I recently got a renewal notice for my blog domain and to be honest, for a split second I thought about cancelling it. As you’ve probably noticed, I haven’t been consistent on here and it’s hard to pay for something that lies dormant aside from the occasional post that I truly do enjoy writing. So here I am in the first days of the best month (fight me) to prove to myself that this is valuable, a cathartic outlet, a passion, hobby, and probably the only few moments where my brain and my actions line up in a single task by typing. So call it therapy, call it meditation but I’m not going to just call it on this whole blog thing just yet. Here, WordPress, take all my money.

I’ve been traveling a lot for work and I usually downplay this by saying, “well, it’s only once a month”. That once-a-month-trip is often far, requires me to plan further ahead than my schedule allows, requires hours packing and prepping, logistic shifts, errands, and confirmations, an uprooting of a life I have in the Bay, and a job that still requires me to be at a computer a good portion of the time. Don’t even get me started on the number of mini contact lens solution bottles I accumulate in a year. I know that at my smack-dab-mid-thirties (at least for another month soletmehaveitokay), I’m at an age where this is still a life that I’m interested in living. With a family, traveling for work will become a lot harder and so I have a little pep talk with myself before booking each next whirlwind 72-hour trip. 

I’m grateful for the opportunity to live this jet-setting life (something I always wanted in my 20s), meeting amazing people all over the country, growing a company I love, and seeing parts of the US I haven’t yet before. Parts of it, like my recent trip to Ohio, feel like a vacation. I’m ahead of my usual time zone by 3 hours allowing for a quiet and slow morning. I get to find pieces of a routine I enjoy, seek out the craft coffee scene, walk new streets, maybe get a little sweat on before walls of meetings. Crawling into that hotel bed with Shark Tank and take-out feels like a treat and the best way I have found to date to acclimate to a new time zone.

On the flip side, there’s burnout. And upon my return from Kansas City last month, I cracked. Stressed, moody, overwhelmed, and feeling exhausted are not things I experience to this extreme outside a certain time of month. It lingered for a couple weeks and finally dissipated with a back-to-normal(ish) week where I could come up for air. Even in trip like my last one, there are bumps I constantly have to roll with and when I’m already spread super thin, it doesn’t leave room for shock-absorption. Even the small things can feel like major set-backs: asking the front desk for a razor and then a half hour later for multiple bandaids, getting split on by a homeless man in city streets en route to a high-profile meeting, a hotel water shut off that threats promptness to a meeting. I have to keep going anyway. Sometimes I just expect these things to happen and can let them roll off my back and sometimes they’re just the last straw.

I was hoping George Clooney and Julia Roberts would be joining me on this direct flight back home from Columbus but with entertainment down, it’s just me, the stranger in 23C, this building draft, and my thoughts. When I look past at the things that got under my skin, it hits me that I’m out here doing the thing. Trying something new, staying agile, making things happen, spreading our message, listening to different markets, discovering new areas, taking it all in and letting it inform my next move. If I don’t take moments to remember that it’s happening, I’ll miss it. I don’t want to look back years later and wish I had enjoyed this more. I know I need to slow down, protect my boundaries, stay open, do everything I can and let the rest go, and not fight it so much. Wiping spit off my face in a Park Avenue high-rise bathroom knocked me down. But I know I’m capable of taking my next step with grace, compassion, and self-care — even if it means having a good cry just before. It’s also a major perk of arriving to a meeting early — not that anyone ever expects to get spit on but at least you have plenty of time to pull yourself together if you do. So this is my verbal (or typed) vow that tomorrow, after 60 hours of travel and meetings, I’m doing something good for myself, my soul, my body and giving myself space to settle back in.

Everyone needs a good check yo’self before you wreck yourself moment. I hope this is a reminder for you as well.

In my efforts to slowly transition my life into that of a travel writer/blogger, we have here a foray into nature descriptors, character development, landscape lust, and a true national park must.

B and I just returned from a trip to the Badlands — a stunning and desolate national park in the middle of nowhere the final weekend before they closed the park up for winter. My Bay Area makeshift cold-weather gear made an appearance, my bare skin did not. As much as your girl loves a good pair of ankle jeans, these were left behind making room for headlamps, all the socks, and the one puffer coat I own with a moody zipper and comes with its own sound effects.

The Badlands are a halfway-ish point between us in CA and B’s sister and brother-in law in NY. It was part honeymoon crashing and part adventure — researching all there was to do in the area and very realistically doing it all. The four of us traveled so well together and though this was the fist time I had met part of B’s family, it sure didn’t feel like it. Pretty early into our relationship, I was fortunate enough to hover over a shoulder in my own corner of the FaceTime screen — usually making an appearance in pajamas representing the PST timezone. Now we all got to meet IR and it made me feel not so bitter about the digital realm that allowed us all to connect in the best way we could over the last year and a half.

Getting to Rapid City involved a layover in lots of layers (our third visit to SLC within a month), an almost missed connector plane that went from hey-we’re-early to almost-missed-flight real quick. A Rav4 pick-up and an hour drive to our cabin under the most insane star-studded sky later, we arrived to our very cute cabin that but the ‘gl’ in glamping — the luxury of coffee pods and dual sinks but with the nature benefits of wildlife outside our door and being surrounded by butte beauties. Yes, it had a king size bed and yes, we chose make pillow forts and sleep in the day bed half the size.

Between daily sunrises and sunsets we laced up our hiking boots and explored the incredible sediment structures, grasslands, and open roads of southwestern South Dakota. We marveled at the caliber of coffee at our cabin cafe while scarfing down previously frozen but absolutely delicious breakfast burritos, giggled at prairie dog scurries at a remote gas station, stopped by a giant dinosaur sculpture, and read up on the history of the towns biggest money maker — Wall Drug (who earned its fame by giving ice water to truckers passing through).

Souvenirs were aplenty, quality food…not so much. The best meal we collectively had was at Wall Drug where we finally got to try the land’s Bison in the form of a hot dog and polish it off with diner-grade coffee, pie, and homemade donuts.

Our final full day was spent doing the touristy thing, seeing Rushmore, soaking in warm springs, and toasting the trip with the bartender’s own blend of whiskey before returning to our definitely haunted hotel.

An early morning drive back to Rapid City felt like true road-tripping. Hearts full, eyes half open, and an empty gas tank, we stopped for a final fuel top-off and said a wistful farewell to our four-wheeled companion that was a true road warrior. Coffee at the gate, naps on the plane and a fourth stop in SLC to round out more plane rides in the past month than in the last two years combined.

I went into this trip pretty blindly and came out with eyes wide open. I missed trips like this — part planned, part straight adventure. Being open to what the land and people offer, letting go of expectations and enjoying the expansiveness both in the landscape and in the feeling of connecting with others. Traveling with the four of us was such a joy as all of us love the little things and big natural phenomena. The perfect blend of laughter, life talks, and silence. The shared admiration of beanies, boots and booths in tufted leather. The search for good finds, great shots, postcards, and a good place to perch.

Until the next trip as magical as this one, we go on with our bad selves.

One evening years ago while on a camping trip, my boyfriend noticed a young boy running toward their side of the campsite breathless and with urgency. Gazing toward the sun setting, wide-eyed at the glowing orange ball descending into the horizon, he held up a hand and waved from his elbow exclaiming, “Bye sun, thank you!” I’ve had him tell me this story a few times and will probably ask to hear it a few more. It perfectly holds the sentiment that I wish all people slowed to feel. An urgency to find gratitude, to express it loudly and proudly for the world to hear.

I have been working toward embracing more stillness in my life. After a few conversations with friends, wellness professionals and myself, it’s taken me some time to come around to the fact that how I operate in the word, though energy-full is leaving my body energy depleted. The tough part of acknowledging this truth for me is that I don’t feel drained, burnt-out or run into the ground but there have been some physiological signs that have given me pause to the idea of giving myself more pause.

It’s starting real simple: turn off the noise while on a walk. Resistant at first to the idea that I couldn’t catch up with the world or juicy goss’ while I strolled in the evenings meant not fulfilling something I have come to love about a shelter in place routine, having more time to listen and tune in to the world around me, finally get caught up on world affairs, relationship advice, manifestation chats, and celebrity interviews. Though this seems a form of self-care on the surface, this has been another sneaky way of doing things, staying busy, tuning in externally instead of internally. I am one weekend in to this experiment, having gone a solid 3 days of walking to the sounds of my thoughts, nature, emergency vehicles, and muffled maskers’ conversations around me. I genuinely do want to find a way to keep up with the news and podcasts that I do so much enjoy, but this experiment has afforded me more space.

I felt different this weekend as a result. Not sure if ‘silent walking’ is the culprit, but it sure as hell couldn’t hurt. I unwinded from the week with a Friday long walk at sunset and when it ended I was surprised that I could have kept thinking and staying with these little leads of thoughts in my head. Where were these thoughts going on walks before? Did I cut them off before they were fully realized? Did I think of them at all? Did they come knocking and I chose not to answer the door because omgdaxshepardisinterviewingjustintimberlake?! The act of walking silently felt like meditation — a noticing and acknowledging of a series of thoughts without dwelling (or maybe dwelling) on them. Space to think, feel, tear-up. I didn’t miss the needing to pause for a photo, rewind a quote I liked, fast-forward over the ads. Even in something so ‘relaxing’, I found myself having to engage in technology in too consistent of a way for being unplugged time.

I had more space for feeling. My favorite yoga teacher hosted a Zoom Yoga Nidra class on Saturday and it could not have been more timely. A full 75 minutes of space and permission to put my body in a restful state without fully napping. Present, calm, still but aware (maybe too aware of the entrances of both my roommates clomping around, slamming doors and setting down jingly keys). The class ended and my mind told me to get busy — it was still daylight after all. My body, however, wanted to relish in this calm. I took a hot slow shower, made a cup of tea, sat on the sofa in my room and watched the sunset and its trail of soft purples, pinks and oranges. Bye sun, thank you.

In just the right amount of time, I was ready to get moving again to join my boyfriend who had grabbed all the ingredients for a beautiful, delicious, nourishing meal. I walked in and acknowledged my zen state with “I’m struggling in a real way right now” and he gave full permission and encouragement to stay in my state by telling me “There is no struggle. You have nowhere else to be. You’re staying here tonight.” We cooked, danced, laughed, played music and got ice cream delivered. My soul, heart and belly full, it was an evening I never wanted to lose sight of. Feeling so aware, present, grateful. My head gets in the way when my heart doesn’t have the time and space to feel.

Quiet walks allow space for the feel. From that space I can expand, listen, tune-in and appreciate. Noise, no matter how welcome, is still noise. Podcasts where I learn and grow are still doing, Stillness can’t find space when the mind is still doing. There’s space for a stranger to ask if I’ve seen his dog, for the sound of leaves crunching underfoot, for the breeze to wrap wisps of hair around my ears where headphones had previously occupied, free from the pause, fast-forward, rewind controls pulling me out of the “press play”.

So bye, sun. Thank you!

Well, friends. Happy 2020.5 also known as 2021. Okay, harsh. But really, Happy New Year and I’m sorry (mostly to myself) for being away for so long. It’s no secret that 2020 brought its share of challenges and my inspiration to spend time on a computer in the evenings writing after hours of emails and blue light has waned. Nothing like getting a reminder that your domain is renewing to realize ya better use them dollas! So here we go, now living with two 20-somethings in a house that currently smells of a combination of middle-eastern spices and like an older gentleman farted in a yoga studio since one roomie decided sage was all the rage. Hippie hummus vibes aside…here we go…

I was listening to the Dateable Podcast, hosted by two wonderfully raw and humorous women who are friends of a dear friend of mine. The episodes that hit home recently as I listened and walked along the (still, thankfully) closed Great Highway were about trusting your timing and small gestures that speak volumes in not just dating but in any relationship. They cited Trevor Noah who eloquently stated that though he may be single, he feels ‘successful’ in his love love having felt deep love and connection. If that was the yard-stick for a successful love life, I’d consider myself pretty lucky as well and I don’t take this for granted. I’ve already had a few great loves of my life who have shown me the depths of their heart and cracked me open with a smile, a sparkly eye, a phrase, a gesture.

Something I’ve come to know about myself is that I love with my whole heart. And yes, that makes heartbreak so much more painful but I wouldn’t change a damn thing. I’ve also been loved just as deeply and friends, there is no better feeling. I hold onto those little moments, the ‘small’ gestures that I still think about to this day and serve as a gold standard for how I know love can feel.

I allow myself more solo time these days that I ever have and it gives me space to reflect, smile, maybe even cry a little bit. On a recent solo hike, coming down from the summit at 2,000 feet, an older couple was stepping up the rocks in full-on Sunday-best attire, holding hands with one hand and their hat with the other. Passing them, I squeezed in a “good morning” before the clock ticked noon and they responded with a bright “G’day!”

I was transported right back to Westward Ho! where the town has an actual exclamation mark in its name and if that doesn’t say charming as f*ck, I don’t know what does. I was traveling first to Denmark to visit friends and the furniture mecca, then to England for a Uni reunion before training west to meet my then boyfriend’s family. To this day, it is one of the best trips of my life and even reminiscing on it now, it fills my heart right up. Every moment of that trip had meaning, connection, butterflies. On the final leg of my abbreviated Euro-tour, I rode the train from London out to the English coast, shakily holding a bouquet I picked out from a boutique on the train platform. A woman on the train told me the flowers looked lovely and it quelled my perspiring palms until the train rolled into the station. My boyfriend at the time was parked in the middle of two rows of cars waving large from the left side of the car with that infamous smile you could see a mile (kilometer, now that we’re in England) off. After the introductions and bouquet hand-off back at his parent’s home, we promptly made our way out to The Royal George, the most quaint and picturesque coastal pub I’ve ever been to. Walking around Appledore’s Boatyard, he grabbed my hand and looked me square in the eye and said “I’m so glad you’re here”.

In that moment and even to this day, there are few places I’d rather be.

It reminded me that in all the relationships I’ve been in, it’s moments like these that stand out to me. The little gestures, sayings, moments that show a person’s soul and heart. He got to me. He still does. Even though we’re no longer together, he’ll always hold a very special place in my heart. And I’m lucky.

I hold on to that story, that moment, that relationship not because I’m stuck in the past but this relationship propelled me forward. I am forever thankful for the joy, laughter, downright silliness and love that we were enraptured in because it showed me what that kind of love feels like. It brought me back to myself having been a bit lost and it was beautifully effortless to love so hard.

As we move into a New Year, so many people talk about never looking back but I think there are some nuggets of insights in doing so. It’s important to know where we’re coming from so we can move forward. Sometimes it’s helpful for us to look back to remember times when we felt like our whole selves to know we have it within us all the time. Looking forward in a new year, I want to be with what is. Find more presence in what I’m doing, who I’m with and really tuning into my surroundings. Letting go of the things that don’t matter and finding more joy in things like ships at low tide in Appledore. If 2020 was all about surviving, 2021 for me is about thriving.

2021, I’m so glad you’re here.

All things considered Quarantine (are we still using that incorrect terminology?) has had its perks. I know we’re all a bit fatigued of hearing about people learning to make bread, experimenting in Dalgona coffee, shifting to matcha and posting sweaty selfies (dear lord I know I am). But there’s a quirk to everyone’s q-tine.

Mine has been diving into my Bean Club, finally busting out my birthday-gifted Le Creuset in light pink (if there ever was the prettiest cooking vessel ladies and gents, THIS IS IT) and investing more in athlesisure than I ever thought imaginable. Not to mention my rediscovery of the scrunchie with a deeper love than my first go-around in the 90s.

No, I haven’t learned a new language and I haven’t knit as much as a trivet but I’ll tell ya something, I feel more clear on who I want to be around, what fills me up and where my energy best lies. That, my friends, is a gift. Having fallen at the whim of FOMO in the ‘before-times’, I no longer wrack my brain on if I should do one thing or another. Instead, it’s either simply not an option, there are less options, plans are made way far in advance (giving time to mentally prepare), and it’s a hard no when it won’t serve me.

I’ve also feel more space to sit with things (not that I always do this) but I feel there is time and room for it. Long walks with a growth-mindset podcast, catching up with friends, finding a new therapist to bounce patterns off of and to dive into. I am working on things, evaluating why I show up the way I do and learn new patterning so I can show up more in alignment with how I want to be instead of what my subconscious beliefs tell me how I should show up.

The frustrating part of patterning is that often we act on beliefs that were engrained in us from an age too early to remember. It makes it hard to re-program, so to speak, when you don’t even remember where a certain belief became truth. I’ve been feeling protective of some of my personal belongings with new roommates moving in, feeling short-changed of connection and partnership without a solid chunk of time to spend with someone. These gut reactions come as a surprise to me — I’m always one to share my things with the people in my life and genuinely okay spending time with just me. It feels good to actually look at this and to feel into speaking up about it or get to work.

So here’s to getting to work. To having space to do some work. Not necessarily to learn Dutch or embroider an inspirational quote on a pillow. It’s about space, looking inward, finding your ‘why’ and then the ‘why’ to that ‘why’. It’s also totally okay if this work is not happening and you’re doing absolutely nothing. Because nothing is something too. I give you permission, I hope you give you permission too.

Wishing you whatever is serving your right now (and always) knowing it’s exactly where you need to be.

The title of this post just brings me joy. There’s nothing more to it than that. Just a casual favorite francophile word for ya on a Tuesday.

I’m one grey hair over and one Drake song shy of becoming an influencer as I am now making smoothies with 12 ingredients and my salads are like a double rainbow conglomeration of ever vendor at the Farmers Market. I actually bought fresh dill to use with my locally-sourced ‘spensive AF (worth it) smoked wild salmon and it was a game-changer.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always been a little bit low-key bougie in my adult life, enjoying splurges on little luxuries like candles, face serum and now smoked salmon, but in quarantine it’s become especially important to realize the things that make you feel most alive and invest in them.

On the uncharacteristically hot weekend that just passed, I resisted going out to Ocean Beach because having grown up on a beach, I know all too well that this is where all the people flock to when it’s anything above 72 degrees. At almost 100 degrees in the city, I had to join in — if for no other reason than to feel a subtle breeze run through my hair and under the mask, pick up an iced coffee with a splash of oat milk (how’s that for building my influencer image?), and dip my toes into the water edge. I sat in that sweet spot where the dry meets wet sand and as my paper straw disintegrated, noticed a moving tent caused by an enthused Lhasa Apso (yeah, I didn’t know it was spelled that way either…), four men in speedos who would have been decent frisbee players had they freed their Whiteclaw hands and a kid to my right who tip-toed across the sand yelling “I’m scared!” in attempts to conquer the scorching mini-dunes that lie under-foot.

Strange times. But also, good to see humanity out doing their thing. I never felt super connected to the beach when I lived a few blocks away from it and just 400 miles south of where I now sat. When I’m here now, it feels comforting, familiar, soothing. I love the way my hair gets stringy in the salty-air, I love finding sand between my toes. I love how my skin feels like it’s taking a deep breath. I love how my freckles reveal their boundaries, my shoulders boast a pinky hue and my lips taste like a pretzel.

A snowy plover might be my newest spirit animal, running in and out of the tide, treating every new wave as if it’s a new experience yet equally scared and thrilled by it. This is how I feel most days, equally scared by the state of things and invigorated to contribute to change — to be a part of a world trying to do better. Living in the duality is the name of the game it seems these days. As someone who has had to do a lot of work to live in the grey area, this duality is something I have practiced for but it doesn’t mean it comes easy. I want clarity, answers, insight, foresight into what’s next just as much as the next person. In the meantime, we settle in, we do with what’s in front of us because at the end of the day it’s still precious time that we’ve been given. It’s still a gift, it’s still our lives, and you can choose to embrace it or be angry and sad that it’s not the way it ‘was supposed to be’. What was ‘supposed to be’ anyway? Maybe this is the way it’s supposed to be or maybe it just is. And that needs to be enough.

It’s tough, it’s different, it’s hard some days to feel like life is moving forward, that we’re making progress toward the things in life that we want and were building towards. Dating is different, connecting with loved ones takes more time and stepping over technological hurdles. Weddings are cancelled, babies are being born without families in the same room. It doesn’t mean we can’t still celebrate in our own, smaller ways and definitely in our hearts.

This week marks three years since we lost my sister. It’s slowly seeping in as the day creeps closer and I have to sit with that. Unlike in years past, 2020 has made a lot of room for sitting with things. I’m a bit fearful to face head on the things that come up around the preciousness of time and how delicate human life is. It’s something I’m not sure I’ve actually really processed fully, just in pieces over the past three years. I feel her absence and my own vulnerability when Adele’s “Hello” comes on the radio — a song that reminds me of when her and my niece and nephew belted out these lyrics on one of our last Thanksgivings with her there. It was a bit out of character for her to play along like this (or so I thought) and watching her just let her guard down to be mom was beautifully moving and deeply impressionable on me. She allowed herself to live.

With low-key bougie hand-soap and fresh dill, I’ll find little joys to make this crazy current state of things feel like living my best life too. Because we all need reminders that life is meant to be lived, that time never stands still, that we can choose to flow with time or fight against it. Like those waves that touch my toes, moving forward and retreating but still moving forward, I too will allow myself the duality of progress and retreat. The important thing is to remember that we get to be here, we get to do the work, we get to find joy — even and especially when things look a little different these days.