My (Pretty Much) Whole30

Have you heard of the Whole30? Maybe you kind of know what it is? Well, I did one. Here’s how it went down. Brace yourself, this is kind of a long one. Thank goodness for amateur food photography.
Wait, what exactly is the Whole30? In a nutshell, it’s 30 days of no-excuses super clean eating. You focus on whole, unprocessed foods of the highest quality you can afford, and eliminate all foods that have been found to cause any kind of inflammation, cravings, or irritation in your body. The idea is to do some internal healing – gut, hormones, and blood sugar levels, etc., and also get a firm handle on any emotional issues involved with food. So what does that mean, exactly? As I heard someone say the other day: If you can grow it, farm it, or fish it, you can eat it. Which is pretty close.  Continue reading



‘That is very kind of you,’ said Dorthea, looking up at Mr. Casaubon with delight. ‘It is noble. After all, people may really have in them some vocation which is not quite plain to themselves, may they not? They may seem idle and weak because they are growing. We should be very patient with each other, I think.'”

George Eliot, Middlemarch

Hello Again

Screen Time Calamity
Where Have I Been?
Is this Blog On?

Those are all titles for this post that I scrapped.

See that picture up there? The one with the dual monitors and no outdoor view? That’s the view from my home office, where I work when I mean business. Business without distractions.

See the date on the last post for this blog? Yes, that’s January. These two things are related, stay with me.

In late December I began working remotely. No more office time required. Huzzah! Free time and soft pants! That was true…mostly. But the one thing that suffered in a big, ugly way? My desire to spend any more time than necessary on the computer. I know there are people who work 40-hour weeks at an office in front of a screen and maintain a thriving, visually appealing, Pinterest-and-Instagram-worthy-professional blog. I’m not sure how those people do it. Maybe that’s their only hobby? I shudder to think.

There’s got to be a balance out there somewhere. I have a few ideas up my sleeve to breathe new life into the whole working-remotely thing. (Step one: I’m doing it wrong. Remote doesn’t mean home.) My goal is that some new structure and a few plans will lead to more inspiration.

To break the increasing stage fright of posting after such a long hiatus, I had to finally DO something, even if it was short.

Don’t let the perfect be the enemy of the good. Frequency nurtures frequency. (Thanks, Voltaire and Gretchen Rubin!) Here’s hoping!

While You Were Out…

Al Warrior 33149
Here’s the thing with blogs about adventure or traveling. In order to have content, you have to you know, travel. My sincerest apologies for the radio-silence the past few weeks. I’ve been out exploring and collecting memories. I’ll be back later this week with some updates, recommended reading, and reports from the field.

I hope everyone’s August has been filled with the things that make Summer great.



Literary Nostalgia

Every once in awhile, when I hear about someone teaching or studying literature, I feel a pang of nostalgia and remorse, all at once. It’s my one-that-got-away, my if-only. And as of late, I’ve found myself especially sensitive to the harshness of the world and its over-wrought media. So it’s only fitting that this poem, particularly the first line, has been resounding in my head quite a bit these past few weeks.

The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon,
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers,
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not. – Great God! I’d rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.

– William Wordsworth