My friend Josie recommended I read a book called Die With Zero. I enjoyed the read and the alternative perspective on financial stability, namely saving for a rainy day vs immediate gratification. It puts the old adage of investing in your future for financial gains against investing in your present for memory gains.

It didn’t tackle the uncertainty of chronic illness (nor did I expect it to). But it reinforced a philosophy I’ve long held — to take the opportunity when you can. There is no guarantee for tomorrow. I didn’t wait for some day to travel. There is never enough money to do the things you want.

When you’re young with all the time and none of the money – do the thing.

When you’re older with more money, and less time – do the thing.

I’m fortunate to have made many memories. I am glad I didn’t wait for some day, or the future, or maybe next month to make memories and build a life. Because as the author asks in the book. “What good is wealth without health?”

Early is right now

The author writes, “Although we all have at least the potential to make more money in the future, we can never go back and recapture time that is now gone. So it makes no sense to let opportunities pass us by for fear of squandering our money. Squandering our lives should be a much greater worry. Experiences yield dividends because we humans have memory.”

Here are a few of my memory investments that continue to yield immeasurable dividends.

Hiking the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu

The year before I was diagnosed with MS, I flew to Peru and hiked the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu with two of my sisters. Even now looking back, it seems insane that I did this trip. When I struggle to stand for long periods of time or take stairs, I am reminded that at one point in my life I hiked over 26 miles at an insane elevation. I saw breathtaking views and had one of the most memorable travel experiences of my life.

I remember returning and thinking I would never do that again but I was profoundly grateful that I had done it just once. The multiple times I’ve been paralyzed since 2022, I wondered how I could be the same person who hiked mountains and traversed precipitous paths and the woman now lying paralyzed in a bed. No matter how hard I willed it, my legs wouldn’t lift, my foot wouldn’t flex.

It’s a humbling experience ripe with landmines of emotion. But more than the grief of loss, those memories got me through some very hard times. I had the privilege of movement at one point in my life. I had the naivete of youth and health not knowing the future. I had the financial freedom to take an extravagant vacation, visiting a new continent, and forming memories that I will think of every day for the rest of my life.

Studying abroad in London

I was in a BFA theater program. It had a strict Conservatory schedule without the freedom to take semesters off. My only option to study abroad and graduate on time was to spend my summer abroad. I had to save money. I had to borrow money. I had to economize and make sacrifices. For the first time since I was 15, I didn’t have a job. It also was the first time I had ever left the country and I was doing it alone.

I remember leaving the Saint Louis International airport and flying to London beside my friend Marcella. We didn’t know that wine was free on the airplane. We landed in London and made our way to campus. Our first meal was at Wagamama. To this day, every time I go to London, even if just passing through in the airport, I stop for a bite.

My first time traveling internationally, I was alone without a guide or experience. I stayed in hostels and shared bedrooms with strange German men who slept in their tighty whitey underwear. I had travelers checks and a limited amount of cash to exchange. I read maps because GPS wasn’t a thing. I used film sparingly because this was before digital cameras or cell phones. I bought a calling card at a Baskin Robbins in London near the Baker Street tube stop and called to check with my family every so often. I packed my lunch from the cafeteria on campus just inside the Queen’s Rose Garden in Regents Park, and I walked every inch of central London. I wandered Notting Hill, climbed to the top of St. Paul’s, had tea at the Ritz, and made mundane and exciting memories.

I knew I couldn’t spend every weekend traveling to another country so I prioritized two locations. I took a trip with friends to Dublin and Galway in Ireland and another weekend was spent in Paris. After biking all around Paris at night, I asked our tour guide if I could kiss him under the Eiffel Tower because I had no idea when I would be back to Paris. Thanks, John, for humoring me.

Spoiler alert: The next time I was in Paris under the Eiffel Tower at night was eight years later with my sister. We did not make out.

My mother and sister flew over for my birthday in June. We met in London, seeing phenomenal plays in the West End before traveling to Scotland, exploring Edinburgh, and staying a night in a castle hotel.

At the end of my studies a different sister flew to London, and we went to Belgium, Austria, Germany, and the Czech Republic. Though she had money, I did not, and we made our way cheaply through Europe for several weeks. We got barked at by a random man walking in Prague. The airline lost her luggage, so she borrowed my underwear in Bruges. My new friend Phil met us in his home country and showed us around Vienna, mesmerizing us with the summer market.

She seemed so much wiser, experienced, and older than me then. Yet, looking back it’s hard to believe we were both in our 20s.

Every single trip I took with my sister, Nicole

If you haven’t clocked it yet, so many of my memories are travel related. My sister Nicole, just two years older than me, has been my companion from the day I was born. We shared a room. We went to high school together, did plays together, had shared friends. While she and I could not be more different, we have traveled the world together. One of my tried-and-true clothing items that went on almost every vacation with me was a red raincoat — pictured above.

Before digital cameras were fantastic, my travel photos were grainy and pixelated at best. Nicole and I traveled smart and would pack clothes that complemented each other’s outfits so through the course of vacations we would swap outfits and items. My friend Holly once said she was annoyed that she couldn’t tell in my travel photos which was me and which was my sister. To this day, even with all the technological upgrades, sometimes Google Photos still messes us up.

I look back and think of the unbelievable experiences she and I had. We went to Troncones, Mexico a few hours drive outside of Zihuantanejo and stayed in a small hotel on the beach. We walked along that beach for pina coladas and fish tacos in an open air hut. The chef, waiter, and I think, owner whose name was Esteban waited for us each day. There was a bucket of water that you stepped your feet into to clear off the sand before walking into the restaurant barefoot to enjoy a meal. We learned to surf. We went horseback riding on the beach. It was one of the most memorable experiences I’ve had in its uniqueness and inability to ever replicate — the location, the experiences, and the companionship.

Other notable travels with Nicole include going to Paris, Milan, Venice, and the Palace of Versailles for my 30th birthday celebration.

I was astounded at how expensive a gondola ride was in Venice and Nicole and my darling friend, Philipp said, “When are you coming back here? Get in!” They were right — I’ve never been back but remember that day as well as our drive back to Milan. We stopped at a gas station and had espresso served in porcelain cups next to a couple enjoying a bottle of champagne (yes, at a gas station in Italy!)

I don’t remember how much that gondola ride cost, but I remember everything about that day.

Another adventure was also in Italy — this time to Rome, Florence, Assisi, and Tuscany. We ate glorious food, sampled all of the gelato, toured the Vatican twice (once below the ground in the catacombs and once with a dedicated art scholar). More than the archeological dig beneath the basilica or the stunning Sistine Chapel ceiling, I remember Nicole eating a sandwich outside the Vatican.

She took a bite. I asked if it was good. She smiled and said, “This is what evil must taste like.” She offered me a bite, I declined, and she threw it away.

That sandwich will forever life on in infamy.

Theatre school

My house growing up was filled with laughter, dinner parties, music, singing, and most importantly – play. We sang, we danced, we created, and we were silly. Heading into theater school I took classes in makeup, stage combat, dialects, and Shakespeare. I took movement classes where we danced to Walking in Memphis. I took a gymnastics class where our final exam was a fully choreographed routine to Saved by the Bell music. We had Chekhov tea parties and Shakespearean garden picnics. I think about the dividends theater school has paid in my personal life, my professional life, and most importantly in my ability to persevere through disability and chronic illness.

I have these stories that I think are normal and realize in telling them that they are uniquely mine. Even in my professional life today, more than 20 years into a communications career, people will ask me point blank, “Where did you come from?” They are confused at both my thick skin and my vulnerability. They are amazed at my grasp of language and my ability to coach and see someone’s insecurities or vulnerabilities, even over a teams meeting.

Theater school instilled in me a love of language. It taught me to know my body and appreciate the tremendous power of our body language. I learned that the voice is a powerful tool that can convey human emotion and connection. I have a masters in public relations and advertising too, but that’s not the foundation that has gotten me through or pushed me forward. The legitimacy of my masters has nothing on the humanity of theatre — playing, failing, pretending, continually asking questions, understanding motivations.

Humans need to be inspired, to create art, to have a safe place to be silly, and to remember that above all else, it’s ok to play.

Every dinner party I’ve hosted

Another thing my mother taught me from an early age and that I feel privileged to know, is that hosting people at your home, sitting around the table for dinner, sharing food and sharing stories, is the greatest way to show love and connection.

I moved to Chicago in 2009 and had four tickets to a symphony. I invited three disparate friends and after dinner at The Cheesecake Factory followed by an orchestra show, we formed our dinner group, Chicks & Chow. I’ve long wanted to share this story and detail that group but always find I come up short.

Don’t get me wrong, I love a five-star meal but there is something truly special about inviting people into your home or being invited into theirs. There is something amazing about dinners that come together like magic and the ones that fall apart and make us laugh. I’m lucky to feel comfortable having people in my home and coming together over brunches, lunches, dinners, cocktail parties, tea parties, and everything in between.

Even as I healed from transplant and would order food for delivery through Door Dash, it was never subpar or less than, compared to me cooking a multi course meal. It was the joy of connecting. Some of my favorite days in this life are spent around dinner tables in the various places I’ve lived. The hours fly by and the laughter is profuse.

Whether in the hospital or my dining room, my friends know they are welcome and they show up (usually with food). Sometimes I remember the food and sometimes I don’t. But what I do remember most acutely is the serene joy of being surrounded by love.

Yoga retreats in Belize and Morocco

My cousin, closest to me in age and also a dear friend, drove me home from her yoga class one fateful day. She yelled at me and said I was practicing yoga on a regular basis and needed to get a good yoga mat (there were more four-letter words included in her admonishment). I was properly chastised and bought a manduka yoga mat. I was upping my yoga practice and enjoying every minute of it. We talked about travel and she shared that we could go together on a yoga retreat in Belize.

The first time I went there I was hooked. I had never experienced a vacation meant solely for rest, health, and rejuvenation. It was unlike anything I had done before. Staying at a small eco resort on the Belizean island of San Pedro, we got up with the sun and had fresh fruit and coffee. We started our day with a two hour vigorous yoga practice on a palapa in the middle of the ocean. We occasionally jumped right into the ocean following practice before heading back into shore to enjoy a luxurious breakfast. We spent time on the sand, swimming with nurse sharks, and snorkeling. I read in a hammock or biked into town. We returned in the afternoon for an hour long meditative practice before dinner.

Every time I’ve been in the hospital, I bring up this last photo above to view. I’m perched on the end of the dock, soaking in the moment. I can instantly transport back to this precise moment. Even though I could never get to this island again, or effortlessly walk out on the palapa, and crouch seated at the edge of the world – I did once.

That initial week sparked three years in a row going back to that eco resort. Eager to try something a bit different, in 2019 I took a yoga retreat in Marrakesh. Adding once again another continent to my travels and passport. Little did I know the world would shut down in 2020. Little did I know my walking would diminish so quickly over the next two years. I remember how hard it was meandering through the souks in the Medina with the rest of the group trying desperately to hide how hard it was for me. But I did it.

More than the struggle I felt even then, I remember building a fount of memories with Josie by my side. We took a mule ride in the Atlas mountains, had a wine tasting at Richard Branson’s Kasbah, experienced a Moroccan hammam, had henna tattoos, rode a camel in the desert, and so much more.

The things I did when I was young and stupid (that I would never do now)

I remember parasailing when I was 15 and on a trip with a friend in Texas. On my 18th birthday I went bungee jumping — twice feet first, once headfirst like a dive. In my early 20s I went skydiving. On my honeymoon I zip lined through the rainforests and white-water rafting in Costa Rica. I went repelling off of mountains and waterfalls. In my 30s I hiked Angel’s Landing at Zion National Park including grasping the chains to the top of the summit.

I did the things. I traveled to the places. I ate the food. I walked and got lost. I lived.

I have an extreme amount of privilege in my life — from loving parents to secure jobs. But I also got in sticky situations. I had colds and flus and a lot of motion sickness on those travels. I skipped meals because I didn’t have money. I felt in danger. I was followed home. I was propositioned by men. I was drunk. I got lost. I focus on the good, but I also remember the not-so-good.

My point is that in my darkest times, my hardest days, my lowest moments. When I’m scared, hopeless, and in pain. When I’m stuck – literally in an immobile body, I have my memories and they are priceless.

---

I’m not done traveling. It just looks different. Catch up on my trip to the Channel island of Guernsey or the recap of my travels in 2023.