I love vacations. I prefer to maximize all the sights and smells by traveling on foot. It’s the best way to get to know a new city. The best feeling after overstimulating the senses is sinking into a hotel bed. There’s nothing like settling into sheets pulled tight underneath a cloud-like duvet. The thermostat reading 5-10 degrees cooler than what it’s typically set at back home. Black-out curtains drawn. They’re the perfect conditions for recharging after a full day of exploring. It’s a luxury I’d love to recreate at home and until recently never prioritized.
I’ve grown accustomed to a less than average bed set-up. The twin bed in my childhood room was superseded with a twin extra long mattress in the dormitories. Like most college students, I excelled at staying up late and sleeping in. A blue economical springless mattress was at least a step-up from friends’ floors and couches.
For over a year, Jordan and I regularly refilled a double air mattress in our first apartment together. By morning it was 80% deflated. Once we adopted Forest, we layered extra blankets as protection so her paws wouldn’t puncture a hole through it. I’d hold my breath any time she’d change positions anticipating a loud “pop” in the middle of the night.
Nothing made us feel more adult than the day we replaced the inflatable pool toy with a real mattress. The best we could manage at the time was the cheapest offering at IKEA. Jordan, myself and two dogs would try our best each night to not be the last one in our full bed. Similar to the wobbly table, it was intended to be a starter piece. Before we knew it, a “couple years” turned into a decade.
Towards the last few years together, I’d wake up with hip and back pain that I wrongly blamed on turning 30. No amount of yoga and stretching would alleviate the dull-ache I had throughout the day. Mornings were always toughest. I wasn’t prepared to admit the shelf-life of our $100 mattress was long past-due.
Moving into our house in Georgia (and out of our four floor walk up cabin in California) finally gave me the motiviation for an upgrade. Big names in the mattress community like Casper, Tempurpedic and Purple punched me in the gut with sticker shock. With the help of discount codes, I still couldn’t wrap my mind around it. Quality mattresses are an investment. A third of our lives are spent sleeping. Yet spending upwards of $1k at one time on something unrelated to travel or rent made me queasy.
My thinking was simple, anything would be an improvement to the dusty IKEA relic we currently were sleeping on. Maybe one day we’ll own a fancy king Sleep Number bed where the dogs can stretch out their limbs along the mattress and not our faces. But temperature regulation and trendy podcast sponsors aren’t the only markers of quality brands.
After some research, I landed on a gel mattress with over 100k reviews and a 4+ star Amazon rating. It was the next best thing to going in store and testing out mattresses ourselves. Shipping was free with a fair return window. It was delivered in a tall skinny box you would never imagine held a mattress inside. I proudly set it up on my own.
The verdict: There is no doubt an improvement to our sleep since we made the switch. The queen mattress brought more precious real estate and a breath of fresh air into our room. My bones are less creaky in the morning. It’s a perfectly good mattress. The firmness would be by one critique. My expectations were to sink into a luxurious hotel bed, falling asleep with a satisfied grin on my face like they do in commercials. I briefly considered exchanging it for something softer but the thought alone of trying to fit in its original box and take it to a UPS broke me out in a sweat. The truth is, what usually makes a hotel bed so comfy are the accessories: quality pillows, soft and breathable sheets, a fluffy pillow topper. Freshly laundered and always neatly made. If a humble Hampton Inn can turn their beds into a luxury experience, so can we.
A mattress topper arrived at my doorstep in less than 24 hours. Offering an extra layer of comfort and protection, its soft cooling fabric was the extra umph our mattress needed. I was really impressed at the low effort/high impact improvement I felt within the first night.
Paired with a sleep machine and silk eye mask, I’m getting better sleep than I did as a teenager. Conquering a good night’s rest makes me feel capable of so much. What’s next? Purchasing a home?? Maybe a post for another time (and perhaps another decade or so).
I don’t always make New Year’s resolutions. However, when I do, drinking more water and flossing often find their way onto the list. Despite these seemingly manageable goals, there are days when I fall short of achieving them.
I abandoned the idea of resolutions in 2024 in favor of adopting a ‘word of the year’—the prominent heading on my mood board, so to speak.
My chosen word is ‘FLOW.’ I aspire to embody the attributes of a steady stream: calm, fluid, and adaptable. These are qualities I greatly admire in others. Being in the presence of someone comfortable in their own skin puts me at ease as well. I’ve observed that life appears smoother for those who navigate challenges with grace. It’s not that they are impervious to misfortune, but rather, they possess the ability to pivot and problem-solve when faced with the unexpected.
The moments of greatest struggle for me occur when I resist change and stubbornly cling to expectations. My mind has a tendency to magnify minor inconveniences or irritating tasks, turning them into towering mountains that seem far more daunting than necessary. I tend to overcomplicate matters, becoming avoidant as a defense mechanism. Over the years, I’ve talked myself out of facing difficult challenges outside of my comfort zone.
This year, I am committed to making a conscious effort to flow with change instead of resisting it. I aim to navigate through narrow paths, brushing against the rocks and emerging on the other side relatively unscathed. It’s about less overthinking and more doing. Desmond Tutu’s wise words resonate: ‘There is only one way to eat an elephant: a bite at a time.’ A subtle shift in perspective can transform challenging situations into opportunities to seize—or, at the very least, into just another small task.
2023 proved to be emotionally taxing, a period I now dub as the year of impermanence. Within a span of 48 hours, I faced the heartbreaking loss of two dear people in my life. Additionally, a family member received a cancer diagnosis for the fourth time and is currently undergoing demanding chemotherapy. My cherished companion, Forest, my sweet soul dog, is gracefully approaching her 12ish years, and the signs of aging become more apparent each day. On a personal level, my own health issues surfaced unexpectedly during a routine doctor’s visit, adding another layer of complexity to my challenges. Amidst these upheavals, I experienced the unsettling act of uprooting from a place where I was deeply connected to. Life had never felt more uncertain, and the fragility of health loomed large. I was hanging on by a thread, navigating a dark room with a profound sense of solitude.
I find myself drawn to the word FLOW because of its versatility, seamlessly applicable in various situations: from celebrating joyful moments to embracing new experiences and overcoming challenges. It serves as my North Star. Embracing the flow of life prevents me from getting stuck in a slump for too long. Life unfolds as a series of peaks and valleys. Swimming with the current how you reach steady waters.
Flow embodies movement, yet it also emphasizes the importance of knowing when to be still. Initially, I believed that practicing daily yoga, indulging in reading as a cherished pastime, and ensuring a full night’s sleep were sufficient measures for self-care. It wasn’t until I contracted Covid in November that I realized my body and mind resisted embracing true rest. Throughout my adult life, I viewed rest as a reward earned only after being productive. Taking a break in the middle of the day without exerting physical activity or a full workday seemed inconceivable, especially with errands and household chores looming over me. To do lists are my achilles heel. Those 4-5 days of being incapacitated and the subsequent weeks of sluggishness and mental fog prompted a rewiring of my perspective. I learned to prioritize napping when my body required it and indulge in mindless entertainment without seeking permission. The dishes and chores could wait. It felt good to rediscover the joy of convalescing on the couch, reminiscent of the days spent as a kid home sick from school. December turned out to be eventful, with half of it spent away from home. Considering the surge in Covid and flu cases, I’ve decided to embrace my rest era. I’ve become more attuned to listening to my body, recognizing that slowing down is my version of preventative health.
Ever since embracing the concept of “flow,” I’ve integrated it into my daily check-ins. I regularly assess how I’m feeling in the moment and consider what I can do to recenter myself. Recently, I navigated a lengthy work meeting effortlessly—even as new tasks were added to my plate. I held onto my favorite mantra: “one bite at a time.” In my yoga session, I consciously flowed, breathing deeper and slower through the parts I typically rush through. This weekend, I immersed myself in a new book, relishing every page penned by my favorite writer.
The terms “thriving” and “surviving” have become somewhat cliché, causing a reflexive flinch in response. They present a binary view, an either/or scenario, with little room for the nuances in between. Much of where we find ourselves on this spectrum is dictated by circumstances beyond our control. For me, the sweet spot lies in the act of flowing.
Flowing is a dynamic verb, embodying flexibility and complete presence—whether navigating the joys, enduring discomfort, or finding beauty in the mundane. In a state of flow, I hold onto things lightly, allowing for pivots and embracing life’s surprises.
This year, I aim to shift the focus away from mere accomplishments, and instead, emphasize the concept of evolving. Choosing a word of the year serves as a guiding prompt amid life’s inevitable chaos. I can always reach for the light switch to avoid sitting in the dark for long.
A friendly cafe employee complimented my wobbly table tattoo the other day. I told her about my blog when she asked the inevitable question, “what does it signify?”. When hit with the follow up question of what I write about, my shaky response surprised me “it’s, uhh…a lifestyle blog – I write book reviews and monthly recommendations… pretty random stuff.” The innocent exchange shook up my insecurities. Distracted from the plate of food in front of me, I fell down the self-inflicted rabbit hole. What do I write about?
Truth is, after publishing 50 posts I still don’t know the answer. There’s not a succinct elevator pitch in my back pocket for moments like these. “Pick a lane” is as commonly thrown around as how important it is to “stay in it.” I’ve never felt great about the expressions limiting undertones. As if we should only stick to one thing and not change course. What if we find a highway exit that interests us? Every writer has a unique perspective, maybe that’s more important than the genre of stories we tell.
A little while back, I turned the question around using the pink bubble-lettered “NGL” app and asked Instagram friends to write in anonymously. My goal was to do as the app requires, “not gonna lie.” It doubled as a fun prompt idea and unknowingly got me closer to figuring out my “why?”
Where do you want to be in 5 years?
I’m unsure where I’ll even be next year. What I do hope is for my baseline to be at ease. At ease in my relationships, my lifestyle, my routines. An ease at trying new things. I don’t drink the hustle culture kool-aid. I don’t thrive off a full calendar. I hope wherever I am in five years, it’s a place of comfort and a willingness to start over. Sitting in a cushiony reading chair with Jordan and a couple dogs at my side unconcerned about what’s ahead sounds pretty wonderful to me.
Who’s your worst enemy?
I have a drama-free existence compared to my reckless twenties when I let anyone walk into my life like a revolving door. Thanks to the pandemic, my tolerance for luke-warm relationships let alone toxicity is pretty non-existent.
Only one person comes to mind when I read the question. Let’s call them, Karen. Every workplace has one, right?
A scene in Madmen will forever be etched in my mind. A colleague of Don Draper confronts him in an elevator after a heated meeting. Don’s response is probably the best comeback in tv history. You thought Game of Thrones or Succession were ruthless? What’s better than telling off an adversary? Hitting them with “I don’t think about you at all.” *walks away without looking back*
Introvert or extrovert?
Outwardly I may appear as an extrovert but I’m an introvert in my bones. When I’m not being a homebody, I much prefer intimate gatherings and one on one catch-ups. The idea of jumping around from conversation to conversation or having to be the loudest in the room to be heard is exhausting.
What’s your dream house?
Living in a treehouse is a dream. The cabin we’re currently in is full of character and checked off so many boxes I didn’t even know I had.
As far as the checklist of my future dream home: a yard for the dogs, a bay window with a bench seat, a fireplace, charming little nooks and crannies for storage. A close proximity to nature will always be a high priority. Every home carries an energy. It may sound woo-woo but I truly believe home is a feeling.
Did you have an imaginary friend?
I’m positive I did but there’s not a specific imaginary friend that sticks out. My stuffed animals were as alive and real to me as the kids in my class. Aside from a dog, I wished for a sister growing up. I daydreamed over what they would look and sound like and all the advice they’d bestow onto me. When I realized girlfriends can become sisters, I stopped needing to daydream. (Also worth noting, my brother is my best friend now and I couldn’t have asked for a better sibling).
What’s self-love look like to you?
Thank you to the person who asked. Self love looks like gassing myself up before a big task. Reaching for a book instead of my phone. Letting myself rest without the silly idea that it should be earned first. Self-love is going to that thing alone and enjoying my own company. And probably most relevant these days, not taking everything so damn personally.
Self-love looks a lot like being my own best friend.
What keeps you going?
Sometimes writing is therapeutic, sometimes it’s more like pulling teeth. What keeps me going is what got me started. The creative spark.
I’m a writer regardless of how often I publish posts or whether I have a certain amount of people reading my work. Taking that unnecessary pressure off makes keeping up with my blog a much more enjoyable and sustainable process.
Whenever I’m knee-deep in a creative slump, I remind myself that if I have nothing to write about, I’m not paying close enough attention.
Rick Ruben was brought up in a meeting recently. The prolific American music producer wrote a book called The Creative Act. The opening chapter gave me chills (and tears to match.)
“Those who do not engage in the traditional arts might be wary of calling themselves artists. They might perceive creativity as something extraordinary or beyond their capabilities. A calling for the special few who are born with these gifts.
Fortunately, this is not the case.
Creativity is not a rare ability. It is not difficult to access. Creativity is a fundamental aspect of being human. It’s our birthright. And it’s for all of us.”
The Creative Act: A Way of Being by Rick Rubin
Who you tryna get with?
Honestly, I expected more questions in this category. Maybe the next AMA will be more spicy. I welcome it.
I’ve had a crush on you for years and you still don’t know.
The HBO true-crime drama is about a suburban Dallas love-affair that ended with a brutal axe murder. The show doesn’t reveal the victim or killer until a few episodes in. As a viewer unfamiliar with the story in the 70’s, my suspicions oscillated from scene to scene. The last show that bubbled over with this much tension was another HBO gem, Mare of Eastown.
Elizabeth Olsen’s captivating performance stole every scene. She’s somehow likable even when her character, Candy isn’t meant to be and tows the line between subtle humor and drama effortlessly.
The other star of the series is the set and costume design, plopped into a dreamy seventies Pinterest board. Candy’s house is basically a character in the show. I regularly hit pause to relish in the yummy details of the floral wallpapers, wood paneling, mid-century furniture, and statement curtains. A red front door with three panel windows add to the charming curb appeal. I didn’t expect a true crime drama to offer me home inspiration but here we are.
If you’re a fan of aesthetically pleasing interiors, well-paced storytelling and the talented work of an Olson sibling, Love & Death should be your next binge-watch.
Antique glasses
The 60’s & 70’s were a golden time for music, fashion and one of my current obsessions: kitchenware. They have a sensibility opposite of fancy china collecting dust in a cupboard. Earthy colors, playful patterns, and sturdiness make them as practical as they are a piece of artwork meant for display. All the beautiful pyrex floating around in Estate sales and eBay prove they were built to last.
Finding a fun vessel to drink from helps tremendously in my mission to stay hydrated. I acquired a vintage set of four checkered glasses adorned with a row of sweet tulips around the rim. I’ll be reaching for them every Summer.
Compared to my mason jars and mix matched mug collection, the glass set fits in with my groovy floral plates- not overly matched but definitely from the same party.
Antiquing everyday functional items feels like the most responsible form of shopping. Sipping from the checkered glass makes water taste more fresh. Dish-washing less cumbersome. They’re worth breaking my 24 hour or less drying rack rule. I’m no longer in a rush to put them away.
A summery PJ Set
Most of my matching pjs are fall and winter specific. The long sleeves and pants stamped with a fun holiday theme mark my favorite time of year.
In the warmer months, I default to sleeping in baggy t-shirts and boy shorts long past their prime. A Target set consisting of a cropped tank and matching shorts with flirty frills has been a seasonably appropriate to my dresser. The buttery light-weight cotton feels surprisingly more luxurious than to what the $15 price-tag alludes to. For the time being, it’s the closest I’ll get to cashmere sleepwear. As a professional homebody, it’s nice to throw on a pj set and feel instantly put together. I’ll slowly piece together a few more flowy pieces to my wardrobe once the temps start to climb. Until then, I’m wearing the grey number on repeat.
Butter Candle
Another candle made it onto my happy-list, but it’s not one I have the heart to burn. Its sole purpose is to look adorable on my fireplace mantle for as long as humanly possible. Why a butter candle? For the last handful of years, I’ve adopted an obsession with sourdough bread. While everyone was obsessed with baking with their homemade starter during the pandemic, I was simply enjoying eating it nearly everyday with salted butter for breakfast. Kerrygold salted butter is my drug of choice. The hyper-fixation of toast and butter replaced the once reigning avocado toast breakfast. Sometimes simpler is better.
The social media algorithms somehow caught wind of my habit after an ad appeared on my explore page. Urban Outfitters target ads got me good. It’s true to size and even felt about the 5 ounce weight of a stick of butter. A perfect replica. I think everyone should have things in their house that are a little silly and random. It’s the details that differentiate a Crate & Barrel catalogue from a lived-in space. We all want our house to feel like a home. I aspire to find a version of the butter candle in every room of mine.
BobaX Ice Cream
About a decade ago, I tried Boba tea for the first time. I was in Orlando, interning at Disney World with two buddies. It obviously made a lasting impression to remember where I was and who I was with. At the time, it wasn’t common to come across boba shops the way you can now. In Central California specifically you can find them as commonly as smoothie and juice joints. With all the shops popping all over town, I’ve come to realize, not all boba is created equally.
BobaX’s texture is bouncy and creamy. It’s similar to the consistency of gelato but with more chewiness thanks to the tapioca. Nutty rich Double Espresso pairs perfectly with the high quality boba texture and crushed coffee beans. Jordan’s pick of Gooey Fried Banana was basically a decadent pint of banana bread. I really love their thoughtfully diverse flavor selection. Mango Chamoy and Salted Ube Smore offer a breath of fresh air in the frozen food aisle. I’m excited to try both of those next.
Dare I say BobaX ice cream rises to the level of some of the best boba I’ve ever had. It’s a good thing I’ve only seen the brand carried at Sprouts. An hour drive is a big enough barrier to prevent me from regularly clearing out their weekly supply.
Anyone who knows me, knows I’m a Fall gal. I try to hang onto the crisp cozy feeling by stocking up on every variety of pumpkin, maple and cinnamon-y scented candle once they go on post-Thanksgiving super sale. An easy justification for having a special cabinet dedicated to candles is how often we lose power. A new candle entered my life in the Target aisle: a little sweet, but not overpowering. Fresh, but not soap-y. An invigorating aroma that made my mouth water. The Salted Lemon Meringue Pie by Chesapeake Bay is the first candle to lead me astray from my signature warm-spice scents. Truth is, I wouldn’t hesitate to order it if I saw it on a dessert menu. The bright seasonal mood in the cabin when I flick a match pairs well with the sunshine and slight breeze outside. Lemon bars, lemon flavored- yogurt, limon-cello La Croix, lemon in pasta and doused over avocados. I want it all. It’s the fruit of the season. Why not enjoy their invigorating smell on demand?
Fresh herbs:
My affinity for lemon and its enhancement in many dishes lends itself to another kitchen obsession: fresh herbs. There was a special weekend plant sale inside a big open barn on UCSC’s campus. Varieties of pumpkin, squash, peppers, and tomato plants were tempting me but as is usualy the case, a critter will enjoy them before we can. Instead we went for something that flourishes indoors and doesn’t take up a ton of space. We picked up fennel, chives, and two kinds of basil (sweet thai and Mrs. Burns Lemon). Something about Spring gives me the urge to cook fresh meals and the aromatic additions will give me so much more motivation to experiment in the kitchen. Not to mention, I always dreamed of keeping fresh herbs on a windowsill. Goal accomplished.
Sprocket Printer:
While roaming Pike Place Market in Seattle, a maker was selling his handcrafted leather bound journals with recycled cloth paper. To give us a feel of the unique weight and texture, he generously handed me his personal journal. Accompanied with a curvy scroll, mini-pictures of beautiful landscapes were adoring every few pages. He shared how much he loves his Bluetooth thermal printer. Perfect for traveling and capturing moments on the spot, he explained how it’s completely improved the way he journals. I immediately resonated with his excitement in documenting life in a tactile way. For $25 bucks you get a box of 2×3” 50 sheets with a sticky backing. If you don’t want to commit to adhering them, you can keep the sheet on. Jordan and I ordered one after we returned from our trip and we already know it’s one of the best purchases we’ll make this year. You can chose filters before printing the pocket-size photos. I made one black and white but also love to print them as is because they already have a kind of vintage sheen to them. My favorite memories are much happier out in the wild than lost in my camera roll or floating in the Cloud.
Life Kit Podcast:
We’re all just figuring things out as we go. Life Kit offers listeners digestible tips on a spectrum of topics regarding friendship, travel, finances and personal style. There’s something for everyone. Episodes are usually about 20 minutes or less which makes the information easy to process and allows me to retain what I learned. It’s also the perfect amount of time to drive into town or walk my dogs. For the indecisive type, I find the approachable format to be extremely informative, often touching and noncommittal. Some of my favorite recent listens are:
How to be a better movie watcher, according to film critics
Practicing the art of saying goodbye
Planning a trip? How to pack like a pro
5 things to remember when a friendship ends
Be an awesome gift giver
You can also learn super practical things like how to make the most of your tax returns, what to do when driving in a flash flood and how to beat extreme heat, when you’re channeling your inner responsible adult. Learning is meaningful and way less intimidating with Life Kit in your back pocket.
Most of my adolescence was spent avoiding the spotlight. One day in a student government meeting, the fresh paint fumes of my new high school gave me the temporary boldness to write my name on the sign-up ballot sheet.
The Class Historian combines similar duties to high school newspaper and yearbook. They’re responsible for writing narratives on school activities, taking photos and collecting keepsakes for the year with full creative reign. Between my long foray in journaling and scrapbooking, I’d basically been preparing for the position all my life.
As the title may have given away, the person who ran against me won.
Before I had a chance to take my campaign poster off the hallway wall, a blank space was left in the center where my photo once was. A second loss in one day.
The Postal Service album aptly titled “Give Up” served as the soundtrack to my self-pity. My peers offered some variation of “at least you tried” with sad eyes. At the time, their attempts to make me feel better did the opposite. I preferred a solo pity-party. The sooner my schoolmates forgot about it, I could too.
At sixteen, it was my most public setback. I could’ve easily withdrawn into myself and vowed to stay within my comfort zone but after ample wallowing there was a shift. In a similar logic to falling off a bike, taking that first big fall made risks seem less intimidating. Sure they can sting but I’ve bounced back from them before.
The following year, I landed a position as an Orientation Leader at my college. A year after that I was selected as a Resident Assistant. The public facing roles built my confidence back up and reminded me of my capability of strengthening a community. Not to mention the free room and board sweetened the deal.
“You don’t know, if you don’t try” is an adage that usually applies pre-risk and in hindsight. But I find it softens the blow in the face of failure, too. Trying (and failing) is a sign of growth. Gumption is a great side effect of aging. Behind every laughter line is more moxie than I had the year before.
If I waited until I was ready and 100% comfortable, I would’ve never committed my heart to a long-distance relationship or switched majors three quarters into college or auditioned to be a Disney princess (I’ll save that story for another time). To this day, I could’ve been tweaking my blog until it was “perfect” only to push out the release date indefinitely. Some of the most rewarding things in my life were born out of shaky hands. I’m sad to think of an alternate universe where I didn’t take leaps out of my comfort zone.
If social media went away, I’d still have years worth of journals and a box of postcards and letters to paint a picture of my life. The Wobbly Table Blog is an extension of record-keeping in the best way I know how. By virtue of picking up a pen or opening a new Word doc, I’m a self-historian.
I felt as exposed sharing my first blog post as I was waiting for the school election results. Is being vulnerable worth it? Will I fail publicly? Am I speaking into an empty room?
In the two years since I started The Wobbly Table, the blog community has been a supportive space. Members of WordPress are the kind of people I was searching for in high school. Fellow writers and readers are intentional with their time and are here because they chose to be.
A stranger recently came across my post about making friends on Bumble. She moved to a new town and was nervous to download the app. After reading my post, she commented that I had convinced her to go for it, “after all, everyone is on there looking for the same thing.” Perhaps what made it mean so much was that she had no obligation to read my words or interact with my writing. To know that I’ve inspired someone to take the leap is more than I hoped for from my little corner of the internet. Sixteen year old me would be proud.
The day felt like a blur. A cross between floating on a cloud and having an out-of-body experience. Maybe it was all the stimulation or a glass too much of champagne. Majority of the night I was on a five second delay. There’s pressure for your wedding to be the “best day of your life.” There’s pressure for it to be memorable for your friends and family, too.
I wish I remembered more, mingled more, had more photos. You trade in conversations with one guest for another, sacrifice eating a fluffy piece of wedding cake for time on the dance floor. The night was over in a flash and no matter how many times people told me to soak it all in and stay present, I couldn’t ignore the nagging desire to be at all places at once. For a long time, I held onto the idea that I fell short of my hostess duties; of checking in to make sure everyone was enjoying themselves and encouraging them to take multiple party favors home because we allotted for extras. Offering introductions to table mates and bringing up their mutual interests. Seeing guests off before they headed to the airport one by one. There wasn’t enough time or enough of me to go around.
Jordan and I celebrated our five year wedding anniversary over the weekend and with some distance, I can fully appreciate our wedding for what it was (not just what I was lacking). The day was unique and lively and tailor made for us.
More than half our guests came from out of state so it was important to me that they experience the redwoods we know and love. Luckily the hail from the morning cleared. Friends and family rode the vintage steam train at Roaring Camp to the top of Black Mountain. The thrifted carpet was my “something borrowed.” I walked down the aisle to The Beatles with my Mom and Dad and The Beach Boys hand in hand with Jordan.
Unbeknownst to our guests, Jordan accidentally ordered a ceramic urn instead of a pot for our tree-planting ceremony. An honest and hilarious mistake that I couldn’t get upset over. He and his brother ran to the hardware store to find a suitable replacement just on time. The tree we planted after our vows died within a year. Naturally we blamed the urn for its early demise. Neither of us had the heart to get rid of it. My eucalyptus crown is wrapped about the gold and blue urn. It’s sits in our bedroom collecting change, a sweet but kind of morbid memory that only we share.
MVP groomsmen of the evening
Prior to the toasts, we heard murmurings of there not being enough cork openers to spread around. Our groomsman, Chris, stealthily stepped in and opened every table’s champagne bottle with a knife. A fancy party trick he got to impress upon our guests. The sound of glass breaking followed by a roar of cheering and chuckles came from each table, charming Aunts from both sides of the family.
The highlight of the evening
A nostalgic mix of 60’s, 70’s and 90’s hits played under a sparkly disco ball. Late into the dancing, my bridesmaid and Leslie Knope to my Ann Perkins, Margaret made her way to the stage and serenaded me with a tipsy rendition of Mariah Carey’s “You’ll Always Be My Baby.” People swayed their arms, lighters in hand—a signal to the DJ to let her finish the impromptu performance. It was such a hit that another friend requested an encore for her wedding.
Notice my friend, Kat passed out in the middle chair. Needless to say her tacos got eaten.
At the end of the evening, our MVP groomsmen Chris placed a large order at Taco Bell where a group of us took over the Hilton lobby. I had never been so well-dressed eating a Cheesy Gordita Crunch. The stress of planning and the heady buzz of alcohol wore off and in its place was a steady stream of dopamine. I got the chance to properly catch up with my people. Old friends from out of town hit it off with newer friends from Santa Cruz. I didn’t need to play hostess. They were having a good time all on their own.
Two guests actually met at our wedding and are still dating to this day.
The mishaps and surprises helped shake me out of my overstimulated haze and into the present. They left the biggest thumbprints on our big day.
A traditional wedding where everything goes as planned sounds a little boring to me, anyway.
The decision to visit Seattle for our five year wedding anniversary was unanimous. Long before we could travel without supervision, Jordan and I felt a pull toward the city. What put it on the map for me was The Real WorldSeattle, circa 1998 For Jordan, it was a steady flow of alternative rock bands and indy music. If Disneyland is for the kids-at-heart, Seattle is the playground for the 90’s babies.
Coming out of the airport, it was like the volume got turned down a few notches, to an almost imperceptible chatter. I rarely heard the raucous of sirens, car horns and random TikTok clips blaring from strangers’ phones. Compared to other cities of its size, there was less hustle and bustle. Locals took more time chatting in line and getting to and from places. I think it’s a big reason why everyone was so friendly. A hospitable clerk at a clothing store eagerly offered to write a list of her favorite local spots. She even went through the trouble of going through my existing lists and made note of what we “couldn’t miss.” At the crosswalk someone complimented my outfit from their car window. The warm welcome into the city stretched throughout our stay. My sneaking suspicion is the gray skies and lush greenery puts folks at ease. When you’re relaxed, you’re naturally more open. And maybe the proximity to Canada came into play, too.
If I had to describe Seattle in one word, it would be approachable. I felt invited to be myself, to wear my checkerboard pants and beret with confidence, to chat with fellow storytellers and connect beyond small talk. At night, I felt safe walking down the unfamiliar streets that I was easily able to navigate by the next morning. Gloom may be the city’s M.O but I found so many vibrant things about it.
I love to wander. The best way to get to know a place is on foot and by eating your way through it. There’s not enough meals in the day when you’re in a foodie-city, here are the most notable food stops from our visit:
Hot Cakes (Ballard): Traveling throws my routine out of whack so we doubled down and stopped in for a pre-dinner dessert. The classy atmosphere matches the elevated menu. They’re known for adding their own spin on ice cream sandwiches, impressive pastries you would find on The Great British Bake-Off, and dessert cocktails. We decided to order the molten cake and ice cream. The cake was rich and moist with just the right amount of bitterness. Accompanying it, was a scoop of vanilla ice cream topped with delicious cocoa nib toffee in each bite. The nuttiness of the ice cream was top tier, it’ll be hard to look at other vanilla flavors the same again. Open from 4pm-11pm, Hot Cakes is the perfect date night for you and your sweetie.
La Panier (Pike’s Place Market): I’m always a little wary of super touristy areas but a long-time Seattle resident and friend reassured me that even locals frequent Pike’s Place.We strategically visited their farmer’s market on a Monday at the tail-end of off-season. The food stalls and restaurants that typically experience hour long waits were whittled down to 15 minute lines or less! La Panier is a French Bakery next door to the famous Russian bakery Piroshky Piroshky and the original Starbucks— probably the most lively strip of shops in the market. La Panier doesn’t have much of a seating area, which is fine with me because I love a pastry on the go. The man behind me in line mentioned whenever he’s in town visiting his daughter, he can’t resist stopping in for a raspberry croissant. I imagine it’s a crowd favorite because the customer in front of me ordered one, too. Since we planned on getting bites from several places, I kept to my plan of ordering one chocolate and one almond croissant. They also have a chocolate almond croissant, if you can’t decide. Each were flaky, buttery and well worth a long wait if you happen to visit the market on a busier day. Truth be told, almond was the winner but next time I’ll be trying the raspberry variety.
Beecher’s (Pike’s Place Market): Jordan’s name was written all over their famous mac n’ cheese made with penne pasta and a creamy white jack cheddar. He inhaled it so I only got the chance to try one bite. But who can blame him, it was packed with flavor and leaves a fun little peppery spice mingling on your tongue. Passersbys can stop and watch the staff masterly prepare cheese curds through a glass window. They still squeaked as we snacked on them, a sign of true freshness. Lucky for us, we were able to snag another container of curds at the airport that I made sure were split evenly.
Ramen DANBO (Capitol Hill): We couldn’t visit Seattle and not get a piping hot bowl of ramen. There’s no shortage of ramen and pho joints in the city, in fact I lost count of how many I came across on google maps. What I loved about Ramen Danbo was their extensive menu for vegetarians. Instead of having one broth to choose from, they offered a variety of four and even had a faux hard-boiled egg option for vegans. You could also personalize the spicy level and noodle texture to your liking. The place was packed but service was quick and efficient. After a particularly long day of meandering, it was really nice to feel the communal experience of slurping noodles on a cold night.
Plum Bistro (Capitol Hill): I wish I could convince the owners to open a Plum Bistro in Santa Cruz. They fill a gap in the market that I honestly think most U.S cities could benefit from. It’s a vegan and sustainable comfort food restaurant with American, Asian, Southern and Italian influence. Where else can you order a pimento cheese BLT and pesto gnocchi on the same menu? They also offer bahn mi, burritos and overflowing colorful salads. The ambiance was cozy and intimate enough that I could gaze at fellow patron’s meals—every plate was a piece of art. I know it may sound like a mish-mash concept but it works. The quality ingredients, excellent service and fancy presentation turned the dining experience into a show.
With the exception of Glossier, every shop I visited was local and had such a unique feel to them. Seattlites embrace an individualist style. I found myself taking notes of people twice my age as inspiration. I wish I could recall the names of all of the cool shops I visited but here are some standouts:
Ballard Furniture Consignment: Fresh after checking into our Airbnb, we stopped into Ballard Furniture Consignment and immediately daydreamed of how we would furnish our home if we lived in Seattle. The two story building was full of pieces that spanned decades and styles. Beyond the unique selection, there was an artistic sense of curation. Living room vignettes were put together tastefully. Items were in excellent condition. On the way in and out, happy customers were loading their cars with lamps, chairs and paintings so I get the sense the inventory moves quickly. If I lived locally, I would have such a fun time making monthly trips to see what’s “new.”
Fremont Antique Mall: After visiting the Fremont Sunday Antique Fair and the Fremont Troll (highly recommend both), we headed to the neighborhood’s downtown with an open mind for the rest of the day. Fremont was a neighborhood I didn’t know very much about so it felt very serendipitous that we stumbled upon an inconspicuous Antique Mall. The unassuming front door leads you downstairs to their basement and into a colorful treasure chest of the coolest vintage collectibles, clothes, accessories and furniture. Sprawling room after room of goodies spanning across 6,000 square feet of vendor space, I recommend giving yourself a generous amount of time to peruse.
Lifelong Thrift: The non-profit’s proceeds help to provide food, housing, and health needs to individuals with HIV/AIDS and other chronic conditions. Imagine the nicest Goodwill you’ve ever been to with a staff of stylists and interior designers, and voila! The store was spotless and organized and resembled more of a boutique. Everything I came across was under $30. I overheard numerous other shoppers mention a similar sentiment to their companions, “can you believe this only costs x?”, “This is something I would find at Nordstrom’s.” Despite the curated sheen, the racks were still full and plush for digging. The staff just makes the hunt a lot easier.
Elliot Bay Books: It’s not a vacation if I don’t check out a bookstore or two… or five. Similar to having a vacation soundtrack (for us, it was a lot of The Verve, Ben Folds Five and other 90’s gems), I love the idea of a fictional story mingling with your own memories from a trip. The atmosphere was inviting and cozy upon walking in. An added perk of Elliot Bay Books was the cool cafe attached to it, Oddfellows. Wood panel floors creak as you walk the aisles, people respectfully spoke in hushed tones similar to a library and there were plenty of communal tables that welcome you to stay a while. It reminded me of the really, really old days at Barnes and Noble when you could spend hours parked in a corner of the kids section under the carved out tree or cozy up at the cafe or bench by the magazines. I rarely feel encouraged to read in bookstores, that was always more of a library activity. I enjoyed taking my time in each aisle and letting myself be immersed in someone else’s shoes for a bit before buying them.
We couldn’t check off National or State parks on this trip since we didn’t rent a car. But I will definitely be saving places like Olympic National Park for the future. Turns out, you don’t have to go far to find great green spaces to tuck into within the city.
Gasworks Park: My iconic Seattle moment was walking to Gasworks Park. It was our first full vacation day and we hadn’t yet been downtown in the heart of the city. I just remember standing in front of the lush green hills taking it all in as the wind blew on my cheeks. I’m shocked the park wasn’t more busy. There’s a major payoff when you reach the top of the hill – a sweeping view of the Seattle skyline and our first glimpse of the Space Needle. On the other side of the hill were a handful of family and friends picnicking. Seattle has some of the best behaved dogs I’ve come across. We enjoyed pointing out our favorites and imagined what our crazy girls would be doing if they were with us. It was such a relaxing stroll and one of the peaks of the whole trip. If I were a local, I imagine myself spending many afternoons there being pulled around by two happy but misbehaving-in-public pups.
Volunteer Park: I search “nearest botanical garden” in every new city I visit. Volunteer Park was one of the things I was looking forward to most so I’m glad we saved it for the end of our trip. It was the perfect place to unwind. Similar to Pike’s Place Market, I was surprised to have the conservatory practically all to ourselves. The white glass house is full of impressive plants from all over the world. After experiencing so much rain and cold weather back in California, it was nice to step into somewhere warm and temperature controlled. The climate was a lot like Florida’s. My skin loved the humidity. I tend to gravitate to the desert cactus rooms but the room of pastel colored tulips was a nice surprise. It was like getting a sneak peak of Spring in Washington. I highly recommend enjoying a Top Pot Donut amongst the flowers because it’ll do something euphoric to your brain-chemistry.
I hope my rambly Seattle recap has convinced you to visit or revisit the magic of the Pacific Northwest. I was worried all my years of romanticizing would lead to disappointment. Turns out that wasn’t the case at all. The elements of an effortlessly cool and creative city came as no surprise. What I wasn’t expecting was how inviting the locals would be. I buddied up with fish-mongers at Pike’s Place market, Gen Z’ers at Glossier and an older gentleman in line at a bakery who called me a snazzy dresser. The infectiously joyful staff at the original Starbucks were singing and making jokes with one another, it was refreshing to see people having so much fun at work. The lovely interactions colored in my trip. I usually don’t leave a vacation feeling so connected and centered.
With all of its offerings, the city encouraged me to stay curious and intentional. There was little pressure to be constantly moving. Like my lifestyle in the woods, I enjoyed things slowly and left a lot of things worth returning for. One thing’s for sure, Seattle is more than a one-time visit city.
I wish I could properly thank the neighbor who left a copy of Tell The Wolves I’m Home in our Little Lending Library.
June Elbus is a character I’ll remember forever. While I take periodic breaks from writing thorough book reviews, I knew I needed to share her with the world.
The focus of the story is 14-year old, old soul, June. She’s different from the kids her age. She likes to escape into the woods and pretend she’s living in the middle ages. Preoccupied with work, her parents aren’t as involved with her as they’d like and her older sister, Greta went from being her best friend to a stranger. The only person she connects to is her Uncle Finn. The two are kindred spirits who share an appreciation of classical music, tea and regular visits to the Met. Their tender relationship gives the book so much heart.
After the devastating loss of her Uncle to AIDS, a stranger walks into her life changing the fabric of it forever. The mysterious man is Toby, Finn’s partner. She thought she knew everything about her best friend. Shocked and hurt that such a big part of his life was a secret to her, she tries to grapple with the fact that Toby knew so much about her for years. As the two people who knew and loved Finn most, a slow-burning friendship blossoms between them. They’re able to grieve and piece each other back together again by sharing stories of Finn. Their relationship becomes a secret of her own.
I tend to prematurely judge stories from an adolescent perspective and stash them in the Y.A box along with Harry Potter and the Nicholas Sparks stories. I’m so glad I didn’t put TTWIM in that category because it belongs on every bookshelf. Regardless of age, I think readers will take a lot from this story and easily be able to recall the confusion and nostalgia of their youth. Of how painful and beautiful life can be at every stage and how important it felt to be seen by someone, really seen for the first time. It’s a love letter to the safe people in our lives.
I did a lot of highlighting and marking up inside the pale bluish-green cover, a sign of it speaking to the soul. June is written with such love, she’s a poet and a romantic and is emotional and messy and likes what she likes and doesn’t apologize for it. I felt very much like her at 14; always observing from the periphery, not wanting attention but wanting to be seen. It was refreshing to not be fed the angsty, shallow boy-crazy teenage girl troupe that gives the demographic such little credit.
An excerpt depicting how thoughtful June was towards her Uncle Finn:
“I understand how just about anything in the world could remind you of Finn. Trains, or New York City, or plants, or books, or soft sweet and black-and-white cookies, or some guy in Central Park playing a polka on the harmonica and the violin at the same time. Things you’d never seen with Finn could remind you of him, because he was the one person you’d want to show. “Look at that,” you’d want to say because you knew he would think it was wonderful. To make you feel like the most observant person in the world for spotting it.” – June
Tell the Wolves I’m Home will fill your heart and break it multiple times. It’s an untraditional love story about grief, family dynamics, chosen family and forgiving yourself for things left unsaid. It reads so honestly to life. A part of me describes the story as a tragedy, another as a poignant coming of age tale about hope. There’s no big shiny bow tied at the end. Nothing’s worse to me than a lukewarm book. Some of the best stories will leave you feeling deeply, whatever that may be. This made me feel a lot of things. Maybe it’ll shake something loose in you, too?
There’s a million love songs dispersed into the ether. Songs about first love, an all-consuming love, unrequited love. Break-ups that ended bitterly and premature break-ups that never got to see their full potential. The universal experience can feel so intimately particular for each person. There will never be a shortage on the topic.
Some of the greatest love songs allow you to insert your experience into them like they were written just for you.
If you’re familiar with the heavy films and books I gravitate to, it won’t come as a surprise that I most often reach for songs about lost love. I fill my ears with sentimental tales of the one that got away and relationships that quietly ran its course. It’s safe to say I like to break my own heart.
Anyone can muster up sweet declarations while they’re in the midst of love. I’m far more interested in what someone says after. I want to know people’s reflections when enough time has passed and they can see the relationship with clarity. When any lingering resentment is replaced with affection. It poses the question, why do some relationships carry nostalgia and others don’t?
When I’m feeling introspective (which is all the time), I like to throw on a Sad Girl playlist.
The post-love ballad I wish more people knew is from an artist that may also need an introduction. Colin Hay, is a Scottish-Aussie singer/songwriter and guitarist. Originally the lead vocalist of the 80’s band Men at Work, he broke out into a solo career throughout the 90’s. In the early 2000’s, he was introduced to a newer fanbase after being regularly featured in the lovable sitcom, Scrubs. He’s currently pushing 70 and is still touring and making audiences laugh and hang onto every word.
A month before the pandemic, I watched Colin play at a small historic theater. It could’ve been the last concert I ever went to and that would’ve been okay. I took myself out to dinner and an evening stroll before finding my seat sandwiched between strangers. The entire night felt as though we were hanging out in someone’s living room. It was intimate and casual, a comfortable gathering of old friends that ended prematurely. I attended the show alone but I wasn’t lonely.
Do yourself a favor and listen to “I Just Don’t Think I’ll Ever Get Over You.” It’s a wistful story of a man who recounts a past relationship. She’s fondly preserved in his memory when he’s doing simple things like drinking his morning coffee. ”Without you here, there is less to say.” He transforms a simple sentence into a heartfelt confession. After losing someone, the most mundane things can be what you end up missing the most. You’re left wondering where your thoughts and jokes go now? So much gets left unsaid.
Hay’s comforting voice carries a richness in life experience. I imagine the subject of the song wasn’t a first or last kind of love. Regardless of the years that passed, this person has reserved a room in his heart. It’s not explicit whether things ended due to a breakup or if they passed away. Somehow the open interpretation makes it more poignant.
The stripped down acoustics lends itself to the melancholy lyrics. Every note and every word is placed thoughtfully. No component competes with the other. Part of the emotional effectiveness comes from it being a quiet song, almost a whisper.
The most romantic lyric comes at the end of the chorus, “I knew that if I lived till I could no longer climb my stairs, I just don’t think I’ll ever get over you.”
Not enough love stories talk about the absence after losing a loved one later in life. I’m not talking about the emotionally-charged weeks or months after a tearful goodbye. Rather the hole left in your heart after years or decades, even after you’ve found little touches of love. The ghost of their presence never fully leaves you when you’ve built routines around each other and watched a lover’s wrinkles etch deeper along their laugh lines. Maybe this relationship didn’t make it far enough along for that to happen, but I like to think it did.
For other Colin Hay should-be-classics, check out:
There’s something distinctly satisfying about flipping the calendar from September 30th to October 1st. Groundhog days are broken up by a cozy, intentional season. I welcome the shift.
October 1st is like my New Year’s Day. My candle-lit rituals include deep cleaning the cabin to make room for Halloween decorations, rearranging my closet from Summer to Fall and stocking up on stamps for letters and postcards to be sent off to far away places. With my orange hue rose-colored glasses, the good things seem that much better; daily inconveniences and life stressors seem more tolerable.
As a kid, I loved the idea of transforming into someone else, letting my imagination run wild and getting frightened just by the sound of the X-files theme song playing in the next room. I still love getting dressed in costume but I lean into being the weirder, more playful version of myself. I buy my favorite candy, seek out scares, and even keep the decorations out for too long (maybe even the whole year, who knows, I’ve done it before!)
I usually stick to a familiar rotation of spooky movies and shows but this year I strayed from my comfort zone and relished in new/new-to-me discoveries. From one Halloween lover to another, enjoy some binge-worthy treats to stretch out the spooky season.
Pearl:
Pearl is a small-town farm-girl with big-city aspirations of being a dancer. Trapped by an overbearing mother and sick father she’s responsible for, she’s also struggling to manage her murderous tendencies. If The Wizard of Oz was a horror film, Pearl is it. The fantastical vibrant reds and blues predominant in this film benefited on the big screen. Taking place in 1918, there were scenes of people with face-coverings to avoid the Spanish Flu. Perhaps the eeriest moment of the film was when Pearl snuck into a matinee with a mask as I was staring back at her with one on too. I normally don’t associate quality acting with the horror genre but Mia Goth deserves all the recognition in her performance as a hope-filled, complicated serial killer. Pearl lets audiences walk the line between empathizing with a monster and hoping someone intervenes and ends her rampage. Pearl is the origin story of “X,” and if you’ve seen the latter, you know she’s only warming up for her grand performance.
The Curious Creations Of Christine McConnell:
Addams Family meets Mystery Science Theater meets Martha Stewart, the crafty off-beat Netflix show is delightful to throw on while making dinner. Christine is a DIY triple threat: baker, sculptor and sewer with a penchant for Halloween. All the while, glamorously poised in tailored vintage outfits.
Inside her life size haunted dollhouse, she walks us through her masterpieces of intricate chocolate peppermint bark octopus tentacles, spooky tree candles and even a stunning red pin-up dress. Each project is more imaginative and elaborate than the next. Her soothing voice and funny banter between her kooky houseguests are a gothic fever dream.
Barbarian:
The less you know about Barbarian the better. I will say this, I hadn’t been as genuinely excited or startled by a horror film since Hereditary. The story has two, nail-biting acts and a climax that made my adrenaline pump hours after I walked out of the theater. It was such a well-thought out horror film with thrilling performances, sprinkles of humor (thanks, Justin Long) and the right amount of jump scares to color in the story-telling. Barbarian is an instant cult classic I’ll revisit year after year.
The Rental:
Released in 2020 and directed by Dave Franco the winning ensemble includes actors plucked from my favorite shows—The Bear, Downton Abbey and Madmen.
When two brothers and their partners take a coastal getaway, they are met with an unsettling Airbnb host that lives up the street. The ominous tension brims over the edges once they realize they’re being filmed. It’s a character drama first, horror film second. Something that may disappoint some audience members is actually what drew me in. The close-up look into the couple’s relationships are what made me care deeply about them. Each bad decision avalanches into a heart pumping nightmare. This film is an example of a slow-burn done right.
We Were Never Here:
An annual backpacking trip goes awry after a dead body ends up in a hotel room. Fearing their argument of self defense wouldn’t excuse them in a foreign country, the best friends cover up their tracks and vow to secrecy. When a similar situation happens the following year, the two start to question why tragedy follows them. As they handle their guilt and grief differently, the dark secrets wedge between their fragile relationship until the friendship unravels into a game of cat and mouse. It was impossible to put down. I’m filing We Were Never Here under one of my favorite books of the year and look forward to falling in the author, Andrea Bartz rabbit hole. This book reminded me of how immersive reading can be if you find the right one.
When you grow up in Florida, Summer isn’t a season, it’s a life sentence. Northerners welcome the season with open arms— a reprieve from a long dark winter indoors. In a taxi driving along Lake Michigan one Summer, I was amazed that every square inch of sand along the water was occupied. Locals were playing volleyball shoulder to shoulder and sunbathing under touching beach towels. Gleeful swimmers moved in groups like school of fish. I’d never seen such a concentration of rollerbladers on a single sidewalk. The whole city was out there with no time to waste. In comparison, the occasional dip below 75 degrees in Florida was rare – like a mirage in a desert. I thrived during those glorious cool days the way Chicagoans relished in Summer months.
When school was out I didn’t have nearby kids my age to play with. My brother would hang out with a group of neighborhood boys while I watched from the sidelines. They spent their days riding bikes around town, playing video games and throwing around a ball in the middle of our street like they owned the road. They were the kids from The Sandlot and much like the film, little sisters weren’t included. My coolness level wasn’t helped by the fact I didn’t know how to ride a bike. Two wheels gave kids a freedom I craved. I couldn’t keep up.
More than any other time of year as children, there was pressure to be having the most fun during Summer; to be doing something brag-worthy to bring up on the first day back of school.
The biggest negative impact with the warmest months was my discomfort in my skin. All throughout school, I looked about two grades younger than my classmates- a time when appearing young was not ideal. My friend’s bodies were changing in ways mine were not. It was ironic my mom didn’t let me pursue gymnastics in fear my growth would be stunted. “You won’t get any taller and it’ll screw with your menstrual cycle!” she’d say. While she may have saved me from broken bones, it hardly made a difference to my height or cup size.
Insecurities about my underdeveloped chest, short legs and gangly arms made the beach or pool a stressful place. A combination of heat and humidity caused my sensitive skin to flare up in angry rashes compounding to my stress. A trip to the dermatologist informed me of several chronic conditions that have followed me into adulthood. Eczema and a sun allergy known as Photodermatitis is filled out on every medical form. I spent an entire summer one year in my brother’s clothes because wearing anything that touched my skin was too painful. Flowy layers and long sleeves in the Florida heat were a protective armor against the elements. I was under 100 pounds and as delicate in every way you could imagine.
The irony of being born and raised in the sunshine state with an allergy to it was not lost on me. As advised by my doctor I became an avid daily sunscreen user for over a decade now. Even in the middle of winter or on gray days, SPF is always within reach. It’s helped immensely. And so has moving to a kinder climate.
Now that I’m older and wiser, I’m better able to manage my skin conditions and insecurities (thank you steroid creams and cooling Calamine lotion. And to the collection of cute sports bras that make me feel strong). I’m proud of my body for taking me to all the places it has. Sometimes it’s easy to look back at old photos of yourself and realize how cool you actually were and how great you really looked in retrospect. I’m choosing to appreciate my body where it is now and give myself credit the way my future-self would.
One of the things I was drawn to right away about my partner was his rich curiosity for nature. Empty pockets in college never stopped us from doing cool things together. Thanks to him, I got to live out the outdoorsy childhood summers I never had. He introduced me to camping, hiking, and cross country road-trips- things he was no stranger to growing up in the Carolinas. His brothers and neighborhood buddies would play outside by the creek unsupervised until his mom would call them in for dinner.
In recent years I can happily say I’m softening up to Summer. Thanks to my adventurous and encouraging partner and the milder weather in the Santa Cruz mountains, I see the longer days as ripe with opportunity instead of dread.
My town comes alive in a similar way it does on Lake Michigan. I can’t drive by the main cross street of town without seeing a neon poster alerting me of a farmers market here or garage sale there, causing fun shifts in my weekend plans. Parking lots to the local state parks spill out onto the street. There’s a buzz in the air. Summer invites people outside to be among a community; to be a little more in the moment. When I catch myself complaining about the Summer traffic of our unique beachy mountain town, I stop and remind myself how lucky I am to live where I do. We’re all just trying to have our Lake Michigan moment.
Instead of wishing Summer away, I’m leaning into July with a special bucket list. As my fellow late bloomers can understand, it’s better late than never.
-Enjoy melty ice cream by the lake
-Buy a bathing suit to replace the one I’ve owned for over seven years
-Take new bathing suit to a hot spring
-Family camping trips
-Bake a lemon cake from scratch
-Play tourist in a new town in my home state
-Travel for cheap by reading books set in places I want to visit
-Increase the female energy in my life and make friends on Bumble BFF
-Print out last years film photos
-Alameda Antique Fair
-Stock up on stationary and write people out of the blue
-Piece together a Halloween Costume from thrift stores (ideally planning and crafting starts mid-summer)
I was the tender age of nine when I got my first taste of a broken heart. Surprisingly, the end of a week-long relationship with my fifth-grade boyfriend that same year wasn’t the cause. My parents took my me and my brother to Magnolia Theater to see the PG-13 film everybody was buzzing about. Miraculously, the Titanic kept my attention for the entire runtime of three hours and 14 minutes. I fell head over heels for Leonardo DiCaprio with the rest of the world while simultaneously being weighed down by the crushing historical tragedy. As a highly sensitive child, I held out hope for a redeeming Hollywood ending that never came. In Jack and Rose’s final moments, my young mind couldn’t fathom a world where they didn’t safely end up together. Lead characters weren’t supposed to die. How could I possibly untether the fictional characters from fact? (Mind you, Google wasn’t able to provide quick fact-checking back then). Their love story was as real to me as the wreckage found on the depths of the ocean floor. My world was rocked.
By the time the credits rolled, I was living in between two worlds- one foot was suspended in childhood and the other was stretching into adult territory. From my heartache, grew a penchant for more serious films about love and loss. I was tired of predictable happy endings. Any protective cushion in kid’s programming seemed like a sham. The raw and tender variety were a more honest depiction of real life, not to mention a hell of a lot more interesting.
Call it a coping mechanism, but sometimes observing someone else’s crappy scenario makes our own seem less crappy in comparison. During puberty I was under the impression that if I studied these teen and R-rated dramas hard enough, I could navigate through life easier. Witnessing the anguish and longing firsthand prepared me for when real heartache eventually met me at my doorstep. Like many other children of the nineties, television and movie screens were a babysitter. A teacher.
If you’re anything like me, you’ll find the emotional hangover strangely satisfying. Like returning to an ex you know is bad news, I regularly revisit my broken hearts through my film rotation. Please enjoy my go-to recommendations that hurt so good.
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
After a painful breakup, shy and risk-averse Joel and impulsive, quirky Clementine undergo an elective procedure to erase their memory of each other. Desperate to call the whole thing off mid-way through, Joel realizes happiness is worth remembering even if it’s temporary.
At first glance, Jim Carey and Kate Winslet may appear like an odd pairing (the same can be said of her and Jack Black in The Holiday) but if you’ve seen either you realize that something about them together makes perfect sense. I stand by my claim that both actors give the best performance of their prolific careers.
The non-linear storytelling is told from the inside of Joel’s mind — a jumbled up knot of overthinking, past arguments, tender moments and the regret of walking away. The watching experience feels like a fever dream and for me, a hit of nostalgia since I’ve revisited it every year since high school. It’s weird and trippy and emotionally exhausting at times but, I do consider it a deeply thought-provoking romance at its core. When it’s over, it just might give you a strange urge to visit Montauk.
Like Crazy
At the height of their whirlwind romance, an expired student visa wedges thousands of miles between Anna and Jacob. Their once young care-free relationship spent intertwined with each other all summer is put to the test as they navigate the uncertainty of long distance. Budding careers and the flourishing social life of twenty-somethings adds a complexity to the plot that deeply resonated with me.
It was comforting to come across this film while in the throes of my own long distance relationship. No one in my friend circle was experiencing one at the time. In a way it was like having something to compare notes with. I was less alone.
This is a classic example of a movie that makes you forget you’re watching one. You feel like a fly on the wall in their relationship with the naturalistic script and improv giving it a veil of sincerity. I gather they were each other’s first serious relationship. Their inexperience came off in in a very believable way. Moments of tension grow slowly from scene to scene. So much is revealed by their body language and the stretches of silence. The patient pacing of the film feels like watching their love unfold and fall apart in real-time.
Blue Valentine
An examination of the crumbling marriage between working-class parents Cindy and Dean. The ghost of their budding relationship follows them around as it weaves in and out of their hopeful past.
Ryan Gosling as Dean, and Michelle Williams as Cindy have an undeniable chemistry delivering raw and moving performances. Neither play a villain or a hero – just deeply complex and flawed individuals. One being already halfway out the door while the other begs them to stay.
The genuine performances of the small supporting cast felt as though they pulled real-people off the streets of New York, in the best way. Despite the A-list leads, the independent drama pulls back the curtain on Hollywood. It makes the whole experience feel so real, you can touch it.
The stark contrast between their madly in love beginnings and their strained and distant current circumstances represent the way many people reflect on relationships nearing the end – in extremes. If you have a pulse at all, this film is guaranteed to put you in a funk. But I promise it’s not all depressing. A delightful ukulele and tap dancing scene will offer reprieve from the heaviness.
I squeezed in a good amount of reading, despite this being a busier month. My social life is slowly picking up, but I still cherish the precious time I have on the corner of the couch reading by a window. It continues to center me. The mixed bag of stories accompanied me on some long car rides, a camping trip, and a couple of flights. They held my hand during some of life’s recent high high’s and low low’s.
For the foodies: A devoted restaurant owner is doing her best to keep her French Cafe alive, while an English food critic is trying to make a name for himself in a new city. Their worlds collide on a chance encounter. They decide to go with it under one condition: they don’t discuss work. But one bad review changes everything.
The charming and funny tale of a budding new romance with a secret is also an unexpected love letter to Milwaukee. The author talks so affectionately of the underdog city (and to the art of cooking). Whether the details are coming directly from experience or from incredibly knowledgeable sources, she’s done her research. I believed and hung onto every word.
I instantly connected to the characters. Lou, the creative and hopeful chef who loves her people fiercely. Al, the honest writer who beyond his rough around the edges exterior, has a heart of gold. The way their friendship unraveled organically overtime was worth rooting for. The pair also had the most original “meet-cute” of all romance novels and 90’s comedies.
I’d love to share a cheese centered meal and beer with Lou and Al in a city I now see in a new light.
The Coincidence of Coconut Cake was my most enjoyable book of the year, and probably top five of all time. The author’s writing style has captured my heart and my stomach.
5/5 mugs
For the nail biters: After a random traumatizing attack, Brienne Dougray is left with some memory loss, headaches, and a general fear of leaving home. As she deals with her loss of safety and loss of self, she realizes she doesn’t have friends or family to turn to except for a kind tenant, Niall who offers her some companionship.
Once she comes across a piece of mail sent to the wrong address, she uncovers a case of stolen identity. Someone has an apartment in her name, shares the same haircut, the same car and lives in the same city leaving her to question the little memory she has left. The more she searches for answers, the more questions she’s faced with.
Halfway through the novel, the plot takes a major turn becoming something entirely different. For me, the “reveal” presented itself too early and everything following it was way too far-fetched.
The story became disjointed, and it lost steam in the last half. So did my interest. It’s not a book for me, but considering it was a free selection on my Kindle, I’m not too disappointed.
2/5 mugs
For the connoisseur of psychologic thrillers: The Sunday Times best seller is about a widow accused of killing her husband who suddenly stops speaking after the crime. After years of media attention, she eventually fades into obscurity at a Mental Health Facility until a Criminal Psychotherapist takes a personal interest in her. He’s determined to help her find her voice again and get the answers he’s so desperate for.
As he uncovers more about his mute patient and the relationship she had with her husband, he gets himself deeply entwined in the spider web of her complicated life.
I can see why there was so much buzz around this twisted and original book as it sold over a million copies since it’s 2019 release. Because I was slightly clued in that The Silent Patient fell under the “thriller” genre I was hesitant to pick it up right away. I love when a book is gripping and steals all your attention, and this definitely fit the bill. But for material so dark, you should be in the right headspace before ingesting it. It’s not for the faint hearted.
A five hour flight feel like no time had passed at all with this novel in hand. It’s the perfect kind of travel buddy. Even after the plane touched the tarmac, I had trouble putting it down.
The narrative was a slow-burn with clues and red herrings that had me guessing up a handful of wrong outcomes. It was a wild ride. One I’m glad I went on but I’m glad to exit from.
Trigger warning: the subject matter includes mental illness, childhood trauma and violent homicide.
4.5/5 mugs
For the seventies child: I somehow forgot to add this to last month’s book report but I promise it is not a forgettable read.
Another NY Times Best Seller, Daisy Jones and the Six follows the iconic fictional rise and fall to rock n’ roll fame. Told in an interview style with each of her bandmates, Daisy is the center of the story. She is an enigmatic beautiful creature who despite her cushy and charmed lifestyle is also very broken and deeply lonely. She tries to fill the void with partying, drugs, and sex until she is discovered for her talent. Her sultry voice quickly turns her from roadie to a star who’s excessive lifestyle only intensifies as the band gains popularity.
With heavy Almost Famous vibes, there was so much grit and tension, I could almost smell the alcohol, cigarettes and loud guitar riffs emanating from the pages. Word on the street is a miniseries adaptation of Daisy Jones and The Six will be streaming in the near future. Stay tuned.
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