I Have the Life I’ve Always Wanted — Now Get Me the Hell Out of Here

My journey back to myself with simplistic living

I’ve heard it said that life will sometimes give you what you want, just to show you it wasn’t at all what you needed.

I grew up in Miami, Florida. An only child and admittedly a bit spoiled, I was a free-spirit who ran barefoot in the streets with the neighborhood kids and had unlimited access to beaches, lakes, and various other sources of water and sun recreation, year-round. A restless soul with an appetite for adventure, I was never what some would call a girly-girl. I despised dresses and anything frilly or restrictive that would hinder my ability to run and get dirty.

I had an aptitude for art at an early age, and was bused to a talented art school in my elementary years once a week. I hated it since I didn’t have much of a choice in the matter, and I ended up comparing myself to other kids who I felt were so much more talented than I was. I eventually stopped drawing due to my insecurities.

Although I excelled scholastically in my younger school years and was one of those resented kids that never had to study for a test, as a teen, I rarely turned down an opportunity to skip school. The fear of missing out on an adventure and left to hear about it later was just too great. Living just a bus ride away from the beach made the temptation much to great for me to resist.

I never had the desire to abuse alcohol or drugs. I laughed easily and often and hated the feeling of losing control. More often than not, I was the only sober attendee at parties which, in turn, made me the caretaker and watergirl for many inebriated peers.

My role as the group mother would serve me well, since at the age of 16, I became one.

Not being prepared for the task of parenthood at such a young age, this strange new world was baptism by fire. Wanting to be the best mother I could be and feeling like I had so much to prove given my young age, I succumbed to society’s expectation of what a responsible parent should look and act like. As most of us do, unknowingly, I entered the system and gave up my gypsy wings.

It was time to be responsible.

Throughout the decades to follow there were three more children, divorces, remarriages, a long career in accounting, and a degree earned in Radiologic Technology at the age of 33. I even received my real estate license for the hell of it and only used it once for a friend. I didn’t have many hobbies, unless you count a collection of ex-husbands. But we’ll save that for another blog.

With that pesky, restless bug always lingering just under the surface, no matter what I accomplished, I always felt like I hadn’t quite reached the pinnacle of what I was supposed to as an adult. My credit score had been less than desirable for quite a few years due to the constant changes, so it wasn’t until my forties that I finally bought my first new car, and a year later, the big 5000 square foot home with the finished basement apartment (my mother was the dungeon dweller, as my oldest son would call it).

My house sat in a cul-de-sac of one of the most affluent subdivisions in the area — Bridgemill — nestled in the foothills of the Georgia Appalachian Mountains. I hosted countless gatherings in our big home with the $15,000 fire pit for extended family and friends.

I had finally made it. This was it. The American Dream.

I played the role as best I could.

I was meticulous about my home and decorated it according to the most recent styles with upgraded appliances and fixtures, all the while ignoring my own personal whimsical tastes to ensure I fit into the upper middle-class Bridgemill standards. The majority of our friend’s and family’s birthdays and holiday parties were held at our home, and I became an expert at fancy drinks I’d find on social media, and pulling together appetizer platters in record timing at a moment’s notice.

Yet, during these gatherings, I always had to retreat to my bedroom every hour to control my anxiety and gather myself. I never understood why, although I had finally accomplished all my goals, I still felt so lost. I ruminated over my dreams as a younger adult when I swore I would one day have my tattoo sleeve and be one of those wild women who never held back in speaking her mind.

As my kids got older and my youngest neared the end of her high school years, my longing to run barefoot, let my hair grow long and gray, create art and not wear a bra when I walked the dogs began to take hold. My gypsy wings were struggling for freedom against the surface of my misconceptions on what I was supposed to be. I managed to contain them until life dealt me the biggest blow. As usual, it had other plans:

One of my children died in a head-on vehicle collision at the age of 21.

I experienced a violent cataclysm within my soul and entered a realm that I never knew existed.

As society continued its usual robotic dance with no regard to my grief, except for the usual words of condolence, my resentment towards it grew. I let go of any desire to do as expected and began my spiritual journey back home — my escape from the system I allowed to control me at the age of sixteen.

Having been struck with the realization of how easily a life can be taken away, I awaited my opportunity to embrace the last years of my life that remained. Shortly after my youngest child graduated high school, I enrolled in a course to acquire a new certification in my field that would allow me to travel, and headed back down to the motherland of South Florida. Not having a concrete plan and deciding to trust my journey, I gave up all that I had pushed so hard to obtain that now meant so little, to pursue a dream of traveling and self-discovery that I had kept at bay for so long.

Borrowing money from my 401k and taking only the bare necessities (which included scrubs, work shoes, toiletries, phone, flip flops, and my laptop), I rented a small, furnished, one-bedroom apartment a block away from the beach. At times, when I’m in between short-term rentals, I stay in a small pop-up camper in a friend’s backyard where I am presently typing away while listening to residual fireworks from 4th of July celebrations, hoping that the side canvases are strong enough to withstand any that might stray off course in my direction.

I still work in my field, but I work prn (“as needed” for the non-medical audience) so I get to determine which days I will or won’t be available. Peace of mind is worth so much more than status or stability in my experience. Besides, the less you have, the less money you need.

I do take on the occasional travel assignment that may last for two or three months in order to have extra money to sock away for an emergency. The thought of ever having to work 8 hours a day, five days a week, now seems like such a waste of life, but I’m willing to do it — on my own terms.

Originally, I thought I would use a social media platform to document my life changes with daily photos and disgusting rhetoric to support my narrative disguised as inspiration. But then, I thought…bleh. Everyone is doing that. Isn’t that the culture I’m trying to get away from? Instead, I chose to focus on the moments, take a picture for prosperity here and there, and tell my story and lessons from hindsight:

Living a life that others expect and not being true to yourself is self-imprisonment and fundamentally toxic

For the majority of my adult life, I never felt like I belonged. During my Bridgemill years, I would awaken almost nightly from panic attacks that resulted in chronic insomnia. The attacks would be worsened the evenings following social gatherings. The greater my status, the greater the expectations and the attacks. I regularly worried what others thought and became a people pleaser.

CBD oil and wine became my best friends.

Posting on social media to prove my worth left me living for The Gram instead of focusing and enjoying each moment, even after the death of my son. Learning to keep my phone tucked away was pivotal in my quest to be present for both myself, and whomever I was with. Being a Gen-Xer, I do recall life before we felt we had to post every moment of our lives to be rated by others. We would actually take the time to indulge in a long belly laugh rather than stop what we doing to whip out our phones.

Most will think you have a disorder if you don’t fit the mold. Truth is, one can only understand to the extent of their own experiences. Secretly, they will envy your freedom.

Whenever I expressed my desire to leave the Rat-Race and live a minimalist life, I was often told I should probably try medication or therapy for my restlessness. This reaction only served to reinforce my idea and need for freedom. The thought that this unrealistic expectation to follow a certain timeline and criteria in life, could possibly be the reason for so many diagnoses of depression, anxiety, BPD and the like. The pressure to do what is expected and compare ourselves, rather than to follow our own instinctual compass, can do so much harm to our mental health.

Each person, like ants or bees in a colony, have their purpose in life; we weren’t all created for the same one. The entertainers, musicians and artists of the world that are so loved and appreciated by each class, are the same ones you would never have wanted your daughter to date when they were younger, but serve just as important of a purpose than any other respected profession of the white or blue collar persuasion. You cannot force a queen to be a worker bee.

It seems as though the only people who truly understood were those who had suffered equally as traumatic events in their lives, and when I would mention it to them, I was met with just as much enthusiasm for the idea.

I learned that when you express your deepest secrets with abandon, it gives others permission to do the same. We are never alone in our thinking, but most are afraid to deviate from the system.

Your appreciation for life will sky-rocket.

Death has a way of waking you up. For some, it lasts a short time until we fall back into the pattern of existence. For others, if allowed, will reawaken you soul and become the catalyst for enlightenment. I believe each negative life event will eventually lead to a positive one of equal magnitude.

I’ve learned the basic fundamentals of kindness and love. Living each day with the intention of absorbing and accepting where the universe might lead you, instead of trying to control it, will allow your true soul to flourish. After all, what we learn from loss and the current world situation is that control is an illusion. Learning to live life intentionally with acceptance and understanding is the path to releasing anger and frustration. It is also what we ultimately desire from others.

We all don’t have to change the world to be valued. The pressure to know your dream straight out of high school leads to so much mental anguish. How can we know what we love in life if we aren’t allowed the freedom to live it first? I’ve given my remaining children my blessing to pursue life at their own pace. Should they decided to further their education, I hope it will be on their own time when they’ve figured this life shit out a little better.

Life is short — Following a timeline with the expectation of happiness is futile. Each journey is, and should be, different. I live each day knowing that I’m lucky to be here. As my son has taught me, growing old isn’t guaranteed, and I wish I had spent less time pushing him to do the things I wanted him to do, and more of what he wanted to do.

I realize that this lifestyle may not be for everyone; there are those who crave structure and safety. My youngest child is the only one out of the bunch who needs to plan everything months in advance. That is her role — the family CEO. But for those who seek this freedom, and with the minimalist movement well underway and becoming more accepted, there are many resources and much support from fellow system exiles.

The release from the pressures of social expectations has allowed me the freedom to focus on me. I see myself in pictures now and notice such a difference in my smile; a smile with my eyes and my soul, not just my mouth.

As my almost 30-year-old daughter has said… life is cyclical. We always return to the point from which we started.

Since I began my journey back home to my basic self and to simplistic living, I’ve begun to paint again. And since I never learned to play a musical instrument but have always wanted to, I’ve taken up the ukulele, and just inherited a harmonica that I’ll learn to play once I master Stairway to Heaven on the Uke. I’ve given up $150 hair appointments and the need to uphold a certain appearance and I’ve never felt freer. I write in the mornings in between cups of coffee, hit the gym on occasion and don’t give a shit who cuts me off in traffic. I rarely wear shoes unless required and take regular long drives to nowhere just to see where I end up. One of my most notable lifestyle changes that makes me giggle just about every morning — I rarely wear a bra.

As Deepak Chopra read in the Sutras for Enlightenment this afternoon on social media:

“You have access to infinite energy if your awareness is grounded in infinite being, which is your own fundamental self”