It's been almost a year and a half since I returned from my tour through Europe, and I still haven't wrapped up my travel posts. (In fact, I'm barely halfway through them.) This, my friends, is how I know I'm a world-class procrastinator.

While I find it incredibly enjoyable to share my travel experiences on my blog (and hope to continue to do so in a more timely manner from now on), writing about the trips I've taken is, I'll admit, somewhat challenging. Sure, it's easy to summarize the things we did and saw in each city, but I can't imagine how boring that must be to read! Especially when nothing I say will ever do the real thing justice. So the question remains: How does one thoroughly (and creatively) depict a month of endless travel and adventure through mere words?

Well, I'm still trying to figure that out. But one thing's for sure: long-windedness is the root of all evil when it comes to these sorts of posts. So, for your sake, I'mma keep it short. (She said.)

If I could choose to live in any of the cities we traveled to last summer, Munich would definitely be at the top of my list. Its laidback vibe, booming nightlife, and friendly people reminded so much of Austin that it made me nostalgic for my college days. But before we even made it there, the coach dropped us off at what used to be the Dachau concentration camp. Walking through the museum and around the grounds was both incredibly eye-opening and deeply moving. An experience I'll never forget. Kristen and I were so absorbed in our thoughts that we almost missed the bus to leave two hours later, and we ended up sprinting about half a mile to the exit, flip-flops and heavy backpacks flailing about.

Once in the city, we had about 30 hours to explore. Within that time, we stumbled into a gay pride festival (where we befriended David the traveling Irishman), toured the city on pink beach cruisers, ate lunch in a bustling beer garden, and attended Holy Mass at St. Peter's. But the best moment had to be when we jumped in the Eisbach, an ice-cold channel that runs through the middle of Munich. Once you jump, there's no turning back—it will carry you like a leaf all the way downstream. After passing beneath the second bridge, we were instructed to get to the side and jump out as quickly as possible so as not to hit the brave souls surfing the waves. Even though making it out was somewhat treacherous, Kristen and I couldn't help but go for round two.

To say that the past week has been a whirlwind would be an understatement. I knew that last Saturday would flash before my eyes in record speed, but the seven days after came and went just as quickly.

There are really no words to describe the adventure it has been, this whole being married thing. Happiness, joy, excitement? Those don't even begin to cover it.
The events of September 18-19th were surreal for me, to say the least. Every emotional and adrenaline-fueled moment, from the start of the rehearsal to the reception send-off, was entirely too much to take in at the time. Some brides can't help but cry happy tears on their wedding day, but all I could do was smile. Many of the memories from the day are still playing out in my head, over and over again, as if my mind is trying desperately not to forget a single detail. A week later, I'm still processing it all.

I was a little bit anxious in the hour leading up to the wedding ceremony (just ask my poor bridesmaids, who were super supportive the entire time) but as soon as the doors to the chapel were opened and I laid my eyes on my handsome groom, the nerves disappeared and elation took their place.
The Catholic ceremony was beautiful, one of my favorite bits of the whole weekend, and the vineyard reception to follow was an absolute blast. My father gave a speech of a lifetime, the sweet words of which I'll forever hold close to my heart, and all of our guests spent the better part of the evening on the dance floor. It was easily one of the most memorable nights of my life thus far, not just because I got to marry the man of my dreams, but because for the first time, Scott and I were blessed to witness the gathering together of our two incredible families—and to experience them truly become one. Such an amazing thing to behold.

We are so grateful to all those who traveled to Spicewood to celebrate with us last weekend. Our special day (and all of the days leading up to it) would not have been the same without each and every one of you.

I can't tell you how long I've wanted to visit the East Coast. So when my best friend and her sweet mama asked my mother and me to go on a girls' trip to Charleston, we jumped at the chance. For three days, the four of us toured the city on foot. All of the historic houses were exquisite, and we were lucky enough to stay in one of our own.

While there, I ate my weight in shrimp and grits. I took a photo with a pineapple fountain, and another on Rainbow Row. After unsuccessfully trying to convince the group to join me on a ghost tour, we drank wine on our 19th century porch instead. Saw the inside of an antebellum era plantation home. Got rained on twice, the first time taking cover in a spirit distillery; the second, under a canopy of giant oak trees draped with Spanish moss. We window shopped the finest stores on King Street, and stopped for coffee every other hour.

Never have I seen so many dessert and coffee shops in one place before. Two or three on every block! That alone made Charleston my picture of perfection.

So I started thinking. What kind of health and fitness plan could I adopt for the next 60 days in order to look and feel like a million bucks—without depriving myself?

The Paleo Diet? Nah, that's for starving cavemen. I could go vegan... nutrition for hippies! No, thanks. Gluten-free is all the rage these days, because apparently bread is making us fat. Um, negative. My guess is it's just another basic white-girl fad. Intermittent fasting might be a good one to consider, albeit a little out of the box. But honestly, a day without breakfast is a sad one in my book.

Then it hit me. What if I tried intermittent snacking instead? That's something even I could get behind! On a painstakingly slow day at the office, when my eyes can barely stay open (much less focused on a computer screen), the easiest way to survive nine hours at a desk is to munch. It really does make the day go by a lot faster. Plus, snacking's been proven to rev up the metabolism, right? It's a win-win!

The Diet: Basically, I eat and drink a variety of foods and beverages (whatever I'm craving, really) throughout the day, usually in one-hour increments. This way, I rarely get hungry (read: hangry) or lack energy, and my body's constantly burning calories!

The first week, I decide to keep a food journal for informational purposes. Last Tuesday is a great example of my new eating habits, and also the only day I bothered to collect photographic evidence. This is what dedication to health looks like, my friends.

Food Journal for July 14th (with Photos)

6:30am | I start off the morning with a small handful of berries before leaving my apartment. Berries are good for you...full of antioxidants! But not much else. On the way to work, my stomach is growling like an angry gremlin, so I recklessly gobble down the last RX bar I can find in my gargantuan tote bag. A Coffee Cacao flavored one, you should know. (The best.) Twelve grams of protein will hold me over until lunch, I think. Totes.
7:00am | Once in the office, however, as I'm powering up my computer, it dawns on me that Amille's Café owes me a free drink via my completed punch card. From the way I'm smiling like a fool, you would think I won the lottery. Not ten minutes after arriving, there I go, practically skipping down to the tunnel to claim my free iced coffee (with a splash of whole milk, please). Coffee = energy. Energy = happiness. And happy people just don't shoot their husbands. Or fiancés.
10:00am | In the middle of a phone call about shut-in tubing pressures, I smell the salty deliciousness of crispy bacon wafting through the halls. That can only mean one thing: a bag of breakfast tacos are in the break room, and it has my name written all over it. How did I not remember it was Taco Tuesday? Damn RX bar. Okay, breathe. I can resist the temptation of a delicious taco if I try really hard. Maybe they will be all gone, I tell myself. I'll grab a bottle of water from the fridge instead. Gotta hydrate!

But no, there it is sitting on the counter next to the microwave, that beautiful white paper sack full of bacony goodne-- huh? SAUSAGE? What monstrosity is this? I KNOW I smelled bacon. Hmm... Oh, wait, I think I see it! Hidden at the bottom in between little cups of spicy salsa: one bacon, egg, and cheese taco. One left! This is providence. I can't just waste this lonely bacon-filled breakfast of champions, can I? Anyway, I'm working out today.
1:00pm | The caffeine from my morning coffee begins to wear off. I have just returned from the gym, where I spent thirty minutes on one of those stationary bikes. Jogging is my preferred method of cardio, but I'm currently nose-deep in the first book of the Divergent trilogy, and I CAN'T. PUT. IT. DOWN. I'll admit, my workout was kind of a joke. But in the chapter I just finished, Tobias kisses Tris for the first time, sooo I can't really say I care. (Oh, whoops, SPOILER ALERT.)

Even though I'm not terribly hungry, I go ahead and heat up my lunch anyway. (They say the best time to eat is 30 minutes to an hour after exercising. Although, I'm not exactly sure who they are.) Today, I have leftovers from the previous night's Thai takeout: vegetable red curry over black rice, my new favorite meal of all time. I've never eaten anything as soothing as curry. Give me some Asian comfort food any day.
Mmm, just look at those veggies!

2:00pm | Fast forward an hour, and I'm craving something sweet. Good thing I keep a bar of 88% dark chocolate in my desk. Endangered Species is my favorite brand, because it helps save the animals. (And I'm all about saving animals.) I nibble on a couple of squares. Thank God for chocolate, amIright? The darker, the better! I convince myself mid-swallow that there's no way I could ever live without it, in fact. As I check my work email for the hundredth time (nothing new), I begin to wonder what other material things I couldn't live without. The internet (sigh), Q-tips, books, coffee...
Which reminds me, I NEED COFFEE.

2:30pm | Rather than making my way down to Amille's for the second time today (don't want the baristas thinking I have a problem...), I decide to take a walk to the nearby convenience store to pick up a few needed items while I'm at it. Inside the shiny glass doors of the refrigerated section, I spot this gem of a beverage sitting on the bottom right between a Russian Java Monster and a sugar-free Red Bull: Starbucks Lightly Sweetened Iced Coffee.

It's only been a few days, but so far, I've found that it works wonders! On my mood, at least. (Verdict's still out on my waistline.)

Dinner photo by Joe S. found here.

You're like a great book I only get to read one page at a time.

Around two years ago, I was living in Austin with one last semester of school ahead of me. I had two part-time marketing jobs, both of which allowed me to work from home and to focus on the things I really enjoy: taking and editing photos, managing social media accounts, blogging about real weddings and local hot spots and other things of that nature.

The summer of '13 was a quiet one. I lived alone in a one-bedroom apartment off of Guadalupe, only five minutes from downtown. Almost all of my friends were either away on holiday or completing their own internships elsewhere before the start of our highly anticipated senior year. And for the first time since I'd moved to the city in 2010, Austin seemed deserted. Campus, a ghost town.

My days felt long and empty compared to the strictly scheduled madness of the previous semester, and I was thankful for the break. From mid-morning to late afternoon, I'd hop from one small café to another in search of the most comfortable creative space, delighted by each change of scenery. My evenings were reserved specifically for Felicity marathons, with the occasional tête-à-tête at Trudy's (when their famous Mexican Martinis beckoned) or a night out on Rainey Street sometimes thrown in the mix. Thinking back, I remember finding the utter seclusion surprisingly blissful. It was all I needed, the refreshing loneliness of an agenda-less summer.


I walked to Kerbey Lane at 9:00 in the morning, asked for a booth by the window, and ordered a chocolate coffee (heavy on the coffee) to get my creative juices flowing. Pandora and the Beats headphones I got for Christmas helped drown out the little bit of noise one could expect on campus in mid-July. Summer Ames started to sing a new favorite, and the unbeatable combination of caffeine and musical inspiration flowed through my veins. Taking my Macbook from my bag, I set it gently on the table and powered it up, eager to check my to-do list for the day.

But not before first scanning my Inbox for something worth reading. Heart beating a little too fast, my eyes fell on a familiar subject line, and then his name in bold. Another lengthy letter, awaiting my response.

Two years can seem like an eternity. But it's merely a minute in which everything can change.


We nostalgics have an encumbering tendency to idealize past phases of our lives, to look back on "the good ol' days" longingly and wish we could somehow experience them again. Almost always, positive memories replace any negative feelings that might have existed—even if that particular point in time was just as hard, just as mundane, or just as bittersweet as the stage we're currently in. Our brain's way of protecting us, I suppose. Good or bad, we mourn what's no longer ours. And then wonder how many of our precious moments have been taken for granted in the process.

This happens to me a lot, I'll admit, but that July was different. I wasn't looking back. I knew what I had was good, special. Rare. More than happiness, I felt a sense of wholeness. I was content, fully reveling in the simplicity of my daily routine. Eat, create, play, sleep. Rinse, repeat. I was exactly where I wanted to be, and although my life might have appeared boring from the outside, restlessness never once grabbed hold of me.

And so, when the messages started coming, I savored each sentence with cautious abandon.  I let myself get lost in the thrill of an unread reply and the subtle mystery of his kind words. It was a slow and steady build. The hints were there, and I hinted back ever so obviously, overjoyed by the notion of seeing him again. Invigorated by the possibility of face-to-face conversations, or any semblance of a future as... friends? Something else? I couldn't be sure. But even greater than my desire to define what we had, I wanted my world to go unchanged for just a few moments more. To linger on that delicate threshold between curiosity and commitment, a lovely little balancing act for two.

The summer before graduation was like a great book I could only read one page at a time. And it pulled me in unexpectedly. Gradually at first, and then all at once.

I didn't know then that my life was about to change for good. That the sense of peace I felt in the days leading up to an inevitable August were preparing me for a kind of chaos that I'd not yet experienced in my twenty-one years. The kind of chaos that turns your life upside down and makes you come undone, piece by piece. That keeps you up at night thinking, I will miss this. Someday, I'll miss this beyond words.

Photo by Caio Resende.

Let's be real for a second, you guys. If you've graduated in the recent past, then you know that the first few years out of college can be...well, tough. We've established this already, remember? The "real world" isn't everything it's cracked up to be, and I'd be willing to bet it didn't take you long to figure that out. Sure, college could be overwhelming and even downright stressful at times. (Thank God real life doesn't come with homework.) But in reality, school is child's play compared to this complicated thing we call adulthood. And when you find yourself completely immersed in the beginning stages, your life starts to look an awful like that mediocre coming-to-age rom-com starring none other than Alexis Bledel (because who else would play you in the story of your life?).

That is, until the creators of That First Year asked me to contribute as a guest writer. If you haven't heard of their website, go and check it out immediately. It's full of tips, tricks, and tidbits of wisdom from a handful of wonderful women who have been there, learning to endure the sinking feeling that seeps in once the excitement of the graduation party has died down, and only a dreadful "what now?" remains. Reading about the experiences of those in similar situations helped me survive my first year out of college, and for that reason, I jumped at the chance to share my own.

And so, after a short break from blogging, I decided to revisit the mangled maze of uninterrupted thought I had jotted down a week or two before. After all, if even one person could relate to the challenges I was going through, it had to be worth finally confronting and sorting through the real insecurities and lingering doubt behind my steady stream of consciousness. Hours of editing and a few realizations later, I submitted my personal essay, which you can find in its entirety here.

If the lovely ladies of That First Year hadn't reached out to me when they did, I probably wouldn't have bothered going back to that unfinished blog post in my draft list. And the small yet eye-opening revelations hidden in that mess of words might still be lost on me. It's funny how some opportunities arise just when we need them most.

P.S. My best friend (and beautiful wordsmith) Kristen wrote this article for their blog. It's all sorts of amazing!

Sometimes a girl just needs a break. A chance to step away for a bit—from the office, the city that greets her every morning, the people she rarely gets the chance to miss—to see her life for what it truly is.

Sometimes, a girl just needs to go to New York City.

I'm smack-dab in the middle of planning a wedding for early fall. (Late summer, technically. But that makes it seem scary close.) Three months from now, the incessant planning will finally come to an end and the daunting to-do lists will expire. My name will change, and I will become a we.

Ninety-six days left. Of doing, making, arranging, preparing. What they don't tell you is that getting married, while exciting, is a lot of work. And halfway through, the idea of eloping starts to sound really appealing. (Kidding, Mom!) Truth be told, I've actually had a pretty smooth engagement, all things considered. Thanks in large part to a supportive fiancé and a small team of helpful loved ones who are so much better at this than I am. My poor mother is getting the brunt of the design decisions—as I've never had an eye for details—and she handles it like a champ. I, on the other hand, wasn't meant to plan parties of such large proportions. Get-togethers with old friends, sure. A movie night or a weekend getaway, perhaps. But this? This is out of my league.

Either way, it's still happening. I'm marrying the love of my life, a sobering truth that brings peace when I'm losing my mind in the happily ever after of invitation addressing and shoe shopping and cake tasting. I don't think the reality of the situation has hit me quite yet, even now, and it probably won't until the minute before or the morning after. (Nothing ever does.) Still, just saying the words out loud sends a small jolt of adrenaline through my blood, reminding me of the gravity of what's coming.



The plane landed after 10pm on a Thursday night. We hurried through the vaguely familiar airport, buzzing with tired travelers. En route to baggage claim, I received a phone call from an unknown number: our car was waiting. Within minutes, we were flying down the freeway, headed towards a dark oasis of tall buildings and glittering lights. The city that never sleeps. We had four whole days ahead of us, with hardly any plans at all. No arrangements to make or to-do lists to check off. Just the anticipation of tomorrow and the particular freedom that a foreign place can provide.

The freedom to roam busy streets. To lay on your back in the park, bloody knees exposed, in a sea of nameless strangers. People-watching at its finest. To wander bookstores for hours and drink coffee as the sun's going down, because sleep won over until noon and it only now feels like morning. To eat pizza in your pajamas on the floor of your friend's bedroom, laughter drowning out the voices of Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks on the television. To dance wildly with your eyes closed, a gin and tonic in one hand and your best friend's in another. The subtle taste of lime and cigarette smoke settling on your tongue. To lose your phone in the chaos of the crowd and not care, because life is too short and the show must go on.

I could see the possibilities played out in front of me as we drove into Manhattan, Taylor Swift's "Welcome to New York" blaring on the radio (or maybe just in our heads). Stopped in traffic on a bridge crossing the East River, I fell in love with the starless night and the shimmering skyscrapers reflected in the water below.



The big picture is always glazed over, idealized, glamorous. Somewhere between dream and reality. And every once in a while, we need to see it. We need to witness the beauty, the wonder, the glory of a scene from far away in order to appreciate the fragments of a life up close. And to feel, for just a few minutes, how small we are in comparison.
So that when we step back into ourselves, into our tiny lives, we remember where we truly belong.
An escape here and there is necessary, almost vital for a change of thinking and a renewal of self. A reminder of what you have, and what you'd hate to lose. It brings meaning back to the daily struggle, encourages you to appreciate the parts of the whole. To know, without a doubt, that your own little corner is beautiful, too. Beautiful, blessed, and solely yours.