Tulum in 5 Days: Birthday, Beach Days & Endless Tacos
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The first time Tamia’s “Can’t Get Enough” came on, we were celebrating at M Tulum with the Black In Tulum crew, dripping in sweat without a care in the world as we hit the dance floor with the crowd for a coordinated two-step. We weren’t home but we felt right at home amongst the expats and vacationers, who, like us, were captivated by the warm evening air and waves crashing somewhere off in the distance. It was in that moment that I knew Tulum had us in her grip.
This birthday wasn’t just a trip. It was a celebration of life, freedom, and softness in motion. Brown skin glowing under the Caribbean sun, toes sinking into warm sand, late-night dancing under string lights with Black in Tulum. It was the kind of escape that you didn’t want to run from. If you’re planning your own girls’ getaway (or want to steal my exact plans), here’s where I stayed, where I ate, and how I kept the party going from sunrise to sunset.
Day 1 - Easing In
I used to start birthday trips like a music video — cocktails in the airport lounge, champagne on the plan, and real life left at the gate. But lately, I’ve been craving slower, more intentional beginnings. A calm start before the chaos, especially with a larger group.
This year, I arrived a day early on a Wednesday afternoon with two friends to share a villa at Amari Luxury Tulum. The drive in was…eventful (think: police stop, quick bribe, nervous laughter), but the moment we stepped onto the property, hibiscus welcome drink in hand, the stress melted away.
Afternoon: Arrive at Amari Luxury Tulum – enjoy the welcome drink, unpack, exhale.
Dinner: Tacos and margaritas at AMARI Flavors— Amari’s on-site restaurant (order them to-go and thank me later).
Evening: Girls’ night out with Black in Tulum at Mistico Shisha Bar.
Day 2 - Birthday Behavior
I woke up in a room I loved, phone buzzing with birthday messages. After reading a devotional from Draw the Circle, I got ready for a day that would only get louder as friends arrived from across the country.
Morning: We ordered room service from AMARI Flavors (the tacos were just that good), and took a ride into town to go grocery shopping.
Lunch: Negra Tomasa for something light and local
Dinner: BAK' by Harry — part dinner, part show, entirely unforgettable.
Evening: Once again, we joined Black in Tulum at M Tulum, where good vibes and the kind of DJ set that makes time disappear.
Day 3 - Beach Club Bliss
Tantra Beach Club | Tulum, Mexico
With the full crew in town, it was time for sun, sand, and soundtracks. We hopped in the complimentary shuttle and headed to Tulum’s hotel zone, where beach clubs serve as both a daytime lounge and a fashion show.
Afternoon: Tantra Beach Club — beautiful, chill, and exactly the vibe we needed (for a more turned-up vibe, I’d recommend going on Saturday).
Dinner: Autor at Conrad Tulum Riviera Maya — good food, unforgettable views.
Evening: Back to Mistico Shisha Bar for another Black in Tulum night.
Day 4 - An Epic Adventure
On Saturday instead of the usual Mayan ruins, we opted for Xel-Há Natural Water Park — a choose-your-own-adventure mix of lazy rivers, water slides, snorkeling, and cliff jumps. Everyone could move at their own pace, which made it perfect for a group.
Afternoon: Xel-Há Natural Water Park – bring water shoes and sunscreen.
Dinner: RosaNegra Tulum — Honestly, one of the littest restaurants I’ve ever been to. Think a bunch of people standing on tables waving sparklers in the air while singing at the top of their lungs. Epic.
Evening: Black in Tulum for the Afrobeats party at El Pescador.
Day 5 - Easy Like Sunday Morning
Gitano Beach Club | Tulum, Mexico
Our last day was slower. Some friends caught early flights, while the rest of us swapped the cenote plan for another beach club. No regrets.
Lunch/Afternoon: Gitano Beach Club — calm, beautiful, and perfect for good conversations and reflecting on the week.
Dinner: Asian Bodega — one of the best local meals of the trip at a great price.
Final Thoughts
Five days wasn’t enough. Between the food we didn’t get to try and the activities we skipped in the name of rest, I’m already plotting another trip. Maybe a more relax and retreat vibe for next time.
Whether you’re celebrating something big or just in need of a restoring getaway, Tulum is a destination that’s worth the trip.
Pro Tips for Tulum
Bring cash for taxis, tips, and random “police fees.”
Book beach clubs and popular restaurants in advance.
Pack both swimsuits and comfortable walking shoes— I rarely pulled out my heels even for the clubs.
If you can, arrive a day early to settle in before the group energy hits, or schedule some extra R&R post festivities.
Before You Go
If this itinerary inspires your own trip to Tulum, I’d love to hear which spots you’ll be adding to your list. Drop your favorites (or your questions) in the comments, or tag me on Instagram if you post your own photos — I may share them in my stories.
Planning your trip now? Save this guide on Pinterest or send it to your travel crew for a little inspo!
Next Stop: Chateau Elan
The older I get, the more I desire occasional moments of celebrating myself, by myself, which may seem contradictory given that I spent the last week surrounded by lots of love, laughter, and beautiful ladies.
“What are you doing for your actual birthday?” seemed to be the question of the month.
Kind of a bittersweet topic given that I had actually planned to hop on a plane to Puerto Rico. But undesirable circumstances had me cancelling flights and a hotel stay, and opting for a solo retreat instead.
Chateau Elan had been on my bucket list for some time now, yet despite many discussions of spa days and girl’s getaways, nobody pulled the trigger on traveling to the destination that lies just 40 minutes up the road. It’s honestly a characteristic I’m personally not proud of— always saying what I want to do and finding excuses not to do it. Many beautiful experiences are missed waiting on someone else to plan them. So I decided that at 32, I was no longer holding myself hostage to anyone’s uncertainties. Besides, I value my alone time, and what better way to ring in thirty-new than in quiet solitude while living in the lap of luxury?
And so, the morning of my birthday I found myself praising God for blessing me with another year of life as I drove out of the city and through the wrought iron gates of the resort property. I brunched at the Fleur de Lis before catching a shuttle ride up to the winery for a tour and tasting.
Though I was the only solo person in the group, I somehow found myself embraced by a squad of girls celebrating their own birthdays. The energy magnetic, it was no surprise that a few glasses of wine later, the remaining ladies on the tour left their husband’s sides to come vibe with us. It’s a known fact that Aquarians tend to be the life of the party (I’ve found myself in the middle of dance floors more than I care to mention lol). But I wasn’t there to be social, I was there to relax and give myself a much-needed break from energies outside of my own.
Back at the spa, I checked into my loft-style room, sipped the last of my champagne (they really know how to treat a girl), and lived my best bourgeois life in the hot tub where I met yet another birthday babe who was also enjoying a solo stay.
A morning latte and Swedish massage had me feeling good the next day, but as we know, all good things must come to an end—at least in time for new beginnings. So as I bid farewell to the villas and vineyards, I left knowing that this was just the start of a life I’ve always felt destined to live. No longer was I idly waiting to get everything I deserve.
Next Stop: The Big Island (Kailua-Kona, Hawaii) + Travel Itineray
photography // Kiah McBride
I spent the entire year working towards this one week where I could finally just relax.
We often don’t grant ourselves enough time to just be.
Be still.
Be present.
Be free.
And while I captured a camera full of footage, I purposefully chose not to post to social media until I was well settled into my trip.
Even now, I can’t bring myself to post much. I’m still recovering from another year of juggling day jobs and dooming headlines. For months I kept a close watch on pandemic news, specifically in regards to traveling to see what requirements were going to be in place in order to get to my destination. In all honesty, I was prepared to cancel my trip and save my coins for a staycation if need be. Though that wasn’t my preference. I needed to travel. To get back to the very thing that fuels me and my creativity. I’m a shell of myself when trapped in the confinements of one city for too long.
Thankfully, two plane rides and tired eyes later, I was shrugging out of my chinchilla (my furry teddy coat) as I exchanged 50-degree weather for the warm and sticky 70s of Kailua-Kona. The quiet outdoor airport was surrounded by volcanic hills in the distance, which seemed to follow us as we drove around the island with ocean views flanking us on the other side.
This was my first time in Hawaii, so I can’t personally compare one island to another, but I can say that I appreciated the small-town feel of the Big Island (our volcano tour guide would, later on, confirm that Kona is more country and less city than most of the other islands). I also appreciated that though we were still in the U.S., which meant that we had access to many of the same stores and restaurants from back home, it felt like we were in another country. The best of both worlds, as I was determined to spend most of my days in sand and sun without having to navigate the struggle of international travel.
The first half of the week we were explorers. We hit the Kailua Village Farmers Market for local fruits and vegetables. We graciously sipped water from a freshly cut coconut thanks to Jai, our Belizean savior merchant who hunted down a knife so we could get a taste of the first batch before locals arrived for the pending festival.
He let us in on a little secret, too— that native Hawaiians were actually African *gasps*. “If you see their skin and facial features, they look just like us.” A quick search seemingly confirms that he told us no tales. Organizations like The Pōpolo Project document the true origin story. And ironically a couple of weeks later I’d find Hawaiian Journey on my grandma’s bookshelf.
Back in present-day Hawaii, we indulged in margaritas across from the ocean at Island Lava Java, hit Magic Sands Beach for a little R&R, and when not at one of the many beaches on the island, slipped into the swimming pool at Wyndham Royal Sea Cliff resort.
On our self-driving tour to the south side of the island, we were quieted by breathtaking views at various stopping points along the way. There’s no desire to bicker when you’re sinking your toes into black sand or waiting for brave tourists to jump off a very high cliff and into the southernmost waters of the U.S. Or maybe it was the sweet malasadas that we scooped up from Punalu’u Bakery that kept our mouths occupied. I’m still trying to figure out how I came back having not gained a pound. The vegan food was top notch and with the exception of wading in the water and climbing up active volcanoes, I did little exercise.
Especially once we got to Kings’ Land, where I admittedly felt like a queen because how can you not when watching sunsets over the golf course, literally sliding into one of three pools, and staring at the night sky from the warmth of a bubbling hot tub? I didn’t want to leave to be honest. But all good things must come to an end. So after a final lap around the other half of the island with our very fun tour guide Scott, we bid Hawaii “Aloha,” at least for now.
Next Stop: A Quick Hollywood (Florida) Getaway
photography // Kiah McBride
Usually when I jetset to South Florida,
my first instinct is to post up in Miami.
Anybody who’s traveled there knows it’s just a vibe, with everything you desire from beaches to brunches just footsteps away.
But this last trip led me to a different part of the coastline into Hollywood. Much different than the Hollywood (California) I landed in just a few years ago, this city is quieter and less pretentious. Perfect for a quick, relaxing stay. Its proximity to bigger cities like Ft. Lauderdale and about a 40-minute ride to Miami made it a good contender for a short stay. It was also a great place to test out Sonder— a company that specializes in boutique apartments and hotel-style accommodations.
I had first learned about Sonder a few years ago while looking up alternatives to hotels and AirBnb’s. After browsing through some of their listings in various cities, I quickly bookmarked the site due to the uniqueness and perceived quality of their rentals. In the words of Forbes, it offers “nightly rentals that (feel) like apartments but (have) the consistency and quality of a hotel.” Perfect for someone who takes their travel accommodations seriously. The downside is that their locations are limited, and sometimes I’m not the one in charge of travel plans. So it would be years before I would get to test them out for myself.
Since my trip was short and the other options a bit expensive, I figured now was a good time to take a leap of faith— sometimes where you stay can be a gamble when traveling. I narrowed down the options to Circ Hotel due to its aesthetic and low cost (we spent $333 total for a two-night stay).
They have an easy-to-use app that provides you with everything from check-in details to recommendations for food, grocery, and more. They also provide customer service, who were quick to get back to me when I was trying to see about early check-in (there’s also an early check-in / later check-out feature built into the app, but it’s not guaranteed that they can accommodate your request).
Finding the place was a breeze, and though we were initially told that we couldn’t check in early, they had a luggage room behind the front desk that allowed us to store our stuff while we went exploring around the area for something to eat (the on-site restaurant wouldn’t open until dinner). Dodging raindrops and deepening puddles, we landed at The Tipsy Boar, which was about a five-minute walk from our room. The music was loud, the drinks just the right mix of flavor with the promise of fun. And within minutes I received a notification that we could check in early.
Back at the hotel, I punched in our code to the room and was surprised that it was actually much nicer than the pictures showed. We had a decent view of the city, and everything was simple, yet clean. The bathroom was really the highlight with a modern luxe aesthetic. A nap was calling me, but laying down meant that I couldn’t promise to get back up before morning. So instead, I flipped open my suitcase and debated which outfit was worthy of warm but wet weather. And although the rain kept us from being able to visit the beach and boardwalk area, we did at least get to see some water via the rooftop pool, which, unfortunately, the rain kept us from enjoying that as well.
I won’t say we were there long enough to get the full experience of what they had to offer, but the first night we went out it looked like the on-site restaurant was packed. The next night we got in pretty late as well, but that morning we sipped oat milk lattes and munched on empanadas (mine a vegan Impossible one) in the little café before heading out to celebrate with some college friends (#HU, You Know!). And from what my friend said the late-night rooftop situation later that evening was lit and bustling with activity. None of which disturbed our sleep.
For a quick getaway, this was definitely one of the better experiences I’ve had with hotels. And I would even come back here again. Hopefully on a sunnier weekend, where I can escape to the beach for some true R&R.
Our Hollywood Itinerary:
Friday
The Tipsy Boar: Lunch & Drinks
The Lobby Bar (Seminole Hard Rock Casino): Drinks
Hard Rock Cafe Hollywood: Dinner
Saturday
Roasted Been Cafe: Breakfast
The Wharf Ft. Lauderdale: Night Life
Joy’s Roti Delight: Late Night Snack & Drinks
Next Stop: Hilton Head Island
photography // MIRACLE LILLEY
creative direction // KIAH MCBRIDE
location // HILTON HEAD ISLAND, SOUTH CAROLINA
I thought of a hundred reasons why I shouldn’t go.
Too busy. Too tired. Too broke. Too far of a drive. A million and one excuses flipping through my head like a sizzle reel. Yet all it took was for me to find that one reason for me to go—a much-needed weekend getaway with my best friend and her family, one that was sure to be filled with good laughs, good food, and good stories to tell.
Sold.
A couple of weeks later I was flying down I-75 towards the Carolina coast. As a North Carolina native, I’m no stranger to South Carolina beaches. But while Myrtle Beach was a regular destination in my youth, Hilton Head Island has remained a foreign place to me. Though it ain’t quite the same as jetsetting across the globe, I’ve found that the most beautiful places exist in our own backyards, or in this case, a four-hour drive south of Atlanta.
The most beautiful places exist in our own backyards.
I watched as sugar maples transformed into live oak trees dripped in Spanish moss—a sight so intriguing yet simultaneously creepy as I recounted ghost stories told from Savannah graves less than an hour away. Some centuries ago my ancestors died for me to walk barefoot on these sandy white beaches.
Before vacationers flocked to the island every summer, free Gullah families (descendents of West African slaves from the Gula tribe of Liberia and Sierra Leone)
settled on the island and held their own.
They were the first ex-slaves to earn wages in exchange for their labor. They owned land and fished to feed their families; probably not much different than the crabbing we did from the Harbour Town pier.
Back then they gathered in 396 square foot homes on a quarter acre of land. On this particular weekend we spread ourselves across a 3,600 square foot vacation home. Their history is so rich that they afforded us this luxury.
And I can’t help but wonder if, some time ago, they too were shooting the shit over a game of Spades and bowls of Goulash and Jambalaya. Knowing that this was the place that Gullah Gullah Island was based off of makes me appreciate the show of my childhood more. I still sing the theme song in my head.
Lets all go to Gullah, Gullah Island,
Gullah, Gullah, Gullah, Gullah!
Two days wasn’t enough time for a true vacation, but it was just enough time for me to reconsider living inland. I’m a child of the water, I come alive when I’m just footsteps away from it. It’s hypnotic, a reminder of the ebbs and flows of life. That tides do turn, and in my case, hopefully for the better.
And because of that, it’s imperative for me to leave. Because unlike the Gullahs, who bury their dead along waterways so that their spirits can be carried back to the motherland with which they were stolen from, I’m not ready to go home. I have too much to do, too much to accomplish, too much purpose—I have my own history to make.
Next Stop: Boston
photography // KIAH MCBRIDE
location // BOSTON
I travel because I thirst for experiences. A certified nomad I don’t know how to sit still, I just know how to get up and go--no fear, nothing holding me back. In fact, I’m the most free when I’m not being confined to one city. I like going places I don’t normally go. No bucket list, I want to see it all. I don’t believe in limitations, you never know what you’ll get from traveling to the unexpected and exploring the unknown. A life mantra.
I touched down in Boston on an early afternoon. After a three-hour plane ride to the melody of a screaming baby I was more than ready to hit the ground running. I didn’t exactly grow up watching baseball, so the Red Sox was of minor interest to me. And the Celtics weren’t my chosen team, but thanks to grandpa I knew the names of Bill Russell, Larry Bird and Kevin Garnett.
Boston wasn’t on my top destinations list either, but one thing I’ve learned about life is that every place has something to show you—either about its history, its culture, or simply yourself. It’s rare that I ever leave a city less knowledgeable than I arrived, and conversations with locals rarely fail to be interesting.
Especially ones with rideshare drivers. As an UberEats driver myself (don’t judge me), I know that the average driver isn’t simply there just for shits and giggles. They’re either seeking something, running towards something, or running away from something--and the entrepreneur-esque lifestyle is the perfect vehicle to get wherever they’re going.
My first driver, Sami, shared his story of transition from LA to colder territories. He hated the lack of diversity of the city (“too white,” he said while pushing a pale hand through dark hair), and felt guilty about not wanting to get out of bed at 6AM to hit the running trails that is characteristic of Bostonians.
“I hate waking up early.” Me too.
I pointed out that at least he’s near the water. Something that I truly miss about my time in LA. Despite my couple of years of being a 30-minute drive away I didn’t hit the beach for Instagram-worthy thirst trap shots as much as I said I would, or visit the coastal cities that sprinkled the western coast—a reminder that we often take the smallest things for granted. Instead I traded in salt water for hot and sticky summers where sweat trickled down my spine before 9AM. Being in the south has its perks, but relaxing summers isn’t one of them.
A short ride later we pulled up to the Boston Park Plaza.
“Oh you’re in a good area. You’ll love it,” Sami said, plopping my suitcase on the sidewalk.
The hotel has this grandeur about it. An elegance that appeals to my inner bourgeois. And though the lobby is more spectacular than the room I had, there was a softness about it. Besides, just a few months ago I was unemployed and unable to afford my own room, nor was I actually paying for this trip (perks of my job). I was Issa, not Molly. I wasn’t in a position to be picky.
Plus my brick wall and across-the-street-office-building view made stripteasing and twerking to trap music in front of open blinds more enticing. I have a thing for natural light. Hopefully, a Kim Kardashian photo of my naturally light-skinned breasts won’t end up somewhere on the Internet. (But if you see them, pass them my way. They way my bank account is set up I need to collect a royalty check, please and thank you.)
I wanted to nap, but my grumbling stomach said otherwise. Legal Sea Foods seemed to be the best option a short walking distance away. Ironically I would end up at the same restaurant, three times in three different locations throughout my trip. It’s funny how we’re creatures of habit, comfortable in our cycles, even when we don’t intend to be.
“It’s funny how we’re creatures of habit, comfortable in our cycles.”
The daytime hours of my three-night stay were primarily spent attending a conference. At night I joined my newly-made acquaintances of ranging brown hues. Even in a strange land we formed a community (waddup #BlackAtInbound!)--clinking sangria, margarita and glasses of Hennessey as if we were old friends, discussing our shock over Janet Jackson and Bobby (the two-part BET Bobby Brown series came on during our stay) and diving deeper into other cultural discussions over warm bread and, you guessed it, food.
I did duck off for a few hours at one point. I didn’t come to New England just to travel back and forth to a convention center. I craved exploration. And while I didn’t get a chance to take a river cruise or find me a sugar daddy in Martha’s Vineyard, I did get yelled at by an older white man as I attempted to snap photos in the famed cobblestone Acorn Street (so much for the sugar daddy). I skimmed past brick brownstones typically characteristic of New York boroughs as I quickly navigated my way out of the obviously-expensive neighborhood. A black girl with locs and a DSLR camera slung over her shoulder didn’t belong there.
But I did belong in the library, which is where I was eagerly headed when a voice begging for money called out, grinding me to a halt. Okay so I did speed-walk past said voice the first time, pretending not to hear his cries for food. I, too, was hungry--and not exactly in a financial position to give. But then again, when you have more than the next you’re always the person of abundance. And if I got it, I’ll give it. So I backtracked to the grungy character, who at six-feet towered above me with straggly gray strands, pale skin and tattered clothes.
“You got any money? I’d like to eat and nobody will stop.”
“How about Panera Bread? I can get you some food. I don’t think I have any cash.” I was ready to whip out my debit card. I prefer to feed someone knowing that the money is going to a good place as opposed to feeding a bad habit.
He shifted on the balls of his feet. “I can’t really eat real meals, only snacks. Whenever I eat a meal it makes my stomach hurt.”
“Maybe you just need something healthier,” I said, starting down my usual path of preaching nourishing cuisine, then stopped myself. This man didn’t need a lecture; he needed someone who cared.
I stopped glancing around for a place to get snacks and pulled out my purse, not quite sure of what I had, if anything since money seems to leave my wallet quicker than Sallie Mae comes after her loans. But I did have something. A handful of dollar bills that I had pulled out earlier that week, thinking that I would be able to wash my car before leaving town. Luxury.
I started to pull out a couple of singles, but glanced at the man again and pulled out the whole stack ($6), folding it into his hands.
“Don’t do nothing bad with it, okay?” I said, looking him adamantly in the eye.
“Oh no, I won’t, I promise,” he said with a toothy smile. He thanked me, and as I started to walk away shouted, “I love your hair. You girls do so much cool stuff with your hair nowadays. I wish I could do that.”
I smiled and waved goodbye, silently happy that I was able to help, even if only a little bit.
Air-conditioner blasting, the library was cool and a nice break from the heat, its centuries-old books smelling like rich history and must--a welcoming scent. I quietly captured the iconic Bates Hall with its seemingly endless row of green lamps, and slipped into the Abbey Room before stepping out into the warm afternoon air. I walked back to my hotel to change (in front of open window) before catching a ride to meet up with my newfound conference crew.
This time I climbed in the car with Sabir--a young Brazilian immigrant who came to the country eight months prior after finding out his fiancé cheated on him with his best friend. Shit. America was his escape from a drug addiction that he picked up in the midst of his emotional downward spiral. And now he was picking people for a living as a part of his recovery process.
“I didn’t speak any English when I first came here,” he said in a thick accent. “I went to Las Vegas first and couldn’t get any work, then came here and started driving Lyft. I still didn’t know much English. I would have my riders teach me little words here and there like door and mirror, and learned along the way.”
“I didn’t even know who the Patriots were. I had a scarf that someone had given me laying across here,” he gestured his hand across the dashboard. “I just liked the colors, but people kept asking me about the Patriots, and so finally I said who are these Patriots?!” We both laughed, me more so because I hardly knew myself.
“Anyway, English is a beautiful language, but I still struggle with it. I’m going to school to learn so I can talk better with my customers.”
I told him he spoke wonderfully and that I wished I could learn his language instead. And I meant it. I always feel a bit ashamed of not being multilingual (I do speak some Spanish), as if I think I’m too good to humble myself and learn a language beyond my own, especially when in another country, or shoot when in America, another neighborhood.
We pulled up to my destination, and as I got out I wished him luck with finding the right woman. He smiled hopefully. We all need someone who genuinely loves us.
“We all share this desire for love, for acceptance, and for community. ”
That’s one thing I love about traveling. With every conversation--no matter the destination or differences in racial ethnicities or environmental backgrounds--I’m reminded that we all desire the same basic human necessities--not just physically, but emotionally. We all share this desire for love, for acceptance, and for community. We’re all wanting to be seen or heard, to know that we matter. And despite language and cultural barriers, we’re all divinely connected. And that’s something not to be taken for granted.
Las Vegas Reminded Me To Live Before I Die
Sin City. I stared at my phone, debating whether or not I was going to make a commitment for this trip. I wanted to go. I wanted to have fun. But my bank account shot me the side eye whenever I considered anything outside of paying bills and the occasional weekday jaunt that I could excuse as “networking” for work. I needed a break from the daily grind. My energy was depleted as was my creativity. Months spent doing 12-hour shifts that turned into 12-hour drives across the country had left me spent. But I couldn’t seem to convince myself that I deserved a moment of respite. Chalk it up to the game, I told myself. I’d kick back and enjoy life when I reached a point where I wasn’t constantly checking my balance.
But something told me just to go. And so I did.
I packed the same 13-year-old car that I had traveled from North Carolina to L.A. in just two months prior, and headed back east towards the Nevada state line. I bumped Views From the 6 and then Lemonade as I sped down the endless highway. I drove past mountains so postcard perfect that at one point I did a little reckless move by trying to catch a pic for the snap—the app that I vowed never to succumb to, as I never felt that my daily habits were worth documenting, and I still don’t. But that weekend, I did. I was free. I was on a mission to decommission from the life that was no longer fueling me, and I was determined to make the most of whatever it turned out to be.
It started off rocky. I couldn’t check into my hotel since I wasn’t the person to book the room, so I slipped off my “mom” panties and into a lacy thong and a sundress in the public bathroom of the Palazzo. I painted my toes and my face in the bathroom mirror while Latina attendants rapidly fired off in Spanish beside me. I called my best friend, who was in town for a friend’s birthday, and through drunken slurs determined her location and my next destination. I checked my bags and decided not to be annoyed for the rest of the day. It wasn’t the ideal start to my trip, but it was a memorable one.
I rolled into bed around 5:30 a.m. the next morning—a night of drinking, partying, and slot machine watching (I certainly didn’t have the money to lose) lay behind me, along with my desire to go to the club without being in the VIP section. (Hey, a girl can only stand in stiletto boots for so long before her feet cry out for her.) I woke up earlier than expected, ate later than anticipated, and with just as little sleep as the night before, hopped on a helicopter for a late-night ride over the city thanks to the kindness of my friend-boss.
I was way up. I was blessed. And then I was in VIP at a Big Sean concert next to notable industry heads. And all I could think was man—this is how I’d rather be living.
And then it was morning again. I was drained. I wanted to rest, but adventure awaited in the form of ATV rides through the Nevada dunes. I pressed my weary eyes closed and remembered that if I ever wanted to be a superstar, this would be my life, and that gave me the last shot of energy that I needed to not flip my vehicle over like another group member did. I rode fearfully at first, then fearlessly as I realized that the ATV didn’t control me; I controlled it. And that if I just got out of my feelings and tapped into my confidence, there was nothing that could stop me from winning (in this case, making it the whole hour without being the poster child for reckless driving).
After filling up at some local Mexican spot, I hit the road for a sunset drive back through the mountains. Windows down. Podcasts blasting. Soaking up the desert rays before they disappeared into a cloudless sky. As the L.A. lights welcomed me home, I smiled to myself. It wasn’t the weekend that I expected, but it was worth it. It was worth remembering that you have to keep living even when life makes you feel like you shouldn’t. It was a reminder to stop making excuses for choosing to put me—and my desires—first, and that whatever you want, the universe will find a way to give it to you if you go after it diligently.
My trip to Sin City was a reminder that when I die, I want people to speak about all the things that I did while living, and sitting at home wishing I had lived isn’t one of them.