YOLO

This Labor Day weekend I had plans to attend an outdoor screening, do a little prep work for an upcoming job, and go bar hopping in Venice Beach.  Some work, some play, close out the summer with a couple friends and a glass of rosé. Simple.

What I did instead was drop everything to party in Palm Springs for a night, come home, and then drop everything to party in Vegas.

3 days. 16.5 hours of traffic. 800 miles.

Because YOLO.

I don’t know where the YOLO obsession originated. It was engaged sometime around my last Vegas trip in July and when I think about it the first thing that comes to mind is my friend Anastasia (a 100lb blonde) throwing her arms around gangsta-rap style and bellowing, “You Only Live ONCE!” so I guess I have to credit her with planting the seed. And I suppose her craving for excitement struck a chord with me as I stared down my four-year anniversary of moving to LA and was feeling a little stagnant. I used to be a YOLO-er. My twenties were a veritable YOLO-coaster, so electric and full of experiences, whereas inventorying my thirties leaves me with depressingly little to brag about. Two breakups. Unstimulating work. Travel that largely revolves around holidays and reunions and other people’s fortune. I look at the last 7 years and see the spontaneity-loving adventure-junkie in me cooking dinner for one and fretting about retirement.

I needed to YOLO. So I did. And it was awesome.

We booked a room at the Ace Hotel in Palm Springs on a whim Thursday evening and were poolside with cocktails in hand less than 24 hours later.  We met a fantastic group in from New York City and enjoyed an unforgettable night drinking and laughing and bonding with people we’ll never see again. “That was too much fun!” I moaned on the drive home the next day. “We have to do this more!” Anastasia nodded. “YOLO,” she affirmed.

I got home at 5pm on Saturday and dropped my suitcase. I browsed the refrigerator and contemplated take-out options. I showered. No more than 30 minutes had transpired since I walked in the door from Palm Springs when I glanced at my phone and saw a text from Anastasia. “How seriously are we taking this YOLO thing?” it asked. She had a friend in Vegas with a suite at the Palms. He had room to spare. Did we want to come?

Of course we did. In no time, I made a reservation to board my dog, added to my already packed suitcase, bought champagne and Smart Waters and set my alarm for 7am. We drove from LA right up to the valet at the Cosmopolitan, put bikinis on in the restroom and marched straight for the pool to commence another whirlwind night of dancing and laughing and making memories.

It was magical. And not because of the drinking or the partying but because of the joy that comes from shedding expectations, engaging all your senses and living in the moment. The thrill was intoxicating and I spent the grueling 7.5 hour drive home brainstorming ways to harness that recklessness constructively in other areas of my life.

“I need to YOLO my career!” I announced.  “I’m going to take creative risks!” 

“I have to YOLO my friendships!” I insisted. “I’m going to edit myself less!”

“I want to YOLO Los Angeles!” I declared. “I’m going to get more involved in my city!”

The possibilities were endless: YOLO-ing our vacations, YOLO-ing our love lives, YOLO-ing our health. Just talking about it was invigorating, and I felt the dormant adventurer in me begin to rise up again.  So now my challenge is to nurture her by  taking that first step and putting this enthusiasm into action. Because as I experienced this weekend, YOLO begets YOLO. Once you break out of your comfort zone and flex some liberation, you can’t help but want to continue and the growth that follows is precious.

Join me if you dare…

YOLO!