Travel, food, wine, books, and the art of living boldly after the kids leave.
Pick Your Spritz, Pick Your Summer Trip
I no longer believe every trip has to start with a landmark.
Sometimes the better question is:
Where do I want to be at 5 p.m.?
Which Beach Club Traveler Are You?
There comes a point in life when a beach day should not require emotional labor.
I do not want to fight for a chair. I do not want to drag seventeen bags across hot sand. I do not want to discover too late that “beach bar” means warm beer, questionable bathrooms, and nowhere to sit unless you arrived at sunrise.
I have entered my reserved daybed chapter.
And honestly? I recommend it.
But the thing about beach clubs is that they are not one-size-fits-all. Some people want music, people-watching, and a little glam. Some want turquoise water, quiet luxury, and the feeling of disappearing somewhere beautiful. Some want linen, mezcal, and barefoot bohemian energy. And some of us are choosing the entire destination based on lunch.
The Book, the Bottle, and the Question They Share
Some pairings begin with a title.
I opened The Safekeep at a candlelit bar with a glass of Barone Fini Pinot Grigio, mostly because both happened to be in front of me at the same time. I wasn't looking for a connection. At first, they seemed unrelated, a taut, unsettling Dutch novel and a clean, mineral Italian white from the hills of Trentino.
Then I started reading.
Dinner for Two and Nobody's Complaining
For years, cooking was tangled up with feeding. Feeding kids who suddenly didn't like mushrooms after loving them last week. Feeding a household that wanted tacos when I'd already started pasta. Feeding people on a schedule, on a ticking timeline, on fumes. I loved my family around that table. But some nights, the kitchen felt less like a creative act and more like a shift I couldn't clock out of.
What a Greek Island Known for Bar Culture Taught Me About Doing Nothing
We had plans that day.
A beach on the other side of the island. A restaurant the concierge had recommended. A sunset viewpoint we’d bookmarked in our notes months ago.
Then, the cat who served as hostess to our suite, jumped into my lap, and I happily used her as an excuse to stay put. Who am I to disrupt my host?
So put we stayed.
The Permission Slip Nobody Gave Me (So I Wrote My Own)
Choose one thing you’ve been secretly wanting to try.
Then take one small action toward it this week. Just one. Book the class. Buy the lipstick. Open the damn document.
Don’t wait to be ready. Just begin.