It was a simple joke, but I remember tearing up that night as I fell asleep. “Almost Thirty” the birthday cake had read in pink frosting, my husband smiling as the family laughed. At twenty-nine, though, the prospect of turning thirty induced an increased heart rate, sleepless nights, and terror.

There are a lot of reasons I think I was so afraid of turning thirty. Part of it was probably because of the movie Thirteen Going on Thirty, where thirty was the magical age that was the end of the line. It was the age where you were supposed to not only have your shit together but be thriving, too.

At at twenty-nine, I really didn’t feel like I was set to thrive in my thirties–although you wouldn’t know it from the outside looking in.

From the outside, everything was “normal” in my life, maybe even a little magical. I was married to my junior high sweetheart, and we had a house with a dog. I was teaching, my dream since I was a little girl, and I’d even had a few novels published. I hit the USA Today Bestseller’s list and was also teaching at a college one night a week.

But the thing is, I was terrified to turn thirty–and I think it’s because even then, I think I’d realized something so many of us face, especially in modern society: adult life isn’t magical. In fact, a big part of growing up feels like letting the magic behind. And that terrified me.

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Over the next few Mondays, I’m going to be digging deeper into this topic and sharing with you tried and true tips that worked for me to pull me out of my rut, to put me in a better headspace, and to set myself up to thrive, not just survive, in my thirties–and beyond.

If you’re someone who has struggled with feeling blah, with feeling like the spark is gone, I hope you’ll join me on Facebook www.facebook.com/ladetwiler or on my blog www.ladetwiler.com. I’m really hoping that by coming together to talk about the struggles of identity, fulfillment, and rediscovering joy, we can uplift each other and encourage each other to take the road less traveled by–the road to true fulfillment, which is sometimes more difficult than cruising along but worth it.

If you’re struggling to find your passion or to find happiness; If you’re unsure of your career or wanting to chase a big dream but are scared; If you’re not feeling like yourself; If you’re feeling miserable; If you’re feeling more negative than ever; then join us. It isn’t a straight, one-size-fits-all path to happiness. But I’m hoping some of the tips and tricks that worked for me might inspire you. 

Feel free to send this along to a friend who might need it, and thanks for being here with me!

Author L.A. Detwiler

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My turn signal flickers as I round the familiar bend, simultaneously ready to be home but not ready to end my karaoke session in the car. The words to the Taylor Swift song blast from my mouth as my husband groans. “Sequin smile/black lipstick/Sensual politics,” echoes in the metal box when my husband speaks up.

“The lyrics make zero sense,” he complains as I put the car in park in front of our Cape Cod.

“It’s poetry,” I proclaim, turning to him as I let the song play a little more.

“That is not poetry,” he argues.

Peeling ourselves out of the car, the words still resonating within me, I think about his argument. And as we lug the groceries into the house, I consider his words—and how wrong they are.

(Expletive!) Poetry
As a former high school English teacher of ten years, I can tell you that for far too long, we’ve scared the youth away from poetry. Stodgy, forced analysis and uppity takes on the masters establishes poetry as synonymous with expletives in many classrooms. The power of words, the feeling behind the words has been haphazardly traded for alliteration identification and iambic pentameter markings. Words from the masters feel archaic and stiff to the modern teenager in many cases.

Certainly, we can try to enlighten our youth to the power of the words. We can help them uncover the beauty of love in Shakespearean sonnets along with the humor of his homely mistress. We can seek to inspire with the “Sail forth” words of Whitman and the Transcendentalist beliefs of marching to your own drum beat in Emerson’s poetry. We can analyze the melancholy in Poe’s “Annabel Lee” and distinguish Emily Dickinson’s punctuation and dark analysis from all the rest.
Still, there is something lost when we try to determine poetry is only from the classical periods, from only a certain breed of writer or format. When we put our poetry in a box of this and not that, we alienate an entire generation of readers and poets, for that matter.

What is Poetry, Actually?
To come to a solution to this issue, we must ask ourselves what poetry is at the core. Is it formulaic writing? Is it old, curmudgeonly lines that we blow the dust off of? Is it tangled mystery with forced concepts?

Or is it, at its root, an unfolding of the heart that speaks to many in nuanced ways?

I know poetry scholars, poets, and avid readers may decide the last definition is undoubtedly simplified. It strips away the power of poetry and the skill. It cheapens it.

But to me, if we can get past the academic appraisals and definitions, I think this generalized definition actually expands poetry in a way that opens up more possibility. By understanding that poetry at its core is about heart, we can make room for change. We can invite more poetry scholars into the fold by opening up our youth to the beauty of the art form. We can stop excluding so many by telling them what poetry isn’t.

We can still hold the classics in high regard. I am not proposing that because they are of a different time or a higher caliber of vocabulary, they don’t have value. In actuality, I believe that every single piece of writing has something to teach us. I also believe to fully understand literature, one must push their boundaries of understanding in order to discover new possibilities. However, this reverence for the classic poetry forms and deep analysis does not mean other forms, other mediums, other styles of poetry should be snubbed.

Poetry, Poetry, Everywhere … and Plenty to Drink
 Taylor Swift’s newer song “Sweet Nothings,” notes:
               On my way home/ I wrote a poem/ You say ‘What a mind.’/ This happens all the time.
She’s not wrong. She did write a poem in her lyrics, one that all walks of life can uncover, interpret, and consider. Taylor’s words inspire and connect. They make us stir at the core and ask: How? Why? Most of all, they help us say, “That’s me.”

Taylor Swift’s songs are poetry. So are Nelly’s. So are Def Leppard’s, and so are Queen’s. So are all the musicians out there.

But it doesn’t stop there. The Instagram poets are worthy of poetic reverence. The commercials, the advertisements, the magazine snippets that move us to tears are worthy of poetry’s label. The words that tumble out of your heart on to a page for no one but you to see are worthy of a pedestal. In short, at its simplest form, poetry is the bleeding of the heart, the outpouring of words into a medium that inspires and moves us. That doesn’t have to appear in a literary textbook or rhyme or really be anything other than that—from the heart.
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The more inclusive we are about what poetry is—the more the appreciation and understanding of the genre’s power can flourish for this generation and beyond. 

Yes, ‘Elder’ Millennial, You Need a Crop Top
 
Last week, I was scrolling TikTok to catch up on the Eras tour (My nightly pre-bedtime habit. I know, screens are bad before bed. But it’s my Eras era, so what can I say?) when I came across one of the many “millennial makeover” TikToks that have been popping up on my feed. The Gen Z expert helped the millennial trade her oversized cardigan, skinny jeans, and long cami for an updated look—which included a crop top.

And for all the ladies in the room in their thirties or beyond, cue the gasp. Right?

For as long as I can remember, the word “crop top” has been synonymous with an expletive.

“I haven’t found anything in the stores lately. It’s all just crop tops,” my friends and I complain over and over. We try on shirts that hit just at the top of our jeans and tug on them, explaining that they're just not long enough. We pile into the oversized shirts, the long cardigans. We hide, we cover, we camouflage and talk about how showing too much skin just isn’t right.

But as I scrolled past makeover over makeover to get back to my Taylor fix, one TikTok popped up in the same vein that gave me pause. In this Tiktok, she explained why millennial fashion is what it is. She talked about how our generation grew up with mothers who were self-conscious about weight and body image—and many of them passed that body shame onto us. So, we turned to oversized flannels, long shirts, and anything that would cover up our rolls, lumps, and bumps that we found to be embarrassing.

Even though my eyelids were heavy, I popped right awake. Because up until that point in my thirty-five years, I just thought we picked our clothes because they looked good on us. I thought the crop top was just an unstylish rebellion against our generation’s long shirts and that it wasn’t something we wanted to pull off. But maybe, just maybe, I considered—our aversion to the crop top is much deeper. Maybe it has to do with our need to be covered, not for ourselves but for others. It’s a symbol of the body expectations put on us that we still accept as truth.

The crop top, in essence, exposes not bodies or skin—it exposes our deep fears and self-consciousness about bodies we were told weren’t good enough.

Not Skinny Enough

I’ll admit—I do own one single crop top. (Why does that still feel like a confession I should be saying in a little cubicle to a priest and following with acts of penance?). It’s sequined and flashy. My husband found it at a consignment shop, thinking it would be a perfect Eras Tour top. It was five dollars, so I tried it on. Staring in the mirror at my exposed stomach, right in the section I was always told was the “area you never wanted to stick out,” I saw nothing but hateful words staring back at me.

Fat. Oozing. Pudgy. Unattractive.

I quickly took the top of, sighing. Still, I bought it because it was only five dollars, thinking I could layer a cami under it (We love our camis, don’t we, millennials?) or lose enough weight to make myself feel good in it.

And there it is. The true sentence that should make me actually feel guilty—guilty for being so horrible to myself. Because even at thirty-five, when I thought I’d worked through so many of my issues, the truth still sticks. I don’t feel skinny enough to rock a crop top. I still think I have to hit a certain weight or a certain level of flatness to deserve to wear a crop top.

The sequined crop top hangs in my closet still, mocking me every day. Did you lose enough weight yet? Is your stomach flatter? Did you pass on the cake so you can maybe wear me next month?

The questions stir, and the shame stirs with it. But that single TikTok made me consider what it would take to make the crop top stop taunting me.

That TikTok I saw in passing really did change me. No, I’m not out sporting a crop top every day or at the office. Yes, the bejeweled crop top still mocks me in my closet if I stop to listen too long, asking if I’m skinny enough yet to wear it. No, I haven’t let go of passing over crop top after crop top on the rack of clothes when I’m shopping.

And no, I don’t think you need to throw out all your long tops and buy all crop tops. I’m not saying you have to show skin to be sexy—that’s a whole other conundrum some of us face. At the end of the day, I think you need to wear what you like and what makes you feel happy.

Nonetheless, I do think every millennial and every woman in general deserves to own at least one crop top—and to feel damn proud wearing it. Not if you’re a certain weight. Not when you feel skinny enough. Not because it’s trendy. But because I think every woman deserves to understand that the lies we were taught about skinny equating to worthiness need to be overturned.

As women, we deserve more than to starve our bodies in order to be visually pleasing to others. We deserve more than to hide behind baggy clothing just because we’re afraid to show skin. We deserve more than to limit our confidence because of what others taught us about body weight, image, and self-worth.
Yes, we might like our camis and baggy shirts and cardigans. Yes, that might be our style vibe—and that’s perfectly fine. But we still deserve to rock a crop top from time to time and not feel self-conscious about it. That’s my dream for us millennials—and all women, really. That the crop top doesn’t scare us anymore. That we feel like we can wear it if we want to and not feel bad about it. That we can rock any clothes, really, because no matter what stage of life we’re in or what our bodies look like, we feel good in them.

In this Eras era, let’s make a pact to make this era’s narrative body positivity. Let’s break out the crop top once in a while and flaunt our body exactly as it is.

Let’s stop limiting ourselves based on some antiquated notions about our bodies, shame, and what skin we need to cover.
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Now trading in the skinny jeans or the side part—that’s an article for another time. ​

I have a quote calendar that was a gift at work, and this is one of the pages I pulled out to hang up at my desk. In a way, it’s been the mantra of my life this past year brought on by a courageous leap out of a job I had for ten years into all new territory. And this past year, as I’ve embraced growth, I have come to fully understand that it really is uncomfortable–and that’s okay.

It’s uncomfortable to step out of your routine and to let go of a vision you thought would carry you through the rest of your life. It’s uncomfortable to start over and have to make new friends. It’s hard to see your old friends less and to feel like you’re missing out on their daily adventures and lives. 

It’s hard to learn new skills, a new way of thinking, and a new routine. It’s hard to shove down self-doubt and to climb out of the box you didn’t even realize you put yourself in. It’s hard to believe in yourself enough to take the leap.

Still, almost a year into this growth journey, I’ve gotten comfortable with being uncomfortable. I’ve come to understand that life opens up tenfold when you shred that box, when you shove the routine aside, and when you have the courage to stay open to whatever new thing is coming your way. I’ve embraced the fear that comes along with making a change. 

That ability to step outside of my comfort zone has transformed into all aspects of my life. I no longer am afraid of what people are thinking when I walk into a room or when I wear an outfit I’m not sure others would like. I got my first tattoo, something I NEVER thought I would brave up and do. 

The thing is, once you choose growth over comfort, you gain confidence in yourself you didn’t know you had. You realize that it doesn’t matter so much what your routine is, where you work, where you go, or even so much what you do. What matters is who you are at the core–and once you unlock that, you realize the rest is all just accessorizing your life.  When you appreciate who you are at the deepest level, you understand that you really can do whatever you want to do–the sky isn’t even the limit. It’s just the beginning.

So take the leap. Close your eyes if you have to and just jump. Move to that new location. Take the job that you feel underqualified for. Join that new class. Adopt the dog. Travel the world if you want to or move from the country to the city. Paint the picture. Write the script. Run the marathon or go back to school or start the non-profit. Take the risk. Take the leap. Choose growth.

Because what’s scarier than being uncomfortable or afraid as you grow? Staying exactly where you are for the rest of your days and realizing you haven’t tried out living at all.

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Can we all try something collectively? Can we stop waiting until we lose those five, ten, twenty pounds to feel beautiful? Can we stop judging how confident we feel by an arbitrary number on a scale? Can we stop letting sagging skin or a puffy stomach or cellulite marks detract from the faith we have in ourselves?

Let’s stop saving that special outfit for when we feel skinnier. Let’s stop thinking that beauty only comes in one specific size and shape. Let’s stop telling ourselves we would be better if we stopped eating so much. Let’s stop sucking the joy out of every bite of food. 

Let’s set down the guilt around food that many of us were raised to buy into, especially as females. Let’s start leading with our heart, with our sense of joy, and not a social media filter. Let’s take the picture and stop eyeing the parts of us we don’t like. Let’s smile when we look in the mirror and celebrate the body that is, not some made-up image we have of what we should be.

Let’s remember that confidence comes from within. It doesn’t wait for a certain size number on your tag or a frizz-free hair day. It’s a glow from within that comes only when you realize you are worthy, you are beautiful, and you are free to pursue the life you deserve today, right now, no change necessary.

Let’s take time to just be, right now, exactly as we are.

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It’s no secret that animals are close to my heart and a big passion of mine. If you follow me on my personal page, you know that I am constantly sharing lost animals, adoptable animals, and posts supporting our local shelters. I think rescuing an animal is one of the most selfless, kind things you can do–but I also want to say this. Sometimes rescuing that dog (or cat) rescues you, too. 

If you haven’t had a dog or its been a while, I think it’s worth contemplating that yes, adopting a dog is a lot of work. I’ve shared how Edmund has cost me a lot of tears and gray hairs. But the thing is, I wouldn’t trade him for the world. Yes, he gets me up early. Yes, housetraining and obedience and feeding him and vet bills are trying sometimes. Yes, it would be easier to go on trips or to take a nap without him.

But still, I recognize that in so many ways, that dog has rescued me, has taught me, and has just made my life better. 

As an introvert and perfectionist, I sometimes have a really hard time connecting with others. Friendship has never been my strong suit, in truth. I get in my head a lot, I overthink, and I prioritize independence. But when I come home from a day where I feel alone, isolated, or aloof, Edmund is there with the biggest tail wag; I’ve never seen someone so happy to see me. And that, alone, makes it worth it.

It’s more than that, though. It’s the companionship when I feel like the whole world doesn’t get me–he does. It’s the unconditional love and loyalty in a world that sometimes feels backstabbing. It’s the fact that I always have a built-in friend ready for adventures. It’s that he teaches me how every single day, even just a boring Wednesday evening, can be fun. His joy for the simple things like walks in our neighborhood or an evening in the backyard remind me what really matters.

It’s the way that when days are dark and I don’t think I can get out of bed, I know I have to because he depends on me. When I lost my mastiff, getting out of bed felt impossible. But having Edmund made me get up, keep moving, and keep going even when I didn’t think I could.

It’s in the big moments with him and in the very small ones that I remember what a gift he is in my life. Even on days when he challenges me, he reminds me that you can always grow and learn. He is, in short, my best friend, my confidante, my walking buddy, my couch potato buddy, and everything in between.

So the next time you see a post about a dog needing a home and you’re tempted to talk yourself out of rescue because it’s too much work, I challenge you to also think about the benefits. Because yes, it will be work. Yes there will be days that are trying. But there will also be plenty of moments that you realize what that dog has brought to your life.

To love a dog is to live a fuller life, truly.

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You stare at the photograph from ten years ago and realize with frustration you don't look the same.

Your skin is looser, your stomach is bigger, your legs are chunkier. Your arms are thicker now, and you wouldn't dare squeeze into an outfit like that. Maybe the scale says you're heavier. Maybe you can't fit in those jeans anymore. You are not the same, and it irks you to the core.

So you do what the media has taught us to do. You say no to the birthday cake when you want to say yes. You cut calories so you go to bed hungry. You make yourself dizzy, all in the sake of calorie deficit. You deny yourself any joy when it comes to food. Maybe you try a diet where you cut out a certain group of foods altogether. Starvation is your new mantra, even though life feels joyless. You are not the same.

Maybe you start counting your steps obsessively, and even when your body screams for rest, you push it anyway. You lift weights until your shoulders ache. You skip fun dates or time with your dog or dinner with friends because you can't miss the gym. You take up running even though you dread that alarm clock every single morning because of it. If you didn't sweat enough, you're not worthy. You have to earn rest. You are not the same.

You cover your body everywhere you go. You change your outfit twenty times because of the way your shirt clings to your stomach pooch or your leg cellulite shows in those shorts. You are not the same--and that is your deepest, darkest secret you hide at all costs.

You worry about what others think as they peruse your social media. You're terrified of being "that girl" who let herself go, who looks bloated and chunky compared to who she was.
You are not the same.

But you know what? You're damned right you're not the same. Because after all these years, you really shouldn't be. You've lived life. You've had successes and failures. You've fallen in love, dealt with heartbreak, lost, loved, lost again. Maybe you've had babies. Maybe you traveled the world. Maybe you learned new skills or took up new hobbies. You've made new friends and taken new jobs. You've survived. You've failed. You've conquered. You've learned.

You've done that thing you never thought you could do. You showed up when you didn't want to. You made life better for others. You saw that sunset that you can't forget about. You got on the stage, you stood up for what was right. You had surprise after surprise, some good and some bad. You lived through countless days of wonder.

You've grown in so many ways in the past ten years that no, you're not the same. You've outgrown that girl you used to be in all the best ways. You are wiser now, smarter, more mature in some ways. You are more open-minded yet also more grounded in who you are and who you want to be. So of course, you are not the same. Isn't it crazy we would expect you to be?

You are not the same--celebrate that, not just emotionally, but physically, too. Stop seeing the changes in your body as something to hide. Celebrate who you are, right now, today. Celebrate every beautiful inch of yourself. Stop hiding. Stop trying to "get back" to the size or shape you used to be. Stop looking back.

I think the sooner you learn to love yourself, to love the skin you're in right now without comparing yourself to yesterday--that's when life opens up. That's when true joy settles into your bones. That's when you can exhale, live your best life, and be truly, 100% healthy.

Stay Safe and Be True,
L.A. Detwiler

“Those who succeed do what others won’t.”

An awkward haircut, an uncertainty about where life was headed, and a Jansport backpack accessorizing my ninth-grade self, I walked into the biology class rumored to be a nightmare. The teacher, Mr. Stevens, was known as being very stern, tough, and a no B.S. kind of guy. I was always the studious type, but I knew that Honors Bio was going to be a challenge.
I was right.

Looking back, that class was probably harder than most of the college classes and grad school classes I would take years later. Mr. Stevens pushed us to the limit of our academic abilities. On a Friday, he’d assign a chapter that we would be tested on less than a week later. Words like mitochondria and photosynthesis floated in my fifteen-year-old brain; I would look at those chapters and wonder how I would ever succeed. I cried. I worked hours and hours on weekends. It was no joke.

But through it all, Mr. Stevens always reminded us of the sentiment: Those who succeed do what others won’t. He always pointed out that the last word was won’t, not can’t. In other words, those who achieve their goals put in hard work, something most people won’t do.

And here’s the thing—that class changed everything for me. First, I realized I could do it. I could be successful with dedication. Now, over twenty years later, I still think of those words and those lessons I learned. I might not remember the full photosynthesis process or every bone in a frog. But I do remember that when things feel impossible, I’ve been there before—and I also know I’m capable.

Mr. Stevens gave me something I think we don’t value enough in today’s education system and in society in general—the chance to work hard and challenge myself. Through that hard work that sometimes made me cry, I learned grit, tenacity, and most importantly, confidence. If you’re never pushed past your limits, you’ll never know what you’re actually made of.

And finally, he taught me that to get where you want to go, you have to be willing to make sacrifices. You have to sometimes do what others won’t.

You have to get up at 5 a.m. so you have time to work on that book.

You have to turn off Netflix to study for that degree you’re chasing.

You have to plan ahead so your meals don’t get off course when you go out with friends.

You have to sweat a little, sacrifice a little, and be willing to get knocked down.
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You have to do what others won’t in order to live the life you want.

I’m so thankful that twenty years later, Mr. Steven’s words still ring true for me, still inspire me to chase greatness. Most of all, I’m thankful that the tough-love teacher (who probably would be scolded today for his tactics) came into my life when he did so I could learn the true value of hard work and also my own capabilities. 

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How a Neck Wrinkle Taught Me to Start Living
By Lindsay Detwiler

I was a few weeks shy of my 35th birthday when, staring into the mirror, my eyes landed on a prominent neck wrinkle and saggy skin that I hadn’t noticed before. Chest tightening, I ran my hand over the skin to find it droopy, dry, and scaly—the dreaded turkey neck, the epitome of aging signs, had appeared, and much earlier than I ever was prepared for.

Promptly, I studied photos from the past months to see if I had been living in some state of oblivion, blind to the fact my neck had become a blinking sign for my elder millennial status. I squinted and studied, trying to find the exact month it had happened. Then, my Enneagram 3 personality kicked into high-gear as I tried to conquer the situation. I read about neck creams, perused reviews, and ritualistically slathered on potions that seemed to make it worse. I spent so much time staring in the mirror for several weeks that the “You’re So Vain” song seemed to be my mantra. I Googled whether turtlenecks were spring and summer appropriate.

And then, one day last week, I asked myself: Why does this bother you so much? Because let’s face it, I am nowhere near celebrity status or a catwalk. And how many times do you actually notice the status of someone’s neck skin? I’m willing to bet rarely—unless you’ve recently become attuned to your own sagging situation. In the scope of things, a neck wrinkle does not matter. But to me, it did. And I know exactly why.

The neck wrinkle, the aging skin, it was a sign that my denial of the birthday cake candles tell in recent years. I’m getting older. That, in itself, isn’t a terrifying thing. But do you know what is? Realizing you’re getting older and you haven’t really lived the vibrant kind of life you want.
There it is. The truth haunting me—but I suspect it’s plaguing many women my age, too. The realization that you did all the “right” things and kept your head down. You sorted through until you could find a relatively stable life, if you were lucky. You got to a place where you can exhale because the choices have been made and roads have been followed.

This is where you’re supposed to be, that voice inside tells you as you put in the top knot to do laundry on Sunday mornings before your required steps on the treadmill to hit your watch’s demand. And then, you look around at your Live, Laugh, Love plaque and the carefully organized utensils in the kitchen. You study your filled calendar of things that even sound mundane like “Tax appointment” and “Vet check-up.” You stare out the window while you do dishes for the fiftieth time this week, studying the dead grass, the abandoned lawn chair, and the view that never would make it to a postcard. And you ask yourself: Is this it? Is this the epitome of living?

I think for me, the neck wrinkle was a wakeup call that life is going by—and I haven’t gotten around to the exciting stuff yet. Where was the sense of wonder, the sense of adventure? Where were the once-in-a-lifetime moments and exciting new sights and smiles worthy of Instagram? Or the unexpected surprises, the cocktail hours, the big wins, the monthly escapades to new locales? Staring in the mirror at that neck wrinkle, I felt a little shortchanged. At 35, my life wasn’t a bold, fun adventure worthy of a travel blog. It was taking out the trash on Thursdays, showing up to the office with coffee, my lifeblood, in hand to trudge through the workweek. It was figuring out what was for dinner and getting the mail and walking on the treadmill to try not to get too out of shape. It was surviving, in so many ways.

But when we’re faced with this revelation, the question becomes: What can we do about it? There are bills to pay, and flights are expensive. We have responsibilities of different varieties and only so many PTO days. And while giving it all up to travel the world or start the bakery or Eat, Pray, Love it sounds wonderful (and some have inarguably pulled it off), for many of us, it just doesn’t feel like the right choice either. I’m all about bold choices, about chasing big dreams. But a girl’s gotta eat, too. And although I love the van turned home in theory, my Great Dane is a bit too big to squeeze in there along with my shoe collection, cats, and bookshelves.

So how do you find the balance? How do you live a life that supports your dreams and excites you without giving everything up? How do you find a way to bring joy and passion back to your life so you don’t have nightmares about the regrets you’ll have in thirty or forty years?
I don’t know that there’s an easy answer to this question, but I do think it’s possible to find a sense of adventure, a sense of living boldly, without whisking away to a private island or disappearing into the wilderness like an explorer. At least, I’d like to believe there is. I’d like to think there’s a way to find a sense of magic, of wonder in a somewhat mundane life without having to do something worthy of turning into a Netflix movie. I’d like to think, in theory, there’s hope for all of us with our rigid morning routines and dinner schedules and budget Excel sheets.

After stepping away from the obsessive studying of the neck wrinkle for a few days, I’ve come to believe that for many of us, we need to sit back and ask ourselves: What really would light us up? Because maybe it’s not even as extreme as converting the van into a travel home or splashing in a waterfall or seeing a rare bird on another continent. Maybe it’s taking a ballroom dancing class we feel silly signing up for or that pole class that makes us turn a little red at the thought. Maybe it’s taking up a new sport, even if we might suck at it. It could be changing up our wardrobe and working in the dreaded crop top or making Sundays a day off from the morning routine we’re obsessed with. It could be joining a new group or going to a new coffee shop to explore. It could be going a town over and wandering around aimlessly on a weeknight, something you never do.

In short, I think part of the answer is just letting ourselves be free from the routine, just for a while. It’s about searching for what makes us excited and being willing to try new things we normally wouldn’t. It’s about getting away from what we should do or have to do … and doing something just for the sake of doing it. Those are the moments that we remember. Those are the times that we understand in our bones what living is all about, big and small.

I don’t think you have to spend a million dollars to live boldly, to live a life you’ll be proud to look back on someday. I think you just have to get out of the routine sometimes. You have to take the Curling Class at your local ice rink or get the tattoo you’ve been putting off. You have to say “yes” to that festival your friend wants to go to that you think might be strange, or sure to that jacket you love but think people might hate. You have to get a little wild in your choices, a little out of the norm. You have to break free of the mold society tries to put on you in order to break free a little bit. I think that’s where life really begins. These small changes, these tiny steps, can help us build the courage to perhaps, if we feel called to, take the bigger, riskier steps toward a life of passion. The job changing kind of steps. The new house or new purpose kind of change. But until then, the tiny swaps in our routine can be enough to bring the spark back and to help us realize that aging isn’t the end of excitement, not by a long shot.

I’ll be honest with you—I still study my neck from time to time in the mirror and in photographs. But lately, I don’t have as much time to peruse it and analyze it like I once did. I’m too busy going to that new bakery a half hour away on Sunday and signing up for a horseriding session. I’m too busy taking my dog to a different park and trying that coffee shop that’s out of the way but seems fun. I’m busy on Pinterest looking for a new outfit I never would’ve dared try out before and painting my nails a color way too loud for the office. I’m busy living my life, in essence, turkey neck and all.
It started with sagging, drooping skin on my neck and a wrinkle I hadn’t seen before. But that’s not where it ends. Not if I have anything to say about it—which I’m learning, I do.

L.A. Detwiler is a USA Today Bestselling author who lives in Pennsylvania with her husband, rescued cats, and Great Dane Edmund. Learn more about her books on Amazon.

Standing in front of a classroom of teenagers feigning interest in Shakespeare and commas, I steadied myself with a hand on my desk. I’m going to pass out, I think to myself while smiling through and pretending all was fine. I sent out a silent prayer to the universe and any higher power listening that I wouldn’t faceplant in front of a room of judgmental, Tik Tok savvy teenagers.

It took eight weeks of intermittent fasting for me to realize the truth: No matter how many influencers swore it was the best way to feel energized and lose weight, it wasn’t right for me. Eight weeks of feeling dizzy, of feeling moody, and of fantasizing at unnatural levels about food, I learned that what everyone said would work just wasn’t it for me. So I changed it up.

As a chronic self-improvement addict and goal chaser (I’m an Enneagram 3, if that means anything to you), perfecting my routines and trying to live my best life is a habit of mine to a fault. I’m always looking for ways to be better, do better, and live better. Especially since turning thirty, living the best version of my life has become an absolute focus. But one thing I’ve learned these past few years is that if you’re going to try to find a life you love, you’re going to mess up. You’re going to mess up a lot.

Intermittent fasting isn’t the first or last failed effort on my part. Yoga, seed cycling, learning the violin, learning to cook, and many other endeavors are on my growing list of “failures.” These were all choices I thought would heighten my life and lead me to happiness. Instead, they just didn’t turn out. And you know what? That’s okay. That’s more than okay. Because by crossing out things that don’t work for me, I’m more apt to find things that do.

We live in a world of constant access to resources and ideas, which is a wonderful thing. However, it’s also a dangerous thing when we start to feel like all ideas are equal. It’s a harmful thing when we believe that just because something works for everyone else, it will work for us.

When you’re seeking your happiest version of yourself, you’re going to try things that work for everyone else and fail miserably for you. You’re going to implement tried-and-true tactics that make you miserable. But that’s part of the journey. In order to find your best self, you have to be willing to first explore and then to mess up. You have to be flexible enough to try new things and also let go of things that don’t suit you. Finding happiness isn’t about perfection, after all. It’s about being adventurous and flexible enough to try a different way–and perceptive enough to self-reflect and realize if it’s a good fit for you.

This willingness to fail isn’t limited to health journeys, either. It applies to love, hobbies, careers, and everything in between. From that new haircut you think will make you feel amazing to the new job you hope will change everything, the key to happiness, I think, is to be willing to take the risk in the first place–and then to be honest with yourself as to whether or not the thing you chose is actually making you happy.
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Most of all, I think we all need to remember there is no formula for success or happiness. It’s a journey, one we go on alone at the end of it. It’s a journey without road signs or stop signs. It’s a journey that requires turning inward, not outward.
And, most of all, it’s a journey that will require you to fail sometimes.

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