Dear World: You Become a New Person by Choosing a New Problem

The problems you want to solve in this life are the ONLY thing you need to figure out

Welp, it happened. IT HAPPENED.

Yesterday, I went down to the cottage to turn the spigot on, and, just like that, nothing came out.

Now, anyone who’s ever lived in the country bought property on a whim in the ass-end of the world knows that there is only ONE big, fat golden rule of country living:

Never let the pipes freeze.

Instantly I have flashbacks from my book about growing up in rural America:

Funny how life comes so full circle, doesn’t it? One minute you’re sipping rosé in a posh “people wear really nice clothes around here” London hotel, trying like hell to look like you know how to pronounce the word “crudité,” and the next you find yourself doing the exact thing you promised you’d never do again.

It was -14℉ yesterday morning—I should have known. In my defense, I did go down and run the water the day prior, and all was good. Except, of course, for the fact that the water looked more like an ice Slushie than actual water. 🤷‍♀️

Yesterday, however, there was no bouncing back: the pipes were frozen solid. And no amount of hair dryer was going to help. (Even if you have the one from Spaceballs.)

This is when you do something that only people who live in the middle of nowhere only serial killers know IS A THING: you get out a torpedo heater. And you hook it to a gas tank. And you light ‘er up. And hope you don’t blow up the house.

Sure enough, within 20 minutes, the water was flowing again and I could go back to believing I wasn’t a terrible, horribly irresponsible anus of a person.

***

Sometimes I swear I feel more victorious about miniscule things like these than many of the “important” things I’ve accomplished over the years: businesses, books, speeches, financial wins. Maybe because when things come easy to you—like if you’re a naturally born math whiz (not me), or an award-winning Olympic high diver with thighs you’d like to bite (also not me)—it’s easy to take those gifts for granted.

When it doesn’t feel hard, it doesn’t feel big.

Sometimes I wonder if this is why travel is so rewarding: when you don’t even know so much as how to pay for a bunch of grapes at the grocery store, it makes even the simplest of everyday moments feel that much more exhilarating.

***

You know how everyone’s scared of becoming their mother?

I never minded, because I figured I’d at least have really long and graceful fingers and I’d make meatballs the size of your car and I’d wear white turtlenecks underneath everything and I’d also be inappropriately good at Yahtzee.

On the other hand, though, I also always thought I was different enough from my mom that I’d never get the bad parts. Because, when I say different? She was Walden Pond and I was the Atlantic Ocean. She spoke in hushed tones and I run around yelling things like “terrible, horrible, irresponsible anus.” She was afraid to drive in the dark and I was crossing entire worlds in it.

I thought maybe the things that haunted her would never haunt me. How could they? We couldn’t have been more different.

Then one night recently, I became her.

I lay there in bed, chest being squeezed by an invisible fist: thump—thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthump.

Suddenly I couldn’t get enough oxygen in my lungs. My breath was too shallow. All I could feel was a crushing pressure in my chest, and a racing heart, and more pressure.

I lay there with my heart galloping for hours and my back screaming and all the sudden I got very, very scared. This didn’t seem right. Big, wet tears fell.

I still remember my mother’s psychiatrist’s name: Dr. Lattimore, two T’s. The thing she was always the most afraid of?

Having another panic attack.

***

There are deer everywhere. They walk through the property daily, first in the morning, and then again at dusk. They use their hooves to dig in the snow and try to find grass to eat. So I decided that I would get actual deer feed. And this morning as I did the dishes and looked out the kitchen window, a small, frayed little doe was having a full-on feast.

***

I’ve decided on the theme of this farmhouse property I am here renovating:

My mother’s garden.

This is the last place where she was alive. It’s been 20 years, now. The old funeral home is practically boarded up, these days. But, one of the trees we planted together still stands. I still remember the hole I had to dig: it was the deepest hole I’d ever dug.

Her garden made our trailer look almost like a respectable place to live. It’s still one of the best real estate hacks I’ve ever known: the more flowers, the more life. Maybe this is why I’ve found myself covering the walls of this old farmhouse with big, beautiful, floral, British-eclectic wallpaper as far as the eye can see: this entire property is an ode to my childhood, whether I realized it before or not.

***

The land is for sale.

The land where our trailer once sat.

This morning, I made the call.

I will dig 1,000 holes there. I will build Walden Pond.

***

I am increasingly more and more interested in the world of real estate & design. Zillow is, by far, my favorite app, and I have alerts set for numerous places around the world. It was only a matter of time, I suspect, before my interest in travel began to meld with my interest in architecture & property development & interiors.

But, isn’t that the perfect way to do it?

So often, we turn to the things we already know how to do, because it “makes sense.” It’s the easiest, quickest, cleanest, most obvious path forward. But, what happens when it no longer feels big enough for you?

***

The trick to pivoting into A NEW THING, when you don’t have a history doing THE NEW THING, or a reputation in THE NEW THING, and you have all sorts of imposter syndrome about THE NEW THING, is to just start with what you do know.

Take what you know, and use it as a bridge over to your new thing.

For now, I’m limited in my capabilities as a real estate developer & designer (SAY), but I am not limited when it comes to creative sales & marketing writing. That’s an in. That’s a way you can contribute to the conversation without feeling like you’re a 5-year-old with pigtails trying to sit at the big kid’s table.

Use what you know today and apply it to an industry you want to be a part of tomorrow.

Because you are only an outsider for as long as you choose to stay on the outside of the conversation.

Being a part of something doesn’t require permission: it simply requires you to decide.

***

Whoops, turns out I AM a terrible, horribly irresponsible anus of a person: the pipes were frozen again this morning.

But, I do not have anxiety about this.

I am not turning into my mother.

And, the pressure in my chest?

That, I am pretty sure, was the spicy pasta.

Rather, these tiny trials are the kinds of things that give us practice being the kind of people we want to become: the kind that can fearlessly navigate any worlds she encounters; the kind that can take care of the things she treasures; the kind that is willing to take a chance on herself—even if she is not so sure about the rest.

The kinds of trials you choose to engage with in this life will tell you so much more about the kind of future you will have, than any fortune teller ever could.

Choose your trials, choose your destiny.

The only thing you need to be scared of is not choosing to be bad at anything at all.

That, and being forced to eat a meatball the size of your car.

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P.S. Don’t forget I’m giving a live 2-hour workshop tomorrow morning on how to write your first newsletter on Substack! It’s a great way to create an income stream you can do from anywhere. Come, come, come join the fun. Details here. I’ll be sending out the Zoom link to everyone tonight. ✨ 🪄 See you there!!! -Ash

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