often come home from a bike ride and pluck one little red tomato off the vine, and toss it straight into my mouth. They were always perfectly fresh, with just the right balance of juiciness and earthiness. I started growing accustomed to being greeted by our little tomato plant when I arrived home each day, and felt a tiny surge of joy every time I saw a new fruit making its way out into the world.

Colorado weather is tricky. You always hear that the state boasts 300 days of sunshine a year, but what that tagline doesn’t include is that those days of sunshine can mean 30 minutes of sun in the freezing cold, followed by four hours of clouds and snow, and then back to warmth and blue skies for the rest of the day.

It can happen at any time of the year.

Which is exactly what happened on the summer day that we were out and about, and came home to find that our tomato plant was frozen and dead.

And that was the end of our short love affair with the tomato plant. That’s reality I guess. Some plants just do not survive harsh conditions. They need the right amount of warmth and light and moisture in order to flourish — and even with the right amount of time and care, it can all still be undone with just one poorly timed snow storm.

A few months after the loss of our tomato plant, I was walking through an outdoor market. The day was cold and windy, with some soft snow flurries blowing in the air. I walked past a beautiful home and noticed there was a garden full of sad looking plants, all slumped over probably teetering on the edge of their unavoidable wintery death.

I thought of our tomato plant, and then I noticed one stubborn flower that seemed to be refusing to slump. It had deep green leaves with little soft white bells everywhere. It almost looked as if it had just been planted that day. I wondered why the owner would bother planting flowers this time of year, when the weather would surely force them to die in a matter of days.

I looked up the flower on my phone, and thanks to Better Homes and Garden, I discovered the relentless flower was called the Lilly-of-the Valley. The article read:

At first glance you might not think the delicate looking blooms of lily-of-the valley are tough enough to handle the extremes of winter. But, nothing could be further from the truth. In fact, these fragrant beauties have a tough-as-nails constitution that shrugs off bone-chilling temperatures.

I immediately felt a kinship with the flower, because my entire 2018 has felt like an attempt to shrug off bone-chilling temperatures. The Lily-of-The-Valley and I might have a lot to talk about.

This year has been my toughest one yet, in every way imaginable. It’s been a hard one for me, and a hard one for some of the people I’m closest to, and I can confidently say that I am not sorry to see it go.

But, even with the shittiness of it all, the world decided it would do what it always does, and continue to move forward despite my feelings. Meaning in the midst of chaos, I went ahead and turned thirty-two years old.

I guess at thirty-two, you are far enough along to realize that life is complicated, and years can’t always be compartmentalized into little boxes labeled “good” and “bad.” Sure, some things might seem pretty straightforward while they’re happening — for example, I twisted my ankle = bad. Or, I got a promotion at work = good. 

Even with those obvious examples, it’s not always so cut and dry. A twisted ankle could mean we avoid going for a run the next day that would have lead to an even worse injury (hey, who knows) and a promotion could lead to being forced to work alongside someone that makes our lives miserable on a daily basis.

We have no way of knowing how an event might redirect our lives down a path we never imagined for ourselves, or what on the surface feels like the worst thing that ever happened to us ends up catapulting us into a type of personal growth we never would have experienced otherwise.

We just don’t know. We do know that shitty times suck, and at the very least they lead us to appreciate those things in life that bring us lightness and joy more than ever before.

That’s the thought that carried me through a year of difficulty. I can’t control my outside circumstances, but I can control how I react to them. How I grow, maintain, or simply wilt in the face of extreme weather is largely my choice, and my choice alone.

Throughout a year of turmoil, I survived by doing things that I knew brought me joy, even when doing them felt pointless or painful. I trained for and completed my first Olympic triathlon. I started teaching myself piano. I went to a meditation class by myself. I flew to Chicago to celebrate the first birthday of my best friend’s daughter. I saw Beyoncé blow up the stage with her amazingness live and in person. I finally went to the San Juan Islands in an attempt to see orcas after years of dreaming about it. I visited my family. I wrote. I drew. I ran. I travelled.

And that’s it. That is what 2018 taught me in spectacular fashion. There are so many ways to deal with difficulty, and all that matters is you learn to take care of yourself in the way that works best for you, that keeps you grounded with an open heart, regardless of what storm is howling around you.

This way, anytime you face a cold season, you can continue to become stronger with a deeper understanding of yourself, so that you’re able to sustain and maybe even grow during the coldest winters.

So here’s a reluctant yet grateful cheers to tough times and 2018, and to everyone who experiences the hard stuff and finds a way through (pretty sure that’s just about the whole planet) — we couldn’t become our best selves without you.

Sitting down to write this, I thought a lot about what this year was for me; a year of transitions? A year of figuring it all out? I guess it was a year of moving — but maybe it is more accurate to say it was one of settling? 2017 was all of those things, but ultimately, I landed on the one thing I kept coming back to: A Year of Being the New Kid.

Growing up, we were never the family that moved around a lot. In my first 18 years of life, I only moved once, and it was to a house 2.5 miles away from the previous house. I never switched schools in the middle of my formative years, or joined an athletic team half-way through the season.

My only prominent memory of being the new kid was from when I was 10 years old, and I had graduated from the “Blue” team to the coveted “Yellow” team in gymnastics. I still remember feeling so intimidated on my first day of practice as I walked up to meet my new teammates. They stood there in a circle laughing with each other, adorned in their matching felt leotards, and I was suddenly acutely and painfully aware of the fact that they already had months of inside jokes and sleepovers under their belts.

It took me weeks before I stopped feeling like an outsider, and could actually walk into practice without my stomach tied in knots. All that to say that being the new kid is not a role that I am all that familiar with — or good at.

You would think that someone who loves travel and adventure, and has spent the better part of a decade trying to throw herself into unfamiliar environments and different cultures would relish in new situations, whatever they might be.

The truth is, the impermanent nature of travel is part of what makes it so appealing for me. When you’re constantly bouncing around from one city to the next, you don’t really have to worry about forming relationships, or building any semblance of a stationary life. There is a huge part of me that craves that type of a lifestyle — because you get to be as selfish as you want to be at all times. In travel, you’re basically always the new kid, but you never stick around long enough for it to matter.

When we moved to Colorado this year, everything felt new. At first, it was exciting and fresh in the same way it felt on our trip when we would arrive to a new city for the first time and throw down our backpacks, eager to dive into whatever new surrounding we were in that day. On our trip, we moved around an average of every 3 days, and we jokingly feared we had become so accustomed to moving at that pace, that anything different would be boring.

What really happened was that adjusting to the move felt like an extended state of limbo. Here we were, living in a new state, in a new part of the country, navigating new jobs and a completely new life that we were still trying to fit ourselves into.

This is how you do it, right?

The whole new-kid thing really got me on one beautiful sunny day in July, and I decided to attempt road biking for the first time. I went as far to deck myself out in that tight, sleek matching riding gear that I used to think only professional bike racers wore, really embracing that whole “fake it ’til you make it” philosophy. At this point, we had been living in Colorado for a little over two months, and I had just started my new job. I was trying to blow off some energy, and give my brain a rest from spending hours with my face scrunched in front of my computer for the first time in months.

I felt euphoric as I flew by stretches of farmland, music pumping in my ears and the rocky mountains rising in front of me. I was even wearing those shoes that clip into the pedals, and if that didn’t make me official, then I was pretty sure nothing would.

I eventually hit a red light on a busy intersection and with one free, unclipped leg — scooted my way up to the nearest sidewalk so I could rest my right foot on the curb. I waited a few beats before the light turned green. I slowly began to pump the wheel with my left leg while trying to place my right leg firmly back into the clip. Except, there was a problem. Each time I placed my foot onto the pedal, the pedal would spin out of control, leaving me unable to line up my shoe with the metal clip. I moved at a snails pace, while wobbling and swerving the front of my bike in an effort to keep myself from collapsing. My right foot flung out into the air each time it missed the pedal.

Experienced bikers flew past me, and cars honked impatiently as I tried to complete my left-hand turn. I felt like one of those weeble wobble toys, tipping dramatically from side to side for all to see as they waited for this biking disaster to get out of their way. I nearly fell into the middle of the road, before I finally managed to clip my foot in and sheepishly pedal my way to the nearest curb to take a breather.

I wanted to shout “I’m New!” to all the frustrated drivers and bikers staring at me. In that moment, I had never felt more like a newbie at life. All of the things I was trying to figure out with my new life seemed to flood me as I stood on the side of that curb, cursing the clips.

I didn’t know how to navigate the biking world of the mountains. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing at my new job. I got lost driving nearly 80% of the time. I wore the wrong shoes hiking. I didn’t know anyone. I didn’t even have a go-to place to eat anymore. I had almost no sense of familiarity in any aspect of my life. This was completely different from figuring out a new country or culture. Because I lived here now. I had chosen this as my life, and I wasn’t going to leave in 3 days to fumble my way through something new.

Could photo taking while biking have contributed to my terrible biking skills?

In a way, that sort of sums up 2017 for me. At times it was like I was literally learning how to ride a bike again. Every phase of the year was so different from the last, looking back it almost felt like we crammed a decade into one year. From travelling the world, to moving across the country, starting new jobs and celebrating our friends and families bringing new life into the world; 2017 was a year of firsts.

Somehow through all the chaos and movement and uncertainty, it all came together. Being the new kid was awkward, bumpy and confusing at times — but it was such an important year for laying down the track to where I want the direction of my life to go.

The trick for me was to embrace the newness of it all and challenge myself to enjoy every minute of it, even the tough ones.

Thankfully, I did get a few things right in the end.

One thing to get out of the way:

1. It’s pronounced Lou-is-ville, unlike its better known counterpart, Louisville, Kentucky (pronounced Lou-ie-ville).

Just a little summary to get up to speed. Last year, we quit our jobs, our lives, and our great city of Chicago to travel the world. Then, we came back, and landed temporarily in Florida, while still exploring more of the United States. Amidst all the transition, travel, and chaos, the time had come to choose a place to live.  A place to put down roots, and one that we hopefully wouldn’t want to leave three years down the line to quit everything and hit the road again.

Returning ‘home’ with no jobs, and no obligations left us in an unusual situation where we were faced with unlimited choices. We could live anywhere we wanted. Our opportunities were basically endless. I guess you could say this is true no matter where you are or what stage of life you’re in, but it feels more tangible when you have already gone through the process of cutting all of your ties.

We spent the last year roaming some of the most beautiful places (in my opinion) on this planet. How do you land on just one place to settle down once you have fallen in love with places like this?

Before leaving Chicago, we had a strong inkling that we would end up in Colorado, but beyond that, we didn’t worry about it too much and just left it as a decision to be made when the time came.

Well, the time came about a month ago, and Al and I landed at Denver International Airport with nothing but our two giant travel backpacks and a pre-booked Airbnb rental. We left ourselves with exactly one-week to find an apartment and move in. The reality sunk in hard the moment we walked up to the arrivals curb and stood waiting for our Uber. As we waited, I took a deep breath and felt the new air fill my lungs, while my eyes scanned the top of the rocky mountain range. I had to remind myself that this was my home now, and I had no idea what was out there.

Prior to moving here a month ago, I had been to Colorado only two times, each for very short weekend visits. I had spent a total of seven days in the state that I was now hoping to commit to for life, without much knowledge of Denver and its surrounding neighborhoods.

Our first day of apartment hunting, I started to feel discouraged. With each neighborhood we drove through, something just wasn’t clicking and I could feel the doubt start creeping in. Al and I both reluctantly admitted to each other that we were having the same thought: Are we making the right decision? 

This move was always an integral part of the long-term plan of making this big life change. The whole point was to leave behind a lifestyle we had outgrown, spend some time traveling the world, and then ultimately re-settle in a place we really loved. Feeling these doubts on our first day of searching for a home was very concerning for both of us, because under no circumstances were we willing to compromise on where we lived. We had come too far to settle now.

Al and I decided to call it quits on day one, and go back to our Airbnb and get some much needed rest from weeks of going non-stop. I hoped we would wake up feeling refreshed with a new perspective.

The next day, we decided to refocus our search in just two areas: Boulder and a town about 15 minutes outside of Boulder called Louisville. I had once seen a picture of this town in an old 100 Best Companies To Work For edition of Outside Magazine, and it had stuck with me.

When we drove down South Boulder Road on our way to look at an apartment, the beautiful Flatirons rose up in front of us, and I knew almost instantly that this would be home. We found an apartment right on the border of Louisville and Broomfield that morning, and moved in two days later.

We have only been living here for about two weeks, but so far I already can’t imagine living anywhere else. I realize thats a pretty bold statement to make 14 days in, but here are the top 5 reasons why I am loving Louisville:

1. Downtown Louisville

Originally a mining town in the 1800’s.

We knew we no longer wanted to live somewhere with a major city feel, but we still wanted access to the same type of conveniences and perks a city has; shopping, local restaurants, breweries, grocery stores, those types of things. Basically we wanted to have our cake and eat it, too. A major selling point for choosing our place was that it was only a quick 7 minute drive to historic downtown Louisville.

Downtown Louisville feels like stepping back in time into the 1950’s. Everyone is on bikes, and the people are so happy and friendly, it is borderline suspicious. Al and I have already made several trips to try out various restaurants and lazily thumb our way through old bookstores.

The main strip.

Home of the Best. Cookie. Ever.

Our brunch spot.

The first place we tried in Downtown Louisville.

Howdy Partner.

2. Boulder

Mom and I hiking in Boulder on a cloudy day.

Downtown Louisville is the perfect weekly neighborhood hang out for us, but another huge bonus of living where we do is that we are only a 13 minute drive to the beautiful and busy city of Boulder. Boulder is at the base of the foothills, nestled right in the valley where the Rockies meet the Great Plains.

Boulder is the perfect place for us to go if we need a real city fix: it has everything you could possibly need, not to mention it is the jumping off point to some of the most beautiful and scenic hikes in the Western United States.

When Al and I visited Colorado in 2015, we stayed in Boulder, and I remember thinking at the time that it seemed like an unattainable place to live. Never in my wildest dreams did I think that I would one day have the whole of Boulder at my fingertips to explore whenever I desired.

Views from another Boulder hike.

You can see University of Boulder to the right.

3. Endless Mountain views

!!

I was raised in Indiana, and then moved to Illinois, two of the top 10 flattest states in the United States. In Indiana, we had a lot of great things, but we didn’t have beaches, or mountains, or any stunning natural landscapes. For an Indiana girl, being able to walk out of my front door every morning and instantly be hit in the face with the Rocky Mountains, is not something that I will ever take for granted.

Before moving to Colorado, I was nervous as to how I would adjust having to drive everywhere. I don’t particularly enjoy driving, and I had grown so used to the ease of public transportation and accessibility of living in Chicago. I feared that having to get in a car every time I needed to pick up toilet paper from the store would begin to feel tedious.

How wrong I was. If there was a list of ‘top 10 most beautiful cities to drive around in and pick up toilet paper,’ I am certain that Louisville would land at number one. Living here, I actually find myself looking forward to getting out and going on drives, which is something I never thought would happen. Wherever I go, the mountains are there to greet me.

Typical driving view in Louisville.

Window view on the way to Downtown Louisville.

4. Wide Open Spaces & the Great Outdoors

I’ve started calling this ‘Dad’s Red Barn’ every time I refer to it.

You probably shouldn’t move here if you don’t like the outdoors, because it’s sort of Colorado’s thing. It was also one of the major reasons we chose to move here. Towards the end of my time in Chicago, I started to constantly feel cooped up and restless, no matter how nice the weather outside was. My mind and body was craving time out in nature. I also found myself becoming more irritable by the crowds and pace of the city.

I wrote this post back in 2015 to whine about all the things about city life that were no longer working for me. Reading it now, it is clear that we picked a place to live that offsets that entire post, point for point. Living here, we have constant access to nature, and all the wide open spaces we could possibly need. I can be in the mountains and on a hike within 20 minutes of leaving my house. I also never have to fight off crowds to get my groceries on a Monday evening.

We also have an actual farm in our backyard, filled with dozens of horses and cows grazing at all hours of the day. If that wasn’t enough, the farm is located right next to a giant tree that is home to an entire family of bald eagles. These are things that maybe wouldn’t mean so much to most people but provide endless excitement for us, because it is something we have been craving but never had before.

Our backyard horses.

The Eagle Has Landed.

A coyote Al spotted on our complex.

Every night, we try to walk outside of our apartment to watch the sunset over the mountains.

Because, this.

5. Travel as a Lifestyle and a Mindset

I have to admit that there was a big part of me that was reluctant to ‘settle down.’ I was enjoying our nomad lifestyle so much, that I started to panic a little bit at the thought of sleeping in the same place for months and years on end. At the end of our trip, I didn’t really feel that feeling of relief or desire to slow down that I anticipated feeling. I didn’t miss having our own place, and felt a mild sense of dread at the thought of accumulating stuff again.

I even had a mini-breakdown over a set of knives.

Al and I had to start over from scratch with everything when moving here. We had gotten rid of nearly everything we owned, so one of our first tasks after securing an apartment was to get the basics. We started with kitchen supplies, which led to a 15 minute discussion as to whether we should get our knife set from Bed Bath and Beyond or Ikea, followed by an intensive internet search to consult online reviews.

Ultimately, we settled on a brand from Bed Bath & Beyond, picked it up and drove home to unload all of our new kitchen supplies. I stood over our counter and began placing our shiny new cutlery into their respective slots, when I was hit with the sudden urge to drop all of the knives, run out of the apartment, and never come back. In that moment, I didn’t want any of it: the knives, the new rug, the giant beige couch that had just been delivered. I wanted to send it all back, grab our backpacks and jump back on a plane to anywhere.

All of the stuff was starting to feel suffocating, as if it would all soon band against me and fuse together to form into steel handcuffs slowly weaving their way back around my wrists and ankles. It had felt so freeing to traipse around the world with nothing but what I carried on my back. The knives meant I was really committing to this new place, and this new life. It meant we were staying, and there was no turning back. I realize how dramatic this all sounds, but all it really meant was that the the fears and negative thoughts of my past were coming back to attack me when I least expected it.

I took this as a sign that I needed a break, so Al and I jumped in the car and headed to a nearby path where we hiked for an hour. This was all it took to wipe away the unfounded fears of my knife-attack. On the hike, I recognized that I still had some work to do in letting go of all the old baggage I was carrying around from my old life. I made a promise to myself to let it go, and do my best to focus on everything wonderful that was right in front of us.

The attitude and the lifestyle of living in Colorado is contagious. Everyone we have met so far has been kind, positive and friendly. When hearing that we are new to the area, they are always eager to welcome us to our new home, and quick to tell us with a grin that we now live in the best place on earth. I still can’t believe that this is where I live.

Every single day since moving to our new place (post knife attack), I have woken up excited to simply be here, just like I did waking up each morning while we were on the road. Feeling this way during our transition is reassurance to me that we are on the right path. After almost a year of flying around the world without a home, it feels good to finally land in Louisville.