Somehow, all at once, it became May.
The calendar filled itself before I had the chance to look at it properly. Baby showers. Galas. End-of-school events. Group texts turn into plans and somehow entire weekends disappear between grocery runs, obligations, that new show at Moonlight, and trying to answer emails before midnight.
Life starts moving faster around this time of year and if you are not paying attention, you can go weeks without asking yourself whether you are actually okay or simply keeping up.
Being on that track, I had to ask myself it means to recharge. Not in the performative “self care” kind of way, but in the real sense. You know, the kind that actually gives you your energy back and that reminds you who you are underneath the schedules and responsibilities and noise.
Last week, I took a trip to Sequoia National Park and stayed in a small cabin next to a creek. I spent mornings reading my book outside while the water ran beside me, steady and loud enough to drown out every unnecessary thought. A deer wandered by every day and a family of chipmunks kept appearing like tiny landlords checking on the property. One morning there were wild turkeys crossing through the trees as if they had somewhere important to be.
At night, the stars were so bright it almost felt disorienting. No city glow. No notifications. Just darkness and sky and the strange realization that the world keeps moving whether we are staring at our phones or not.
Nature has a way of humbling you like that. It makes you feel very small, but somehow more connected at the same time.
I kept thinking about the creek outside the cabin. It never stopped moving. Day and night. Around rocks, through branches, over uneven ground. Water always finds a way. I think people are supposed to be a little more like that. Softer sometimes. More adaptable. Less afraid of rerouting when life changes direction.
The trip also included helping my friends at Hearth and Harvest cater a wedding. The glamorous side of community building. But honestly, those moments matter the most. I think that is one of the most overlooked parts of friendship as adults. Sometimes community looks less like perfectly planned dinners and more like showing up to help, spending hours together doing ordinary things, and realizing afterward that those are usually the moments you remember most.
And the funny thing is, I always feel like I gain more than I give.
Travel changes you. New experiences stretch you open a little wider. But routine grounds you again afterward. Coming home reminded me how much I love my life here. My friends. My gym buddies. Local breweries. Beach walks. World famous lasagnas. The little rituals that make a place feel like yours.
It also reminds me how proud I am of what we built at allmine.
Every time I leave, I come back with fresh eyes and realize our standards are high for a reason. The team cares deeply. The food keeps evolving. The hospitality keeps getting stronger. We raise the bar constantly because we believe people can feel the difference when something is built with intention.
Anyway. This is your reminder to pause somewhere this month, even briefly. Sit outside longer than usual. Take the drive. Read the book. Visit the friend. Watch the creek. Let your nervous system catch up to your life.
Then come see what’s new this week.
Food that hugs you back.
Roxana
