Why You Should Take Your Next Road Trip Solo

Why You Should Take Your Next Road Trip Solo

Whether it is people at the office or your roommates at home, or both, it is easy to feel like you don’t have the time or place to be truly alone. My suggestion: take a road trip by yourself.
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Are you feeling in need of some serious alone time?

Day to day life can make even the most sociable person feel a little over crowded at times. Whether it is people at the office or your roommates at home, or both, it is easy to feel like you don’t have the time or the place to be truly alone.

My suggestion: take a solo road trip. Go visit a friend a few states away or take a beach day for yourself. Whatever it is, get some serious miles and minutes between you and the stresses of everyday life.

Picture it…

Key in the ignition, engine a hum (or roar if you have a car with character, like I do), hands at 10 and two (more like six and eight, if you're me and got in the habit of driving like it ain’t no thang in high school and now cannot drive looking like a functional adult) and turning the volume knob so you can hear your favorite tunes (or rather down because if you’re like me and want desperately to have a hearing impairment someday). It’s time for a solo road trip.

It’s time to roll down the windows and let the breeze turn your hair into one giant sexy knot. It’s time to realize the uninhibited joy of hitting the open road and realizing too late that you’re in the E-ZPass express lane without an E-ZPass. But like your problems, that’s in the past now, shrinking in your rearview (well, until you get the $50.00 fine in the mail anyway). It’s behind you, there’s no reason to look back because honey, you’re not going that direction.

It’s time to listen to an audiobook and immerse yourself in a story, in a life other than your own. Like Amy Schumer’s book, at times you’ll cry, and at times you’ll laugh so hard that you have to pee, but can’t because you just got onto the New Jersey Turnpike and that sh*t is going to have to wait. Sorry, bladder.

It’s time to be completely alone with your thoughts, until that assh*le cuts in front of you without a turn signal, that you may decide to share some of your thoughts (probably through specific gestures out the window).

It’s time to realize that you’re in control, you’re in the driver’s seat. You decide your own destiny. You decide when to stop and when to keep going.

So, go ahead and pull over to take a picture of that amazing sunset or really a selfie because you’re a millennial being a millennial or perhaps because we all have that friend who’s 80 percent sure that you’re going to get kidnapped or murdered on this trip, so this is your Instagram-worthy evidence for them to know that you’re still, in fact, alive.

Arrive at your destination, breathe deeply and exhale knowing that you accomplished something today: you got back in touch with you. Turn the engine off one final time and run the f*ck inside because you had to pee two states ago, but refused to waste time pulling over for anything less than your fuel gauge passing E.

Solo road tripping may not solve all your problems, but it can provide you with some much-needed clarity or at the very least perspective.

Happy trails!



Cover Image Credit: everydayrunaway

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Yes, I Had A Stroke And I'm Only 20

Sometimes bad things happen to good people.
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Recently, I read an article on Cosmo that was written by a woman that had a stroke at the ripe old age of 23. For those of you who don't know, that really doesn't happen. Young people don't have strokes. Some do, but it's so incredibly uncommon that it rarely crosses most people's minds. Her piece was really moving, and I related a lot -- because I had a stroke at 20.

It started as a simple headache. I didn't think much of it because I get headaches pretty often. At the time, I worked for my parents, and I texted my mom to tell her that I'd be late to work because of the pain. I had never experienced a headache like that, but I figured it still wasn't something to worry about. I went about my normal routine, and it steadily got worse. It got to the point that I literally threw up from the pain. My mom told me to take some Tylenol, but I couldn't get to our kitchen. I figured that since I was already in the bathroom, I would just take a shower and hope that the hot steam would relax my muscles, and get rid of my headache. So I turned the water on in the shower, and I waited for it to get hot.

At this point, I was sweating. I've never been that warm in my life. My head was still killing me. I was sitting on the floor of the bathroom, trying to at least cope with the pain. Finally, I decided that I needed to go to the hospital. I picked up my phone to call 911, but I couldn't see the screen. I couldn't read anything. I laid down on the floor and tried to swipe from the lock screen to the emergency call screen, but I couldn't even manage that. My fine motor skills were completely gone. My fingers wouldn't cooperate, even though I knew what buttons needed to be pressed. Instead of swiping to the emergency call screen, I threw my phone across the room. "Okay," I thought, "Large muscle groups are working. Small ones are not".

I tried getting up. That also wasn't happening. I was so unstable that I couldn't stay standing. I tried turning off the running water of the shower, but couldn't move the faucet. Eventually, I gave up on trying to move anywhere. "At what point do I just give up and lie on the floor until someone finds me?" That was the point. I ended up lying on the floor for two hours until my dad came home and found me.

During that two hours, I couldn't hear. My ears were roaring, not even ringing. I tried to yell, but I couldn't form a sentence. I was simply stuck, and couldn't do anything about it. I still had no idea what was going on.

When the ambulance finally got there, they put me on a stretcher and loaded me into the back. "Are you afraid of needles or anything?" asked one EMT. "Terrified," I responded, and she started an IV without hesitation. To this day, I don't know if that word actually came out of my mouth, but I'm so glad she started the IV. She started pumping pain medicine, but it didn't seem to be doing anything.

We got to the hospital, and the doctors there were going to treat me for a migraine and send me on my merry way. This was obviously not a migraine. When I could finally speak again, they kept asking if I was prone to migraines. "I've never had a migraine in my whole life," I would say. "Do you do any drugs?" they would ask. "No," I repeated over and over. At this point, I was fading in and out of consciousness, probably from the pain or the pain medicine.

At one point, I heard the doctors say that they couldn't handle whatever was wrong with me at our local hospital and that I would need to be flown somewhere. They decided on University of Maryland in Baltimore. My parents asked if I wanted them to wait with me or start driving, so I had them leave.

The helicopter arrived soon after, and I was loaded into it. 45 minutes later, I was in Baltimore. That was the last thing I remember. The next thing I remember was being in the hospital two weeks later. I had a drain in my head, a central port, and an IV. I honestly didn't know what had happened to me.

As it turns out, I was born with a blood vessel malformation called an AVM. Blood vessels and arteries are supposed to pass blood to one another smoothly, and mine simply weren't. I basically had a knot of blood vessels in my brain that had swelled and almost burst. There was fluid in my brain that wouldn't drain, which was why my head still hurt so bad. The doctors couldn't see through the blood and fluid to operate, so they were simply monitoring me at that point.

When they could finally see, they went in to embolize my aneurysm and try to kill the AVM. After a successful procedure, my headache was finally starting to subside. It had gone from a 10 on the pain scale (which I don't remember), to a 6 (which was when I had started to be conscious), and then down to a 2.

I went to rehab after I was discharged from the hospital, I went to rehab. There, I learned simple things like how to walk and balance, and we tested my fine motor skills to make sure that I could still play the flute. Rehab was both physically and emotionally difficult. I was constantly exhausted.

I still have a few lingering issues from the whole ordeal. I have a tremor in one hand, and I'm mostly deaf in one ear. I still get headaches sometimes, but that's just my brain getting used to regular blood flow. I sleep a lot and slur my words as I get tired. While I still have a few deficits, I'm lucky to even be alive.

Cover Image Credit: Neve McClymont

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I'll Always Be An Organ Donor

I mean, outside of the cute little heart I get to have on my state ID.

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Check yes, nod at the clerk, give them a big thumbs up... It's really not hard to sign up as an organ donor. For me, it looks less than five seconds when buying a state ID to tell my clerk that yes, I did want to donate my organs to anyone in need after I died.

Organ donors like myself are always in high demand, especially because only 3 in 1,000 people die in ways that allow for an organ transplant. That wouldn't be too bad if the vast majority of people were organ donors, but only 54% of Americans are signed up to be donors.

Unsplash- Thoracic cavity

But why aren't people donors?

One word: religion.

While most all major religions are not in opposition of organ donation, studies have found that people will cite their religious beliefs are why they're opposed to donating their organs. Many people believe that they may not have access to the afterlife if their bodies aren't fully intact, but I have a problem with this logic.

"God is not unjust; he will not forget your work and the love you have shown him as you have helped his people and continue to help them." Hebrews 6:10.

"None of you truly believes until he loves for his brother what he loves for himself." Saheeh Al-Bukarhi.

Most large religions have this reoccurring theme of altruism, and that's what organ donation is all about: sharing something you have with someone less fortunate. Giving them a body part that I'll no longer be using won't harm me, it will help them, and it will hopefully look good if there's a Big Guy Upstairs.

Unsplash- heart made from neon lights

So go watch an episode of "The Bachelor." In those 60 minutes, 6 people have been added to the organ transplant list.

Go spend a relaxing weekend at the beach. In those two days, 40 people died waiting for an organ transplant.

Go to the DMV. Check that box. Save a life. Save eight lives, even. Be that person's shot at a second life.

It's not like anything is stopping you.

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