10 Lessons Learned Over the Past Decade

2020. A new decade. A fresh start. A clean slate.

As we kick off 2020, I am entering this new year - for the first time in, well…forever - with goals and resolutions (say what?! #bringit).

But in order to move forward with intention, first I’m reflecting back. I’m looking back at my experiences, my growth, and my mistakes. And when I reflect back on the last 10 years, I see a decade full of richness, depth, and adventures. But I also see a decade full of incomprehensible pain and heartache. I was tested in unimaginable ways and it was repeatedly confirmed that life is, in fact, not fair and that Billy Joel knew his shit when he sang, “only the good die young.”

In short, the last 10 years were full, in all kinds of complex and beautiful ways. And each year - complete with both failures and fortunes - taught me more in my short life than I could have ever anticipated.

So without further ado, here are 10 lessons I’ve learned over the past 10 years.

2010: It’s ok to skip the adventure and go home.

I love adventures. I love traveling and exploring new cultures. And in 2010, Brad and I were given the opportunity to spend the summer in Bogota, Colombia. He got a job at United Way’s South American headquarters and I was working remotely, giving me the freedom to work from anywhere. It sounded like a dream way to spend a summer. But the internet in our flat was unreliable and slow, I didn’t speak the language, and I struggled to find steady places to work. And it is hard to admit, even still, but living in Colombia - as much as I loved the people and the energy and the adventure - was freaking stressful. So halfway through the trip, I made the incredibly difficult decision to go home early. Ultimately, it was the right one for both my work and my sanity.

Almost always, the adventure is the right choice. But sometimes, it really is okay to just go home.

2011: Be your own advocate. 

You know yourself better than anyone - make the decisions that are best for you. Even if it scares other people. Even if it scares you. This year I was diagnosed with cancer. I became the Thunder Stealer. I made decisions that others (most?) disagreed with. I wanted to understand my cancer - understand why my - otherwise healthy - 28 year old body was susceptible to it. I did the research, I asked an obnoxious amount of questions, and I decided to take an alternative path to my treatment, knowing that chemo, radiation, and bone marrow transplants would always be an option. In hindsight, were they the right decisions? It’s hard to know for sure. But I trusted my gut and I learned a lot  - about myself and others - in the process. And I realized, if you don’t ask the questions - especially when your life is in someone else’s hands - no one else will either.

It’s your life and your body. Fight to make your own choices.

2012: Let go of what no longer serves you. 

For me, that meant my job. The job I had worked with for the previous four years. Coming off of a cancer diagnosis and then a recurrence of said diagnosis, I no longer wanted a job that I was quite literally killing myself for. I worked 7 days a week, staying up past midnight to hit my deadlines for a company that didn’t even provide me benefits.

Getting cancer radically shifted my perspective and made me realize I wanted a career that fueled my creativity, allowed me to help women boost their self esteem, and gave me the freedom to set my own schedule. This was the year I quit the security of my previous job and started my own styling business. The reality is, I probably should have quit that job long before I did, but sometimes you need a kick in the ass from the universe (or a couple cancer diagnoses) to make a decision glaringly obvious.

2013: Make time for your family because they’re with you for the long haul. 

Before a long series of tragedies bonded us together in a way we never imagined, mine and Brad's family knew the power of celebrating victories - both big and small - together. Even though we were spread out across the country, In 2013, we showed up to celebrate the birth of new family members, Brad’s book release, my first year in remission, momentous (and less momentous) birthday parties, holidays, and vacations. Over the course of a year, we bounced around from Idaho to Detroit to Florida to Virginia and back to Idaho just to be in each other’s presence. Was it exhausting at times? Of course. But now with several of those family members gone, I am so freaking glad we made the effort.

They say you can’t choose your family, but damn, did I get lucky with mine.

2014: When you can, you show up.

Late in 2014, one of my great friends died suddenly. He was dating my best friend, which gave me my first glimpse into loss and widowhood at a young age. Two services were held - a local gathering for his many friends and family, and then a small, religious ceremony in his hometown.

At his family’s memorial service, which only a few of his close friend’s attended, I was surprised to see that an acquaintance made the two hour drive for a person he didn’t know well. When I thanked him for being there, he responded with something that I’ll always remember: “When you can, you show up.” It was so simple and powerful. When you can, you show up.

Since then, through deaths and break ups and diagnoses -  no matter how uncomfortable or inconvenient they might feel to me - when I can, I show up.

2015: Revel in happiness. 

Embrace the stability. Because Kesha was right: someday these will be the good ol’ days. And most of us have no idea how good those days are until they’re gone. 2015 was a year of a lot of good days. Brad was finding success in his work (and making big plans for the future) and I was embracing the creative challenge of growing my business. We’d lived in Detroit for 10 years and had built an incredible community. We camped, we traveled, we ate good food, we saw Prince in concert (!). There was still death and loss and I’m sure we managed to find things to complain about, but looking back, 2015 was a really good year. And now, a reminder to slow down and savor the future good days.

2016: Just because you stepped in shit once, doesn’t mean you won’t step in shit again.

Bad things happen to good people. And just because you’ve suffered before, doesn’t mean you won’t suffer again. Brad’s terminal cancer diagnosis was proof of that. We felt our whole community (and strangers across the world) audibly gasp when they found out about Brad’s diagnosis. People regularly asked us how it was possible that two - not just young, but also good - people can receive two separate cancer diagnoses. Getting one shit diagnosis, doesn’t save you from getting a second shit diagnosis.

2017: Choose courage over comfort.

Ok, so I stole this lesson from Brené Brown, but this sentiment was hammered into me in 2017. Although at the time, it didn’t feel like I was choosing courage, it felt like I was choosing avoidance. But that’s the thing about reflection - It allows you take a step back and examine your life in a new light. And all those terrifying decisions were actually full of courage. To get in my car and drive across country to mourn and honor myself and Brad - courageous. To take on a new job while deep in grief - courageous. To show up for friends, family, and strangers when I could barely show up for myself - courageous. To attempt to buy an island - ok, a little insane, but also courageous. To publicly document my daily joy even though my life often felt totally void of it - courageous.

None of these things were comfortable. They were all actually terrifying. But each one of those decisions led to an insane amount of personal growth and self discovery.

2018: Your choices don’t have to make sense to anyone but you.

In 2018, I took a sick day from work and drove up north to look at a house I saw on Zillow the night before. I signed a lease on the spot, went home, quit my job, rented out my loft, and left. It was a decision a lot of people didn’t understand or believe to be healthy. Leaving the safety net of my community - my support system - after the loss of Brad felt like a bad choice to many. But what most didn’t realize was that after Brad died, my community shifted, my support system drastically shrunk, and Detroit no longer felt like home. I was depressed and lonely and blindly going through the motions of each day. So moving to the lake - my happy place - wasn’t me running away (as many perceived). It was running towards freedom. Towards peace. It was creating a new home because the old one had metaphorically burned to the ground.

It’s ok to live an unconventional life. And it’s definitely ok to trust your own damn gut over the random opinions of others. 

2019: Fear can paralyze you or it can motivate you.

I thought that after experiencing the death of Brad, fear would no longer exist in my world. When the worst has already happened, what's left to be afraid of? Turns out, plenty. Fear of public speaking? Fear of showing up to social events alone? Fear of not reaching my potential? Fear of letting others into my life? Fear of letting others down? Fear of everyone around me dying? It’s all real.

But at some point, I decided fear was a shit reason to not do something. Were these things easy? Hell no. But that shift in my mentality lead me to the stage for a keynote address in front of 500 people. It lead me to share in my vulnerability to help others. It lead me to show up in all my weirdness and imperfections. It led me to let my guard down and allow others into my life. And it lead me to a level of acceptance with myself that had been lacking previously.

You can’t eliminate the fear, but you don’t have to give it control of your life.