Comfort Zones

For being one who craves new adventures, I sure do love my comfort zones.

I love going to shows of bands I’ve never seen — and then hopping back in my car and putting on old mixtapes. I love going to brunch and choosing new exotic menu items while sipping on jalapeño infused vodka beverages — and then getting back home and warming up yesterday’s leftovers for dinner. I love interacting with strangers all day, hearing their stories and seeing their hearts — and then coming home to tuck my son in bed.

I just took a mini hiatus from blogging to revisit the comfort zone of my worn leather-bound journal. I hadn’t written in my journal for months, and realized I was approaching blogging as replacement rather than a supplement to my much-needed practice of processing life though a pen. As much as I have loved the new adventure of blogging this year, there is nothing like curling up on my couch with my journal and unwinding through pages of handwritten thought.

Now that I am keenly aware of my need to make time for personal processing as well, I am back. Ready to share unchartered territory. Ready to recount fresh steps. Ready to recall bold menu selections.

I’m honored that you have chosen to spend your time hanging out with me as I recap the adventures. Can I offer you some warmed up leftovers?



  1. Yes. But then can we go drive around until we find some undiscovered quaint little place that offers the most amazing rosemary chocolate souffle ever? Thanks.

  2. Just to balance out the sisterly comments, I would prefer if you would include pictures in your posting…It helps reign in my attention.
    and, welcome back. Journals are so mainstream.

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