Last night, I stood on the balcony of my stateroom, surrounded by nothing but ocean. It was so dark—truly dark—with the exception of a soft glow where the moonlight stretched across the water’s surface. It was beautiful, and in that quiet moment, I let the peace of it settle into me.
It brought back a memory of a conversation I once had with Jarrett when he was deployed. He told me about being on the deck of the ship at night when they turned off every single light. There’s a term for it, though I can’t quite recall it now. But he described how the sky would be overcast, with no stars, no moonlight—just darkness. Complete and total. He said he could hold his hand up in front of his face and not see a thing. I can’t even begin to imagine what that kind of darkness feels like.
Sometimes, I think we create our own darkness. Whether it’s through worry, fear, or the weight of things we can’t quite let go of, we find ourselves in a space where we can’t—or won’t—let the light in. But here’s the thing: even in the deepest, stillest darkness, there’s almost always a hint of light, if we let ourselves see it.
That sliver of moonlight reminded me that it’s not about waiting for brightness to return—it’s about allowing ourselves to notice even the smallest glimmer. A little bit of light can go a long way. It can soften the edges, guide us forward, and remind us that darkness, no matter how complete it seems, is never quite as solid as it feels.
Life doesn’t come with an instruction manual—at least not one that’s been passed down with your grandma’s biscuit recipe. Instead, we spend years trying to figure out how to do this thing called life without totally losing our minds. But recently, I came across this list that gave me pause. It’s called “21 Cheat Codes for Life That No One Tells You,” and let me tell you—it’s like someone snuck into my soul, read my notes, and summed it all up.
Now, I’m not saying I have it all figured out (ha, as if!). But I do know a thing or two about navigating the twists and turns. So, I figured I’d share my take on these cheat codes—with a little Southern charm, a sprinkle of sass and a whole lotta truth.
1. Saying less gains more respect.
I’ve learned that silence can be more powerful than a well-timed one-liner. Sometimes, the loudest thing you can say is nothing at all.
2. Sleep fixes most problems.
This one is for the folks who think burning the midnight oil is a badge of honor. Trust me, get some shut-eye. That problem won’t seem nearly as bad in the morning.
3. One habit can change your life.
It’s the little things—daily walks, morning gratitude, cutting out the chaos—that add up to a whole new you.
4. People treat you how you allow.
Set those boundaries. Folks will only treat you as well—or as poorly—as you let them.
5. Confidence = keeping promises to yourself.
It’s not about walking into a room like you own it (though that’s fun too). It’s about honoring your word to you. That’s real confidence.
6. Focus beats talent.
I’ve seen plenty of talented people get nowhere because they couldn’t focus. Meanwhile, the ones who stay in their lane? They make magic happen.
7. Most arguments aren’t worth it.
Take it from me—let them be wrong. Your peace is worth more than being “right.”
8. Discipline > motivation.
Motivation is a mood; discipline is a choice. Even on the days when you don’t feel like it, show up.
9. Calm is a superpower.
When the storm hits, be the one who stays calm. Trust me, people notice.
10. Listening wins over talking.
God gave us two ears and one mouth for a reason. (My Gramma used to say that. She was right.)
11. Let go—most things don’t matter.
Life’s too short to carry all that baggage. Pack light, friends.
12. No one thinks about you that much.
That thing you’re obsessing over? No one else noticed. Let it go.
13. Show up even when you don’t feel like it.
Sometimes, the act of showing up—whether it’s to a meeting, a dinner, or just life—makes all the difference.
14. Learn to say no without guilt.
“No” is a complete sentence. Period.
15. The less you react, the more control you have.
Pause before you speak, respond, or post. You’ll thank yourself later.
16. Rich people buy assets, not stuff.
Lesson learned (and still learning): buy the things that make money, not the things that lose it.
17. Consistency beats intensity.
It’s not about doing all the things all at once. It’s about doing the right things, consistently.
18. Most people fake confidence—so can you.
If you’re waiting to feel ready, you’ll be waiting forever. Act “as if.”
19. Silence makes you mysterious and powerful.
Don’t underestimate the quiet ones. Mystery leaves ‘em guessing.
20. Time is your most expensive currency.
Spend it wisely. Invest in memories, not just moments.
21. Heal, or you’ll bleed on those who didn’t cut you.
Whew. This one hit me in the heart. Don’t carry your past hurts into your future relationships. Heal, friend. It’s worth it.
These cheat codes aren’t magic spells. They won’t make your life perfect. But they’re solid reminders that sometimes, it’s the simplest truths that pack the biggest punch.
I’m working on these every day. And if you’re reading this, I bet you are too. So, here’s to showing up, setting boundaries, and living this wild, beautiful, messy life the best way we know how.
You ever notice how, when you have health issues, everyone becomes a self-appointed fixer-upper specialist? It’s like I’ve got a little neon sign flashing above my head saying, “Needs Repairs!” and folks just can’t resist the urge to try to tighten a bolt or slap on a coat of paint.
Now, don’t get me wrong—I know they mean well. I get it. I know they love me and they’re coming from a place of kindness. But y’all… it gets old. Real old.
Here’s the thing:
I have MS.
I have depression.
I have anxiety and panic attacks.
And I am still not broken.
I’m not a puzzle missing a piece. I’m not a project in need of fixing. I’m not standing here with a big, gaping hole in my soul waiting for someone to come along and patch me up.
Sure, there are days when I feel like my body and my mind are tag-teaming to see how much chaos they can throw at me. Days when MS is doing its thing while depression decides to pull up a chair and get comfortable. But that doesn’t mean I’m broken.
I’m a whole person—with all my quirks, strengths, vulnerabilities, and yes, my struggles. But I’m also filled with love, determination, grit, and an annoying amount of stubbornness. I laugh, I cry, I work hard, I fight, and sometimes I just lay on the couch with my pets and binge old TV shows because that’s the kind of self-care that keeps me sane.
When people try to fix me—whether it’s suggesting a new diet, a miracle supplement, or “just be more positive” (cue the eyeroll)—it makes me feel like they don’t see me. They see my conditions. My diagnoses. My challenges.
But I am so much more than that.
I don’t need fixing. I need understanding.
I don’t need unsolicited advice. I need space to just be. And I need to be better at putting my hand up and saying, “stop.”
I don’t need anyone to swoop in with solutions. I need support—and sometimes, just someone to sit with me in silence.
You know what else I’ve realized? I’ve made the decision not to travel as much anymore. And this trip? This cruise? It showed me just how right I’ve been. I love traveling—I always will—but I’m not willing to push myself past my limits for the sake of the next destination. I’m trying to listen to my body and honor what it’s telling me.
I have health issues. No doubt. But I’m not broken.
I’m a little battered sometimes, but I’m also resilient.
I’m anxious, but I’m also brave.
I have depression, but I still find joy.
I have MS, but I’m still living my life—on my terms.
So to all the fixers out there—I see you, I appreciate your care, but you can put down the toolbox. I’m not broken. I’m just me.
Yesterday, I found myself sitting on this beautiful cruise ship, surrounded by great company, good food, and breathtaking ocean views…feeling a little homesick. And if you’ve known me long enough, you know heat, weight issues, and my back sometimes conspire to steal the fun right out of a trip. But today? Today’s different.
I woke up this morning with a new perspective and a reminder I’ve told so many of my clients: Leave room to just relax and enjoy. I mean, who am I if I come back from vacation needing another vacation because I tried to do all the things?
I’m a travel advisor, which means I feel this magnetic pull to learn everything possible when I travel. But today, I let myself just be. Tammy (my boss, my friend, my wise travel sister) and I had a long chat over room service about holding each other accountable for our health and wellness. Cindy and Trisha—you’re coming along for the ride whether you like it or not!
I sat on our balcony with my trusty fan, soaking in the sea air while booking a Disney trip for a client. I nearly melted like Olaf, but I didn’t mind one bit. For lunch, I plan to indulge in that incredible buffet pizza I keep raving about—and maybe grab a gelato for good measure. And today? I’ll finally break out my Gimbal and capture some cruise videos to share with you all.
I know my depression can creep up on me at times …NOT TODAY SATAN! Today I’m remembering to slow down, soak it all in, and remind myself that even I deserve to come back from vacation feeling refreshed and happy.
Here’s to salty air, sunshine, and giving myself permission to just be.
There’s something you should know about women who don’t have a lot of friends. Not because we’re cold. Not because we’re standoffish. Not because people we ‘re liked. But because life has taught us how to be selective—and not everybody deserves a seat at our table. And don’t get this wrong. Just because lots of people surround you, does not make them true friends!
Let me explain:
-We pick up on energy quick. We’ve walked into rooms and felt the tension before a single word was said.
-We don’t entertain drama. If it’s not peace or purpose, we’ll pass (mostly LOL).
-We’ve been betrayed by the ones we loved most. So now we move cautious—not cold. -We’re selective, not lonely.
-We’ve learned our alone time is often better than fake company.
-We don’t need a crowd to feel seen. That scares folks who rely on attention to feel important. -We’re not easy to fool. Experience taught us how to spot fake from real—and we’re not going back.
-Our peace is sacred. If we let you into our lives, it’s because your spirit aligned with ours. We’ve learned the hard way— not everyone who claps 👏 is cheering for you.
-We’ve got depth. Small talk and shallow energy don’t feed our souls. Real connection or nothing at all.
-We don’t move out of desperation. We move with discernment. The wrong people call that “standoffish.” And that’s fine.
And while we’re on the subject of truth-telling…
I’ve heard the whispers: “The blog just doesn’t sound like my friend Jani, so I just stopped reading it.”
Well, bless your heart… you weren’t reading it to begin with. 😏
Yes, I use my smart ChatGPT writing buddy to help me organize my thoughts—because my brain is like a blender most days. But don’t get it twisted: the sass, the snark, the soul? That’s ALL me. The best writing still comes from a real, flawed, passionate human.
All writers have someone polishing their work—editors, assistants, helpers. I just happen to use a tech-savvy one that doesn’t drink coffee or take bathroom breaks. But make no mistake: the humor, the depth, the Southern Fried Belle with a hint of Yankee directness? That’s mine. All mine.
The people who sit across from me every week over dinner, drinks, and girl talk? They know the unfiltered, unedited version of me. And they’ll tell you—what you read is me. Just with a few more commas.
And yes—I’ll be honest—I’m a little hurt. And a little mad. Because I’ve realized the loudest critics are often the ones who’ve always enjoyed knocking me down. The same people who serve up gaslighting and passive-aggressive jabs with a sweet tea smile and that good ol’ underhanded Southern “bless-your-heart” nonsense. 👀
But here’s the thing…
My true supporters? They see me now. They don’t need me to shrink or shape-shift to be palatable. They’re the ones who show up, who cheer me on, and who actually read the things I pour my heart into.
So if you’ve got time to scroll through TikTok, Facebook, Instagram, or X—but can’t take a second to support a friend who’s finally picking up a pen and writing from the gut? Well, kick rocks. 🪨
You may not like my writing voice—and you’re not wrong. Writing is different from talking. But make no mistake, baby—it’s still me. Every bold, sassy, soul-baring bit of it.
And if you don’t like it? Well… you know what to do.
Y’all, reunions. Aren’t they funny? That’s actually more of a statement than a question because they definitely are.
So, I graduated from Penn Manor High School in Millersville, PA. But, as anyone who’s known me more than a minute knows, that’s just one chapter of my high school saga. You see, I was a child of divorce (and a little bit of chaos), which meant I was bouncing like a pinball between states, towns, and schools.
Here’s the breakdown for anyone trying to keep up including me!
Kindergarten: Green Acres Elementary
1st Grade: Adairsville Elementary
2nd to 4th Grades: New Holland Elementary
5th Grade: Back to Adairsville Elementary
6th to 8th Grades: Adairsville Middle (well, half of it—because then my parents completely lost their minds and sent me to Ruth Home, like I was some kind of juvenile delinquint)
9th Grade: Adairsville High School for about six weeks
9th Grade part 2: Penn Manor for like a week (I cried every day)
9th Grade part 3: Garden Spot for the rest of that year
10th Grade part 1: Garden Spot (refer to 10th grade part 2)
10 Grade part 2: Adairsville High School for the last month or so because why not?
11th Grade: Adairsville High School
12th Grade: Back to Penn Manor High School, where I officially graduated!
Whew! Did I lose anyone? ‘Cause I think I got lost just writing that! (And believe me, I was just as confused living it back then.)
Ahhh, children of divorce… or military families. One thing’s for sure—you learn how to adjust. Fast. You learn how to melt into a new place and make friends anywhere. And I have. I’ve got lifelong friends from Adairsville, New Holland, and Millersville.
And can we talk about the cultural whiplash of moving from the South to the North? One country, y’all, but it might as well be two different worlds. In Georgia, it’s “y’all,” sweet tea, and “bless your heart” with a side of shade. In Pennsylvania, it’s “you guys,” Wawa, and learning to love scrapple (I didn’t) and 100% up front honesty. “Bless Your Heart” becomes straight up, “you’re an idiot.” Boo!
But one thing that ties it all together—besides my ridiculous number of yearbook photos from multiple schools—is the friendships formed during those years. The inside jokes. The field trips. The sports teams (even though I was more “sidelines with snacks” than “varsity letter”). The dances. The crushes. The heartbreaks. The people you thought you’d never see again, and thanks to Facebook, are now sending you invites to their kid’s graduation party …or their own third or fourth wedding! Oops. Ooops. Oooops.
And that brings me back to reunions. Oh, reunions. They’re a mix of “Oh wow, look at you!” and “Ugh, I knew I should’ve started that diet three months ago,” plus a healthy dash of “Wait, who’s that? Oh my gosh, it’s her!” You get to see the ones who haven’t changed a bit—and the ones you almost don’t recognize. And let’s be real, there’s always someone whose glow-up is suspiciously fabulous, and you’re side-eyeing them like, “Is that collagen, good genes, or just your skincare game?”
Some folks come to reunions to reminisce. Some come to show off. Some come for the open bar. And some—like me—come because we genuinely love reconnecting with those people who were part of our crazy, wonderful, awkward teenage years.
Speaking of reconnecting, I am SO excited about the AHS 80’s Cruise next year! Several of the classes from the 1980s are getting together for this epic trip, and y’all, it’s going to be one for the books. Huge shout-out to Shannon and Brandy for pulling it all together. I can’t wait to cruise into the sunset with my Aville crew, reliving the 80s with big hair, Aqua Net, and all the throwback jams we can handle.
So, here’s to reunions—those hilarious, awkward, and heartwarming reminders of where we came from and how far we’ve come. Whether you’re rocking the same hairstyle from high school or showing off all your cosmetic enhancements that would make your teenage self proud, remember—it’s all about the memories, the friendships, and, of course, the photos you’ll cringe over later!
Y’all ever known a woman who could start a fight in an empty house? One of those folks who can sniff out drama like a bloodhound on a biscuit trail? That’s who came to mind when I heard the old Southern saying:
“She’s got more issues than Vogue.”
Now don’t get me wrong—Vogue has some beautiful issues. Glossy, expensive, full of fashion and fantasy. But when this saying rolls off a Southern tongue, we ain’t talking about couture. We’re talking about chaos.
You know the type. Bless her heart, she’s in a constant state of personal emergency. She’s always “going through something.” If it ain’t a breakup, it’s a spiritual awakening. Or a food allergy. Or a man with a motorcycle and a warrant.
She can’t just tell you her weekend plans—oh no. She’s got to give you the full backstory, the emotional trauma, three exes, and a dream interpretation from a psychic in Mobile.
It’s like… honey, did you just want to say you’re going to Target, or are we unpacking generational trauma right here in the candle aisle?
Now, don’t mistake me—I’ve had my fair share of “Vogue” moments. There were years I could’ve been a whole subscription. Full color spreads of stress, one dramatic event after another, all sandwiched between bad decisions and better stories.
But some folks? They live there. They don’t just visit Dysfunction Junction—they put up curtains and made sweet tea.
And what’s wild is, they’ll say it proudly.
“I’ve just always been this way.”
Well sugar, so has poison ivy, but that don’t mean we need to roll around in it.
But here’s the real Southern truth: most women carrying all those “issues” are usually lugging around someone else’s too. Mama’s expectations, Daddy’s absence, a bad relationship, a worse friendship, and society whispering nonsense in our ears. And instead of setting those down, we just accessorize them and keep going. Like emotional handbags.
So to my sisters out there with more issues than Vogue—I see you. I love you. But maybe it’s time to unsubscribe. Rip out a few pages, recycle what doesn’t serve you, and keep the good glossy parts for when you need to shine.
Because Lord knows we’ve all got issues.
It’s what you do with ’em that makes the difference.
Today I was filling out a perfectly innocent travel form for a brand-new client. Name? Check. Date of birth? Check. Gender? Easy peasy—F, for female. Obviously.
But then—as it does more often than I care to admit—my brain took a sharp left turn.
You see, back in my vet-med days, when we’d spay a female animal, we didn’t just send her home with a cone of shame and a sassy attitude. No sir. We gave her a tiny tattoo on her belly. Just a little green line so if she ever wandered off—or ended up as a stray—some poor vet tech wouldn’t slice her open just to find out she was already “fixed.”
And now, here I am thinking: why don’t we do this for humans?
I mean seriously… you’re out there in the wild (aka Applebee’s on half-price appetizer night), looking for wife number four or husband number six, and there’s just no way to tell.
Like, do you casually slide your mozzarella stick to the side and ask:
“Hey girl hey… are you fixed? ‘Cause I ain’t tryin’ to be nobody’s baby daddy.”
Or maybe:
“Listen, I want kids. Are your pipes still plumbed, or are we just wasting time here?”
See what I mean? Confusing. Inefficient. One awkward night away from needing a flow chart.
Meanwhile, dogs got it figured out. No fuzzy grapes? Neutered. Tattoo on the belly? Spayed. Boom. Instant clarity. The animal kingdom is out here making better life decisions than half the folks on dating apps.
Anyway, my brain moved on to something equally ridiculous right after that (probably involving cheese or serial killers), but I figured I’d share that little gem with y’all. Just a glimpse into what it’s like living in this wonderfully unhinged head of mine.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got travel quotes to send, laundry to pretend I don’t see, and some unsuspecting soul to explain that “yes, all-inclusive means alcohol too.”
I caught a segment on the Today Show this morning that stopped me right in my tracks—and I’m not just talking about needing to refill my coffee. They shared a story about a school (somewhere in New York City, I think) where sixth graders were filmed answering a simple, yet powerful question: “What would you want to tell your future self?” Or maybe it was “What’s something that really matters to you right now?”
Then—fast forward six years—they showed those same kids again, now high school seniors, watching their sixth grade videos. This time, they were asked to talk to that version of themselves. What advice would they give? What had they learned? How would they prepare that little sixth grade soul for the road ahead?
Y’all. I was a goner.
Full body goosebumps and more than a few tears.
I immediately started digging for a picture of myself in sixth grade. The first one I found was of me and my sister. I didn’t even have to think twice—that was the one. I stared at it for a long time. My sister’s gone now, and looking at her younger face with mine in that photo? Well, let’s just say it wasn’t exactly waterproof mascara day.
But I sat with it. And I thought… what would I say to that sixth grade girl?
Here’s what I’d say:
“Hang on, honey.”
Because life was already a little rough, but it was about to get bumpier. Heartbreak. Confusion. Moments that would shake me to the core. But I’d make it. I’d survive. I’d grow stronger with every scar. Stronger than I ever thought possible.
I’d tell her that her weird sense of humor would become her armor, that her gut instinct would serve her well, and that she should trust it more than she does. I’d remind her to keep writing—journals, poems, scraps of paper with truths scribbled in Sharpie—because that writing would one day help her tell stories that mattered.
And I’d say this loud and clear:
Love hard. Love fiercely. And don’t ever let anyone come between you and the people who love you back. Life is short. Family is sacred. And chosen family? Just as precious.
That little girl in the picture had no idea what was coming… but I do. And I’m proud of her.
So here’s to the sixth grade versions of all of us. May we never forget them. And may we keep fighting to be the kind of person they’d be proud to grow into.
Have you ever heard the theory about people who’ve never broken a bone? According to a viral TikTok trend, individuals who have never broken a bone might possess certain spiritual qualities or protections.
Hmmmmmm…
Well, let me tell you, I’m one of those people. Despite a childhood that could be described as a series of unfortunate events, I’ve managed to keep all my bones intact. No casts, no crutches, just a whole lot of emotional resilience.
So, what’s the deal with this theory? Some believe that never breaking a bone is a sign of spiritual protection or good karma. Others think it might indicate that your soul has already endured enough in past lives, sparing you from physical injuries in this one.
Now, I’m not saying I buy into all of this, but it’s an interesting perspective. Maybe my unbroken bones are a testament to the strength I’ve built through life’s challenges.
Or perhaps it’s just dumb luck…
Either way, it’s a fun theory to ponder.
Have you ever broken a bone? Or are you part of the unbroken club like me? Share your thoughts in the comments below!
