In India, I learned about my limits. After a night of drinking in Mumbai, I begged my cousin to find me weed. He was appalled that I asked and told me that only “bad” people do that. I assured him that I do it all the time in America. Being the down ass brother he was, he found me a hash cigarette. I took a few puffs, watched the street scenes melt, and they had to carry me back in the house.

South of Goa in Gokarna, I learned my first lesson in dosing. My friend and I found a little stall on the beach that sold “special” lassis. I drank an entire 8 oz. glass of milk with bhang, sugar, and spices that had me hazily walking into a mini Durga temple with my shoes on mistaking it for my hostel (Sorry, goddess!) and then throwing up on the floor while spooning my backpack thinking I was going to die right there.

On my wedding day in Palm Springs, it taught me patience. My husband-to-be, Shane, was missing. My in-laws were discussing whether I should marry a picture of him, but I was fully preparing to marry my chihuahua. As I waited for them to find him, I smoked a joint. It was the only thing I could do to keep from crying and keep my make-up intact. Shane eventually showed up and we got married on a beautiful rooftop and danced in the desert under the stars. Tying the knot with Shane officially entwined my fate with cannabis forever.

When we returned to reality after our honeymoon, Proposition 64, the California Marijuana Legalization Initiative, was on the November ballot. Shane and I believed that the proposition didn’t do enough to rectify the injustices of the War on Drugs. Black and brown communities were over policed. Families were torn apart. People served long sentences for small time drug offenses. Some are still behind bars. And now a bunch of corporations get to profit off the industry that these communities built because the system wasn’t working for them. And anyway, finding trees was easy as hell as long as you had a medical card or “knew a guy.” So we voted no on 64. But the majority of Californians voted yes. Adult use weed became our new reality.

Shane and I were bummed about 64. At the same time Trump had just been elected. Under previous Republican presidents, the trucking industry flourished. So we were curious if the new administration would be good for the family business. Like many Punjabi Sikh men, Shane’s dad became a truck driver in the 80s. It was a job that he could do without cutting his beard or removing his turban. But with the dawn of driverless trucks, electric vehicles, and the share economy, it became an endangered industry. Ultimately Trump hasn’t helped with his tariff war and ban on immigrants who are willing to accept driving jobs. And he still hasn’t come through on his infrastructure overhaul promise. (For the record, none of us voted for that cheetoh.) We knew the day Uber launched an app for truck drivers that we needed to pivot.