Writing on a plane: deep stuff and responsible stories

Usually when I write (on a personal level), I have a reason. Whether it’s because I’m distressed and don’t know what I need to learn, or because I learned something specific, or because I’m working on a specific chapter of my book — there is generally a purpose.

Right now, I’m sitting on a plane to Dallas. My end destination is Las Vegas for a work conference (definitely the first time I’ve worked in Vegas). I just wrote for a solid two hours, working on copy for a new online project, writing two chapters of my book, and writing some copy for my personal/professional website portfolio thing-y.

I have an hour left in the flight.

So, I mean, I thought I’d give this whole, “just write with no purpose” thing a try.

Here goes.

I just ate a bag of pretzels, they weren’t very good. I can’t figure out the Wi-Fi on this plane which is why I’m stuck here writing in a Word doc like I’m in the days of dial-up or before Google Drive became a thing (scoff). The woman next to me is definitely on the Wi-Fi but it has been over two hours at this point so asking her loudly how she got on it isn’t really an option… kind of like when you wait too long to correct someone on how they’re pronouncing your name, or you wait too long to ask someone how to spell theirs.

“Hey, I’ve been on this plane and my computer for over two hours pretending to be all set — can you make it work, though?”

But I digress.

I’ve had a really good week for a few reasons. I’ve started practicing affirmations in order to rewire my brain to actually thinking I’m a badass which has been fun, I connected with and was even able to help people that have gone through similar things as me, and, I don’t know — life just feels good. It feels calm, right, not constrained or “wrong” anymore.

I hope it continues, because I like it here. I hope I can hold onto these practices and continue to train my brain until it doesn’t need me to consciously train anymore.

I really hope I can.

I think I can.

I think I can get past it all and to a place of contentment. I think I can get out of my own way in order to do the things I am meant to do.

I really think I can.

That got deep. God dammit.

Oh, I have a good way out of this.

Let me tell you a story.

Every two years or so, I lose something of value, and my mom is always involved in the recovery of said something. Once, two randos found my phone at a country concert, called my mom to tell her they had it, and I had to drive to a small town in Nevada to retrieve it.

Another time, I lost my phone in a bathroom and my mom had to call a bunch of bars, on her birthday, to see if they had it.


Now, I’ve been realllll responsible lately. Like, moved to Boston and haven’t had anything go too wrong responsible lately. Like, paid my rent twice because I’m so prepared and had no money overly-responsible lately.

But, it’s been awhile since a debacle similar to the above has occurred.

So I should have known it was due.

Last Friday night (yeah we danced on table tops), JK, but last Friday night, I had a good time… and there were consequences.


After work, I went over to a new friend's house for a wine night. “I’m so excited to stay in and chill,” I excitedly told my coworkers.

I brought over a bottle of wine to my friend’s house, and she had a bottle of rose. She opened hers, and immediately took a swig directly from the bottle.

“Wait, did you just drink that from the bottle?” I asked.

“Oh yeah,” she said. “I know I’m going to drink this all tonight so why pretend otherwise?”

The line from that one movie, “did we just become best friends?” flashed through my head.

“You’re my best friend now,” I said.

So anyway, I ended up doing the same thing with my bottle of red, because, it was the right thing to do. You don’t leave a friend hanging like that, you just don’t.

I ended up drinking said bottle of wine over the course of a few hours, which, in my defense, isn’t that much if you really think about it.

At around 11pm, I took an Uber home to get a good night’s sleep, because I’m an adult.

On my way home, I remembered that my friend (and next-door neighbor) had a friend in town from NYC.

“Text them!” the wine said.

I did.

Before going into my own apartment to get a good night’s sleep, because I’m an adult, I stopped in to say hello.

To say hello, before I went home to get a good night’s sleep, because I’m an adult.

Thirty seconds in I messed up the Jenga tower and “had” to take a shot of vodka.

Five minutes later, we were going to a bar.

But we were just going to get a drink. Kind of like I was just going to stay in and chill all night.

“This is fine,” I thought. “It’s only 11:30 and you’ll be home by no later than 1.”

We went to one bar. We went to two bars. We went to three bars. We went to four.

Now, because I had originally planned on going directly home to get a good night’s sleep, because I’m an adult, I wasn’t prepared for a night out.

Meaning, I was wearing a hoodie, my hair was not done, I had little makeup on, and, I was holding my belongings in my hands and small pockets.

I was being really smart and responsible.

I woke up the next morning feeling, as you can imagine, awful — not like an adult and definitely not like a functioning human.

I laid in bed for much too long a time, and when I finally got up, I felt OK. I didn’t beat myself up over the night before, I told myself to put on my big girl shoes and get stuff done. I was ready to take on the day — to run my errands and do my chores — like adults do, you know?

A few minutes into my positive self-talk, I realized something was missing.

“Where the f*** is my wallet?” I asked myself.

I tore my house apart, I panicked, I calmed myself down, I panicked again.

I called my friend I had been with, I called the bars and the taxi cabs.

My wallet was gone. And in it, everything that mattered in the whole wide world (not really, obviously, but my anxiety decided to tell me that).

“No!” I realized a few minutes into my freak out. “My passport and credit card are here, I’m good to go!”

After realizing that life would in fact go on, I also realized that I was not the first person in the history of persons to lose their wallet.

So, I called my little sister and said happy birthday, because it was her birthday (duh), and within a few seconds of that, told her my sad story (yes, my sister is younger than me and yes, she has it more together than I often do).

I decided I wasn’t going to tell my mom, because, I tell her everything, and I was going to practice keeping some things to myself.

One minute later I broke that promise (typical) and called her up.

I told her it was gone, but I had a restoration plan, have no fear (pretty sure I just needed her to tell me it was OK, because I’m an adult).

She was awesome about it, as always. She learned a long time ago that no one beats me up as much as I do — so generally when I do dumb stuff like this (which is probably more often than it should be), she is more than supportive and says things like, “you’re 25, live your life” a lot (thanks, mom, you da real MVP).

So anyway, she was supportive.

We hung up, and I continued to ponder what I was going to do. Oh, and the reason this was a bigger deal than it should have been is because I was going out of town the next week and there are no branches of my bank in the greater Boston area (which I find insane, but maybe this was karma for not having switched yet…).

Two minutes or so later, my phone rang.

It was that mother of mine.

“You’re going to be so glad you told me, because we got a weird call today on the home phone and….”

Basically, my mom never checks the home phone answering machine (is that even what it’s called anymore?), and that day she did, because I had told her my story. Turns out, a woman in Boston had found it and called all “Warrens” in Missoula, MT telling them she had my wallet until she reached my old household. My mom, seeing a random number and knowing my story decided to investigate aka listen to the voicemail.

My mom gave me her number, not without first saying, “she found it in the gutter, Stasia.” I called, and my wallet turned out to be safe and sound with my next-door neighbor. She had found it after it had inevitably fallen out of my pocket as I stepped out of the cab the night before — because that’s what adults do, they lose their wallets in gutters.

So, in the end I got my wallet back. And learned a lot about how there are some really awesome people out there.

But I mean, lesson learned: adults need to make sure they carry their purses. Duh.

Oh, also that I need to be more careful, not procrastinate things like switching banks, maybe not take vodka shots while playing Jenga, possibly control myself, and just be more responsible overall — but I’m going to start with the purse thing because that sounds pretty doable and I like to set myself up for success.


This really isn’t that cool of a story at all. Like, I lost my wallet during a night out — neat. So if you’re still reading, and you actually enjoyed this, I’m going to be extremely happy with my writing… at least today.

Welp, this post just killed half an hour of time for me… what to do next? Eat more shitty pretzels? Listen to music? Envision the rest of my life? Question my entire existence?

This is life without Wi-Fi. Thanks for reading along.

Anastasia Warren