Even City Girls Crave The Quiet & Other Musings From The Mojave

More Lana than Lana.

In the last five months, I’ve tapped into a different part of myself—one I’ve always ~known~ was there but couldn’t access: I’ve begun to trust my whims.

I’ve always done this when it comes to personal style, but I majorly struggled to apply it to other areas of my life.

Intellectually, I’ve absorbed all the information supporting the importance of trusting those inner whisperings—I’m an intuition scholar at this stage in the game. I’ve read all the books, studied the all science, listened to all the podcasts.

Yet, up until recently, there was a barrier blocking me from trusting myself. Then one morning, I woke up, heard one simple tool, and BANG BOOM POW—my body finally caught up to my brain. It was something the effervescent pink-haired no-bullshit Gala Darling explained in her money course “Cash Money Honey.”

She essentially said to take inventory of what works in your life, organically. What do you thrive at with little to no effort? The first thing that popped into my brain was—you guessed it: Aesthetics—both style and interior decor. Here’s the truth: She’s always been able to deliver a look regardless of budget.

Once we identified our strengths, she asked us to write down what it is we do ~right~ in that arena. And I realized immediately that what works is this: I listen to my whims. I don’t question my impulses, and I never, ever, EVER think anything I want is dumb or out of reach—even though many of them are objectively both stupid and wildly aspirational.

But without the noise of thoughts telling me, “You’ll never EVER be able to curate the fiercest look at the party full of fashion people with money and access to designers” or “There’s no way you can have a hot pink monochromatic apartment and still make it look chic—especially on your budget,” my brain has room to search for creative ways to make all personal style dreams come true—in and out of the closet.

Lastly, Gala instructed us to apply the same method to areas of life we’re struggling with. For me, it’s trusting my whims when it comes to business, money, general well-being, and mental health. And then it clicked: the things I’m good at effortlessly I’m good at because I have zero self-doubt and shoot from the hip. I never question whether I’m worthy of having what I want—I take what’s mine and don’t waste a second of energy obsessing over the how.

So, a few weeks ago, when I was struck with this massive, all-consuming calling to go off the grid in the vastness of Southern California’s high desert, I listened. And I’m very New York in that I’m not that girl—the type who uses words like "calling" unless I’m talking about the phone. But I’ve learned that even city girls evolve.

Next thing I knew, I was in the passenger seat of my girlfriend’s Mustang—so Lana—en route to a modern house in the middle of nowhere (more Lana than Lana).

We pulled up to the creamiest, dreamiest sunset—soft pinks and blues, faint swirls of muted clouds fading in sequence with the sun. Once the sun slipped behind the mountains, the sky turned dark indigo scattered with the most glittery diamonds of all: stars.

“The stars look like the kind of glamorous jewels you see in the window of the Cartier Store on Fifth Ave! Don’t they, babe?” I squealed to my girlfriend, twirling like a kid.

“YES!” she fervently agreed because after last year’s great dabble with the darkness, I can safely say: I’m finally with someone who’d never, ever kill my fucking sparkle. She's a sparkle illuminator, and it's everything I've ever wanted. More on that later.

In the desert, I slept like one of those crazy rock formations you see in Joshua Tree—moored and unmoving.

In the desert, we woke up before sunrise most mornings. My girlfriend made us big fancy lattes, steaming the milk and serving them with a single Nutella cookie because how you do *one thing* is how you do everything: she lives to elevate the details.

Holding our mugs, we’d throw on winter coats and pad outside to watch the sun come up; it would be nuts—a bright orange ball of fire burning through rolling hills, slowly rising through the sky like a hot air balloon.

In the desert, there was one morning I woke up before my girlfriend. Even though I was freaked out by the possibility of crossing paths with a jackrabbit or some other freaky desert animal, I somehow managed to step outside. I’m terrified to go outside at dawn because I have an outrageous phobia of rodents, raccoons, bunnies, jackrabbits—you name it. And even city girls know that dawn is the witching hour for critters.

The anxiety of a potential run-in with a desert rat coursed through my veins, but still, it wasn’t enough to stop me from opening the door and stepping into the cold, dry air. By myself. I could hear howling sounds in the distance—muffled animal cries that would usually send me flying back inside, screaming bloody murder because, yes, I’m that girl—but I stayed put.

And then I thought about my brother. I thought about how, even when he was at his sickest and most frail from cancer, I always felt warm and safe around him, as if armed guards were protecting me. And then it struck me: ever since died, I’ve moved through the world differently. Like I'm small and unsafe.

But in the desert, alone aside from the waking critters, I felt weirdly protected again.

Maybe I am protected by armed guards, still, I thought, shivering in the blue dark. Maybe in my brother’s death, I lost my external armed guard but also acquired a new one—an internal protector that lives within. Therefore, it’ll be a part of me forever, and nothing can take it from me. Not even cancer. Maybe now I’m safe inside. This means it's safe to take up space again; it's safe to sparkle again.

I’d spend afternoons writing book #2. The silence out there was profound. It was the first time in what felt like forever that the soundscape wasn’t cluttered with things that don’t belong to me—sirens, screams, the mutterings and musings of others.

It was quiet enough for me to hear my thoughts. My mutterings. My musings. I hadn’t realized the power of the quiet. As a city girl, I’ve always given so much credit to the music of the city.

But what about my music?

What did it sound like? Why was it so sad? What was it trying to tell me?

In the desert, I was shocked to find that my intuition had led me there because I knew that only in the silence could I write a book that was truly mine.

I was stunned to discover I’d been longing for space, both in the audible and visual.

In the desert, I learned that even city girls crave the quiet.

Sometimes, what I heard in the silence hurt.

Mostly, it made me laugh.

Or cry.

In the naked topography, the ghosts of the past have no nook or cranny to hide in, so I had no choice but to hang out with them.

In the desert, I learned that all the time spent avoiding the things I’m scared of confronting had been a waste.

My demons, as gory as they might seem on the outside, are nothing to fear. They’re big old teddy bears like the rest of us. They’re just heartbroken—like the rest of us. But that’s why they’re so funny, so silly, and so wise.

In the desert, I remembered that it’s impossible to see beauty without letting yourself experience pain. And beauty, for me, is the goal above all. As Andrew Holleran famously wrote in my favorite novel, Dancer from the Dance, the artist isn’t “interested in happiness; they live for beauty.”

In the desert, I came head to head with beauty.

And it brought me back to life.

Currently taking on select one-on-one clients! Email me at Zara@zarabarrie.com for more info. Certified and trained by Dr. Martha Beck’s ICF accredited Wayfinder Life Coach Training.