It was a beautiful, sunny day in Central California, and there happened to be an open campsite right on the beach at Morro Strand State Beach.

I used to love camping but hadn't slept outside in more than 20 years. Now I had a one-night gap between housesitting gigs and could either grab this $35 campsite with an ocean view, or an utterly forgettable hotel for five times the price.

I was torn. One part of me said, girl, what are you waiting for? The other said, what about my CPAP machine and getting up in the middle of the night to pee?

After overthinking it as long as I possibly could, I finally decided I can do anything for one night.

So I grabbed the campsite.

By sunset, the sky had turned Maxfield Parrish shades of pink, blue, and gold. I set up the tent, unfolded my chair, plugged the air pump into my car's 12 V adapter to inflate the air mattress, and flipped the switch.

Nothing.

I thought back a few weeks when I was testing out my new equipment and tried to run my 800W travel coffee maker through a 200W power inverter. Of course I'd blown the fuse.

Dammit!

So I blew up the mattress manually, while watching the sun drop into the ocean. Not exactly the plan, but when had that ever stopped me?

In the morning, I sat in the tent, watching another stunning sky show as the sun rose behind me, feeling a little proud.

Of course I could do it.

Then, without warning, a gust of wind came in off the sea and turned my little tent into a big windsock.

As the tent snapped and buckled, sand blasting in from every direction, I scrambled out half-dressed, shoved my feet into untied boots, grabbed whatever I could, and threw everything into the car in a chaotic pile. I could barely close the trunk.

And as I pulled out onto Highway 1, I was grinning.

Because here’s the thing:

I’ve already done so many harder things than spending a windy night in a tent.

Divorce. Raising two kids. Rebuilding my life from scratch.

And still, I almost talked myself out of it.

Not because I couldn’t handle it. But because, for just a minute, I lost contact with that version of me.

If you’ve been second-guessing yourself lately—not because you’re incapable, but because you’ve gotten a little disconnected from your own evidence—that’s exactly what we’re doing on April 25.

One hour. Just us and our journals. Join us. It's free.

Books Are My Love Language 📚

I picked up The Women by Kristin Hannah thinking I knew what I was getting. I did not.

Hannah puts her protagonist through the kind of sustained heartbreak that made me genuinely angry on her behalf, and I couldn't put it down. Frankie goes to Vietnam a kid and returns someone who knows exactly what she's made of. The tragedy is that the world she returns to won't accept it.

It made me think about how we don't usually get to choose the circumstances that reveal us to ourselves. Sometimes it's a war. Sometimes it's a divorce. Sometimes it's a $35 campsite and a broken fuse.

Have you read it? Hit reply and let me know. It's in my Bookshop if you want it.

Weekly Journal Prompt ✍️

When did you last surprise yourself? What did that feel like?

Write bravely, my friend. See you next week.

-Amber 🥰

PS. Do you know someone facing midlife and looking to build community? Share this page so she can sign up below.

Thanks so much for reading and sharing! 🙏