lifestyle – Page 2 – Brooke Lyn Landon

Does Size Matter?

Initially reading the title of this post, I’m certain a lot of curiosity arose. I’m sure at least a few people considered searching through their emojis to find the eggplant to accompany the comment with their thoughts on the matter. Sure, I could be referring to a dick, a pant size, or an eggplant, but that’s not all.

Well, does size matter? My answer is yes and no. For everything in existence, there is someone on this planet who will think it matters, and others who will not. Something matters to everyone, but it only matters how it matters to you and what you do about it.

Anyone else’s assumptions on what matters could change. When you embrace your size or opinion, and the beauty you have to offer, you have the power to shift the perspectives of others. Also, your mood can drastically change from Squidward to SpongeBob based off of what you realize truly matters to you.

Some days I feel so bloated I imagine others perceive me as that chick Violet from Willy Wonka when she chews the gum, and blows up like a gigantic blueberry. I feel like any moment I’ll have Oompa Loompa‘s rushing towards me to roll me away. I can’t imagine on those days people are actually looking at me like I’m a sumo wrestler, but my energy certainly isn’t offering a milkshake that’ll bring all the boys to my yard.

Other days, I wake up having the confidence of Beyoncé and give less fucks than Kanye West. I could look the same as I did the day I felt like Violet, but my mindset shifted my reality. If I’m beaming, walking like a hot piece of ass, people will be drawn to that energy in a positive way. What matters is how you feel and how you present yourself to the world.

When I asked if size mattered I said yes and no, but I’ve actually change my mind. It absofuckinglutely does not matter. Size doesn’t matter. Feelings matter. Focus on lifting your spirits. Then, wether it’s the size of your pants, bra, dick, or eggplant, it will be something to appreciate.

What It’s Like Living In Vietnam

I chose to move to Hanoi, Vietnam, which was an unexpected turn of events. There was a moment of silence after I told my mom the news.

“Didn’t you just tell me that Hanoi was a shit show?” She replied in confusion.

My response was “Umm yes, those were my exact words, but I never said that was a bad thing!”

I guess I like a good shit show. There are an absurd amount of motorbikes and cars in the Old Quarter of Hanoi. I see my life flash before my eyes every time I go out. It feels like a live version of the video game Frogger, when you nearly escape a car, and there are no extra lives left. They beep their horns so much I’m sure they are convinced they need to honk for every person or vehicle they pass. When locals walk by, they shove you aside like they’re Regina George from Mean Girls storming down the halls to get revenge. By the end of the night, the streets look as though a frat house just threw a rager, and sometimes I have to hold my breath walking through the markets.

Yet, it’s so rich in culture, and there is so much beauty. Even though they shove, they don’t realize they’re being a dick head because it’s just their way of getting by. They’re so friendly once you get to know them.

But guess what? I’m living my best life but not for those reasons. I love living here because of the community I’m in, the freedom that I have, and I love what I’m doing with my life.

Someone could be happily living in the bum fuck middle of nowhere. Another person could be in the most advanced, pristine city in the world, feeling like the Scrooge who had one too many drinks the night before and regrettably texted an ex.

After giving it some thought, as much as I love Hanoi, it really wouldn’t matter if I was here or anywhere else in the world. I love my life in Vietnam because I followed my joy and am living a life of freedom, fun, and adventure.

Yes, I could have easily gone back to my home country and convinced myself a 9-5 was the more safe and stable action to take in my late 20’s. However, I chose to work somewhere that fills my cup. Maybe my liver isn’t thrilled when I have to lead drinking games, but my soul is when I’m socializing with people who’s company I enjoy.

Theres a sense of instability for sure. I know there will be a time when I move on and the future seems unclear. That said, I’d rather be happy where I am and have an unclear future in Vietnam, than be miserable and hope one day I’m happy in a place that feels stagnant.

I Am Not On My A Game But Here I Am

Usually, I have a few ideas of what I could write about that would excite me and give value to my readers. Right now is not usually. Right now, I’m jet lagged. Right now I’m tired, hungry, and against my fathers wise words, I still haven’t taken a nap. Yet, I refuse to believe that just because I’m not feeling like the offspring of Robin Williams and Elizabeth Gilbert, I can’t produce something worth putting out into the world.

I was so close to not even trying to write because I’m not on my A Game. I don’t even feel I have any game right now. If the hottest dude in the world came up to me and asked me out, I would have the response of the dude from “The 40 Year Old Virgin” meets Sleepy, Snow White’s dwarf.

I still have fear that this won’t resonate with everyone even though I know damn well I can’t please them all. There is still worry that this post will seem too short. I don’t like admitting that I’m not in the creative flow.

However, here I am, proving to myself that those thoughts in my head telling me I couldn’t do something now worth sharing is only true if I give it power. Here I am still tired as fuck but feeling like a bad ass boss babe for acknowledging my limiting thoughts and pushing through. Here I am, hoping that next time you try to brush something off that you deep down know is best for you to do, you remember this, and you choose not to give your limiting thoughts power.

It’s times like these that you enhance your ability to push through more easily in the future. Of course you won’t try to power through every time you feel like a zombie from The Walking Dead, and that’s fine. As long as you’re not jeopardizing your well being, and aware enough of those limiting thoughts to take action, that you’ll get that much closer to being on your A Game.

How I Feel About My Body Image Since Traveling

C380A78D-9673-4DA8-9012-F97FFA8C5D20 A big part of traveling the world is experiencing the culture, and that includes the food. What happens when you consume an absurd amount of pad thai and befriend a bunch of bros who eat about six meals a day? You guessed it. Thighs that are thicker than the minds of those who don’t believe in global warming.

Before traveling the world, I was a fitness instructor, I worked out seven days a week, and was vegan. Not the vegan that still eats vegan ice cream and french fries. The kind of vegan that looks at the package at a grocery store for 10 minutes to make sure they know all of the ingredients. So, as you can imagine, a lot changes both physically and mentally when your daily health and fitness routine goes from Kayla the fitness guru, to Honey Boo-Boo.

Having struggled with a sever eating disorder for years, it’s not hard to guess my initial reaction to my reflection as my body changed was not a positive one.

“It looks like I have a food baby the size of my ex boyfriends ego.” Was the kind of internal dialogue I would have when I had to get dressed in the morning.

Somehow, someway, things started to shift. I couldn’t even tell you why or how. I started to live more freely. I began to look at my curves as sexy. I was beyond grateful that I allowed myself to eat what I wanted, and experience the culture, without the excessive guilt or counting calories endless times a day like I used to.

Between the liberation of eating what I want without internally freaking out, and having people like me for me, it’s easy to see I used to give a fuck about all the wrong things for all the wrong reasons. I realize that if I was the twig I had wished I was, I’d want to look more like me now. You want what you can’t have. Even though society says one type of beauty trumps the rest, I beg to differ. Plenty of people prefer having something to hold on to, in which case, I have no shortage here.

My mother tells me “There’s a cover for every pot.” That I believe to be true. For every body type, there are plenty of others who’d admire the beauty of it. However, the most important thing to be able to do is cover your own pot. You can always trade lids when another comes along, but you don’t want to be left feeling cold because of the way you feel about who you are or how you look. I’m hoping that metaphor comes across as good as it did in my head.

Did I grieve today when I couldn’t fit into the pants I tried on in a store in Japan? Yes, but mainly because they were sexy af and I would have worn them so much. Gosh, I’m getting so salty just thinking about it. Let’s be real though, I do not have the physique of a typical Japanese woman, and that I’m okay with. Do I wish my body was different? Also yes. Though I appreciate what I have and how I am, I’d be lying if I said I was thrilled about all my extra fluff. Some is great, but I’d love to distribute the rest to my ass if I’m being honest.

If I was huffing and puffing like a chain smoker with asthma after walking down the block, that’s one thing. However, that’s not the case. Im living my best life, doing just fine. In fact, more than fine. Beautiful curves and all.

What to Expect When Using a Dating App While Traveling

I’ve been traveling over the past six months, and being the talker that I am, I’m almost never alone. At hostels, I’m constantly meeting people and enjoying the company of others. That said, every once in a while, when I’m new to a place or staying with a friend who’s at work all day, I’ve turned to a dating app.

Through this process, I’ve discovered a lot of differences from country to country, had great memories, and met wonderful people. I’ve also messaged others who can hold a conversation as well as my friend held her liquor last night, (I held her hair back, don’t worry) and was given unsolicited dick pics.

When I was in Vietnam, I felt like matching with most of the options I was given could be considered borderline pedophilea. So many young boys on their gap year, or living it up for the holidays. I wasn’t mad at it, I always like a good baby face. It also makes sense they’re there considering SE Asia is dirt cheap and many of them probably knew student loans were right around the corner.

In Japan, the men on the app were older. And by older I mean closer to my age, and more established. Generally speaking, I had more of an interest in meeting up with them even if they didn’t have a baby face.

Regardless of what the guys are like or where you are, you have to be willing to put in the effort even with the knowledge that you may never meet up. Sometimes they leave the country before getting together or plans change and life takes you in a different direction. Other times you want to meet them because you like their face but realize what’s behind the face is as basic as my old neighbor who drinks Starbucks pumpkin spice lattes in the fall, and wears Uggs in the winter, even while living in California. Also, it could very well be that they’re just on the app for validation or entertainment.

What to expect is that the array of people and your amount of matches changes based on location. The experiences you have, great or not as great, will probably be better and more memorable than sitting alone in your hotel room refreshing your Facebook newsfeed for the 1,000th time. The downside is weeding through the people who’s messages are as stimulating as watching paint dry, and the occasional unsolicited dick pic.

I’ve connected with all types of life. I met up with people from Pakistan and Israel, to Scandinavia, the UK, Canada, and different parts of the US. Wow, sounding like a serial dater over here. I like to look at it as a serial adventurer and opportunist.

Do I think by doing this I’ll find me a man who will put a ring on it? No, although I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have my eye out for dual citizenship. I’m doing it because I love connecting with people, and to be frank, I almost always have a great time.

This is just my experience with a dating app that I was using, but maybe you’d find different results through your personal experience. If you’ve ever thought about giving it a go, I’d encourage you to do so. Listen to your gut, keep your wits about you, and go make some great memories and connections.

Why Japan Is Freakin’ Awesome

Japan is freaking awesome. It’s been my lifelong dream to come here and it did not disappoint. If I told you all of the reasons why I love Japan, you’d have to pull out a futon and get in your pajamas. So, for times’ sake, I’ll tell you something that I found extremely fascinating and wonderful.

In America, if you dressed up like you were from a utopian universe where everyone was cracked out of their minds, I think it’s safe to say you’d be heavily judged. Here, it’s simply the way they’ve chosen to express themselves. In Tokyo, if you want to shave an image of Elmo on the back of your head, or dress like you’re about to do some really kinky shit the moment you turn the corner, no biggy! Feel like giving us Mary Poppins wing woman vibes? Go for it!

Where I’m from, saying we have freedom of expression is dropped almost as much as veganism and CrossFit. Yet, it seems like we have the freedom, but not the courage to do so in a society that is so quick to judge someone based on their appearance. It’s as though we’ve blocked ourselves from even letting our minds explore all of the possibilities because of our unconscious fear.

I saw a chick that looked like she came straight out of a sci-fi movie. I instantly questioned if I was cool enough to live in a place like Tokyo. The creativity and intent put behind their appearance comes across as an art form and expression of self, rather than an attempt to stand out for the sake of attention and/or brainwashed ideals alone.

Look, I’m not saying that everyone back home isn’t expressing themselves. (But if you’re triggered by what I’m saying you may want to look into that) I’m emphasizing the vast range of ingenuity and inspiration that Japan has. Many people elsewhere do express themselves the way they’d like, but maybe even they don’t know all of the other options they have that would suit them too.

I know half of the people that I see post on my Facebook newsfeed wish everyday was Halloween, so why are we not living like it is? If you’ve been dying to buy that BDSM looking necklace (guilty as charged) or give yourself a haircut that’s out of this world, go for it. Dress up, have fun, be you, and think big… If you want to that is.

Don’t assume the next time you see me I’ll be looking like I came out of a cosplay convention. I really don’t have the will or patience. I love Japan because it’s quirky, innovative, beautiful, culturally rich, has incredible food, and hands down the best people watching opportunities of anywhere I’ve ever been.

What Will I Do Once My Dream is Over

I have plenty of dreams, and one that I’ve had for the longest time is about to come true. In a few days I’ll be in Japan. If I got tattoos of things I’ve been obsessed with at some point in my life, I’d probably have a Hello Kitty tramp stamp, manga sleeve, all that Morning Glory store crap on my calves, a miso soup face tattoo, and throw in a couple geishas and Harajuku girls while I’m at it.

When I think about going to Japan now, I get so excited, but I also instantly picture that money emoji with wings flying away. I will try to make that forever tomorrow’s problem. What I am unnecessarily making today’s problem is finding out what to do once my dream is over.

Like I said, I have plenty of dreams, but when this one is over, I don’t have a plan of what step to take next. Im going back to a country where I have no home, or idea what will happen. The world is my oyster, and though that is a dream to many including myself, it’s an overwhelming amount of responsibility and choices. I trust that it will all unfold as it should, or as my friend’s tattoo says “It’ll probably be fine.” That said, it made me think about what more I can do to help me through the phase when a dream is over.

I’ve come to realize, the easiest way to move through this, is to get excited about the next phase, step, or event of my life. It could be acknowledging the tremendous growth this next chapter will bring, my next trip, or that dream that I get the feels just thinking about. As long as it’s not triggering in some way, focusing on another dream, event, or positive thought, will have me smiling because it happened rather than crying because it’s over.

However, focusing on a dream is not to say forget about where you are. This is not a day dream to take you to Neverland. If you feel like shit, acknowledge and process your feelings. Know that your mind is afraid but your heart knows what to do and will guide you if you let it. Then remember more is on its way.

This may be the end of one dream, but there are plenty more dreams to be fulfilled and that will come true. All that exists is the present and I know that sounds cliche as fuck but it’s the truth and you know it. In times like these, it’s when I need to focus and consciously do what I can to move forward with a positive mindset. I’d be lying if I said it would be a walk in the park, but I’ll be walking on sunshine if I make the effort.

I’m not saying this because I think I know it all or feel like you don’t know wtf you’re doing. I’m saying this because it helps be process my feelings and walk on sunshine. I also do this in the hopes you’ll be able to join me on my walk in the sun too.

The Time I Almost Died in Vietnam

Everything was going so smoothly my first several months traveling. Almost too smooth. Then, it all started with a bang, and by bang I mean me swinging the bathroom stall door against the wall while leaving a trail of vomit behind me.

Several hours later, I’m in the hospital in a developing country. One would think that would be the cause of my near death experience abroad. That however, along with loosing my debit card and breaking my phone within the same week, should have been taken as a warning sign for what was to come.

I had no card, no phone, and very few endorphins left in my brain. My friend James, who I met because I was forced to ask people to lend me money, offered to give me a ride on a motorbike to get my phone fixed. We borrowed our hostels motorbike, and headed towards what should have been a 17 minute journey to the phone repair shop.

The wind in my hair, and optimism in my mind, came to a halt as we approached a more than mildly terrifying intersection. Not because the roads looked like a challenge even for the Fast and Furious crew, but because we ran out of gas. We got off the road as quickly as we could. James guided the bike towards a little rundown convenient store on the corner as I walked by his side. At that point, I found the situation pretty comical, and would be lying if I said his frustration didn’t make it funnier.

We started trying to communicate with a local there which turned into a game of charades.

“I don’t know what the fuck this guy is trying to say.” James said in aggravation.

“I know this sounds crazy, but I think he wants me to get on the back of his bike, and for you to get on ours. I don’t know. Let’s just do it.” I said as I hopped onto the back of a strangers motorbike.

I furrowed my eyebrows as I watched the man stick his leg out like he was Jackie Chan about to kick down the bike James sat on. Instead, he hooked his foot onto our bike and put his keys in the ignition.

Next thing you know, I’m flying down a four-way highway during rush hour as James is being pushed along by this mans foot. Cars and bikes were swerving around us and beeping like it was their day job. We arrived at an intersection with so many cars and bikes, you could barely see the pavement.

I closed my eyes tightly and figured at least if I died, I went out with a bang traveling the world. I heard James repeatedly say “Oh my God.” as we made our way through. When I opened my eyes, I felt like I could conquer the world even though I really didn’t do shit. James stared back at me as if to say “Is this real life?” And we both began to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

To say getting sick, loosing my card, and breaking my phone put a damper on things would have been an understatement. It was the kind of damp that reeked of mildew as it tried to dry in a plastic bag.

Maybe I’m being a bit dramatic because there was so much good that came from all of those situations. It’s easy to be so caught up in the moment, that we don’t see the beauty in it. Sometimes the events in life that make us want to hit our heads against the wall, or nearly kill us, end up being the memories we wouldn’t trade for the world.

I’m About to Have a Midlife Crisis

I guess one could say I’m on the verge of having a bit of a midlife crisis. Not the crisis where I’m on my hands and knees begging for mercy. It’s more like the kind where I’m really hoping for some dude to come out of the sky and be like “Do this. It’s gunna be great. You’re awesome. Here’s some bomb, vegan, calorie free ice cream.” Like, is that too much to ask?

If someone were to ask me what I’m doing with my life, I’d probably have some basic white bitch answer like “Living my best life! #blessed” or some shit. That wouldn’t be lying. I’ve been traveling the world for months having the time of my life. That said, I can’t help but dwell on what’s around the corner when I return to the US.

Currently, I’m home free. I like to say that instead of homeless because it sounds cuter. I have no plans on how I’ll make money, where I’ll live, and most other things that are comforting to know. I’m a cross between an infant that doesn’t even know what’s on the other side of someone’s hands playing peekaboo, and a college dropout who doesn’t want to deal with all the BS. Great combo when 30 is creeping up and you see your friends with their 9-5 jobs, moving in with their significant others. If a guy can hold my interest for more than a month, I feel like I deserve a metal and one of those pageant sashes that says “Yass Queen! Keep those fingers crossed!”

So, how does one prepare for the inevitable depression that follows after the trip of a lifetime, or when you don’t know what the fuck is next? Or better yet, both at once.

My first instinct is to say the preparation involves a big trip to the grocery store, target, and some online retail therapy. However, I think the preparation is less about doing and more feeling.

Here’s how I feel. Everything to date has always and I mean ALWAYS worked out. Times like these are the pinnacle of ones own growth when looking back. The more of these challenges we face, the stronger and more prepared we are for the future. It’s a hustle, hurdle, and an advantage. Does it feel mildly terrifying and really icky? Yes. Will it be worth it in the end? Also yes. So, there you have it folks. That’s what you’ve got to tell yourself on the verge of a midlife crisis. Or at least that’s what I’m telling myself to keep me sane.

The Bus Ride From Hell

Many people refer to the sleeper bus from Laos to Vietnam as the bus ride from hell. I think that’s an understatement. This ride felt like purgatory on steroids. I’ll tell you why.

I get to the bus where I see several other Americans waiting to board as I notice people from Laos getting on one after the next. Turns out, we have to wait until all of the locals board.

“Interesting, but no biggie, I’ll wait.” My ignorant, cheery ass thinks to myself, without a clue of the purgatory that awaited.

After waiting for what seems like forever, he gestures for us to come in as though we’re late. Then, I find a place in the back and put my stuff there.

“Nooo!! No!” The driver shouts at me to move. He shouted like he was the kind parent that yells at his kids in public and you’d think to yourself, “Yeah, that poor kid is going to need intensive therapy and be really fucked later on in life.”

Apparently, that back seat wasn’t back enough. I have to share a small space near the freakin’ toilet with the other Americans with no room between us. Essentially, I had to share a bed with strangers unlike any of the people from Laos. I’d be the first to admit I’ve grown up with white privilege. For one of the first times, I felt like it was a disadvantage, and related to other races on a different level than before.

I couldn’t sleep whatsoever. For the first 15 hours the bus swerved and bumped around the mountains and dirt roads of Laos. I regretted not wearing my sports bra. Several times I was legitimately concerned for my life and the girl by my side who would probably get knocked out from me crashing into her. I grabbed on to my seat like the bus drivers imaginary kid would probably hold on to his mother when his dad yells at him.

Finally, the bus stops at 2AM at the boarder as we wait for customs to open at 6AM. My heart dropped as my eyes widened when I heard him take the keys out of the ignition and felt the AC turn off. Next this you know, I’m sweating my ass off to the point where sweat is dripping down my back and face. If there was a white flag, I would have waved it. I felt like crying.

At 5:30 AM I finally decided to try sleeping in the isle because I couldn’t sleep on that faux leather piece of shit. The floor was better, but I still felt like I was lying on a tortilla bought at the dollar store.

Less than 30 minutes later I hear yelling that customs are open. The customs were so chaotic that I’d rather go through the New York, JFK airport, during the holidays. If that didn’t make your skin crawl, you’ve either had a supernatural experience at JFK, or you have never been. No one spoke English and people dismissed you like you were the vein of their existence. Thankfully after customs the roads were smoother and generally it wasn’t as hellish.

Long story long, it was 15 hours of hell, and 12 hours of meh. I’m sure some busses are better than others. So, if you want to take on an experience like this, just make sure it’s more like a bed and less like one of those leather chairs you’d find in a retirement home minus the arm rests and padding. If there are blankets with cartoons and flowers on them, run away because that would be my bus. Also, be prepared to be treated like you don’t exist and surrounded by complete chaos for 15 hours or so.

For the record, I don’t regret it. I would never look back on a plane ride to Hanoi, Vietnam. The bus to Vietnam will be something to remember, and content for a blog post.