Journeys With Jani

Big Pharma, Dire Wolves & An Unlikely Hero

April 15, 2025

Eat, Pray, Love

So here’s the thing—I had never seen Dallas Buyers Club. I don’t know why, really. Maybe I was busy being a momma, maybe it slipped through the cracks of my usual true-crime and travel doc binges. But tonight, I finally watched it.

Whew.

Y’all… Ron Woodroof was not your stereotypical hero. He was rough around the edges, offensive in more ways than one, and lived a life that didn’t exactly scream “noble.” But he was a damn hero all the same. He fought like hell—not just for himself, but for anyone who needed help in a world that was too busy cashing checks to give a damn.

Ron Woodroof

And watching it now, in 2025, hit different. Because we’re still here. Still watching Big Pharma rake in billions while patients drown in red tape and trial periods. The FDA? Don’t even get me started. I mean, how is it that we can throw millions into resurrecting the freakin’ dire wolf—yes, the big prehistoric dog thing—but somehow we still can’t figure out how to cure cancer? Or Multiple Sclerosis? Or ALS? Or any number of diseases that rip families apart every single day?

But sure. Let’s bring back ancient wildlife. Maybe throw a Game of Thrones quote in there for dramatic effect: Winter is coming.

Prehistoric Dire Wolf

Meanwhile, the people who need real help—actual solutions—are still fighting the same battles Ron Woodroof was fighting in the ’80s. Only now the drug names are fancier, and the commercials have better lighting. But the truth? Still ugly.

I don’t know, y’all. I’m not saying we should stop funding science. I’m not even saying dire wolves aren’t cool in a museum kind of way. But maybe, just maybe, we could reallocate some of that Jurassic Park money toward saving the people who are here right now.

Because what Ron did back then? It shouldn’t still be the exception in a world that claims to be advanced. It should’ve sparked a revolution. Instead, it’s 2025, and we’re still trying to survive systems built for profit instead of people.

But hey. Dire Wolves, right?

XOXO, Jani

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Frankie’s!

April 14, 2025

Eat, Pray, Love

What is your favorite restaurant?

Oh gosh, to pick just one favorite restaurant? That’s like asking me to choose my favorite pair of shoes—it just ain’t fair. But if I had to choose, I’m going with Frankie’s on Roswell Road in Marietta. Hands down. No hesitation. That place owns a big ol’ piece of my carb-loving heart.

I LOVE authentic Italian food—the kind that tastes like it came straight outta Nonna’s kitchen in Naples. And let me tell you, Frankie’s is the real deal. We’re talkin’ house-made pastas, sauces that simmer like they’ve got secrets, and bread that makes you want to pull up a chair and stay a while. It’s cozy, it’s charming, and it smells like heaven the second you walk in.

Frankie’s always. If you haven’t been—what are you even doing with your life?

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m suddenly craving gnocchi.

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These Boots Were Made For …Hoarding

April 14, 2025

The Sitcom Called “Mary Jane”

Let’s get something straight right out of the gate: I have more shoes than DSW, and no, I will not be taking questions at this time.

It started young—high school, to be exact. That’s when my Adidas obsession took root. Clean, classic, cool. Pair them with jeans, a skirt, or questionable teenage decision-making—they just worked. And it never stopped. The collection grew. Multiplied. Evolved. Some girls collect charm bracelets or perfume bottles. Me? Sneakers and boots, baby.

Adidas? Got ’em. Converse and Vans? Obviously. Docs? Forever. Frye? A Southern girl’s rite of passage. Bed|Stu and Blowfish? Yes and yes. Let’s not even start on the boots. Lord, the boots. I’ve got combat boots and cowboy boots. Dress boots. Slouchy boots. Ankle, knee, and over-the-knee (for reasons, okay?). Rain boots—wellies if you’re feelin’ fancy. I even have hiking boots, and let’s be real, the only trail I’m trekking is from the front door to the mailbox.

And heels? I’ve got heels that scream confidence, wedges that whisper brunch, and sandals that say “beach me, please.” Birks because I’m practical sometimes. Crocs because… look, I said don’t judge me. Loafers and ballet flats and a few that deserve their own insurance policy. Let’s have a moment of reverence for my Coach Moto boots bought in NYC—yes, I still remember the exact store, the smell of leather, and the delusion that I’d be sensible with footwear from that point on.

People ask me, from time to time, “Are you ever going to sell any of your shoes?”

Sure, I say with a fake smile and a silent bless your heart.

Would I sell my children? No.

Would I sell my shoes? Same answer.

I mean, what if that one outfit suddenly demands the pair of leopard-print wedges I wore once in 2012? What if there’s a surprise theme party that screams for red patent leather stilettos? What if… I actually go hiking?!

Okay, no to that last one. But still.

Shoes aren’t just footwear. They’re moments. They’re memories. They’re personality, attitude, and backup confidence when I’m running low. So yeah, I have a lot of shoes.

And no, I don’t have a problem. I have options.

XOXO, Jani

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Monday Mayhem: The Dishwasher Diaries

April 14, 2025

The Sitcom Called “Mary Jane”

Ah, Monday. That overachieving little troublemaker of the week. Always showing up with the promise of order and productivity… only to trip you in your fuzzy slippers before your second cup of French roast.

This morning started off like any other: me, my coffee, and the hum of the dishwasher offering its usual white noise as I prepped for the day. I tossed in a sponge and our well-worn plastic pan scrubber without a second thought—because clearly, I live on the edge.

Fast forward about 30 minutes. I strolled back into the kitchen, ready to serve breakfast to my four-legged freeloaders, and what do I find? Not peace. Not calm. No ma’am—bubbles. Bubbles creeping out the sides of the dishwasher like a scene from a low-budget soap opera (pun very much intended).

Jear Desus.

I opened the door, and it was like I’d summoned Mount Sudsyuvius. An avalanche of foamy fluff came spilling out, and Shelby, my Basset hound and resident drama queen, took one look and fled the scene like she was dodging a felony.

The lightbulb moment came soon after: I must’ve unknowingly committed the cardinal sin of dishwashing—introducing actual dish soap into the mix. Likely lingering on the sponge or scrubber from handwashing dishes over the weekend. And let me tell you, it doesn’t take much. Just a smidge of that stuff in a dishwasher and you’ve got yourself a live-action bubble bath.

So there I was, armed with towels, muttering words not fit for Sunday school, sopping up my soap-based crime scene before it took over the entire kitchen.

After work, the plan is Operation De-Suds: a couple rinse cycles with vinegar and baking soda to evict the remaining fluff monsters and hopefully avoid murdering my dishwasher in the process.

So here’s to Monday—and all the unplanned, unpredictable, ridiculously bubbly mayhem it drags in with it.

May your week be productive.

May your coffee be strong.

And may your dishwasher mind its damn business.

XOXO, Jani

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Life Ain’t Fair…and That’s Kinda the Point

April 13, 2025

The Sitcom Called “Mary Jane”

Y’all. Can we just have a little come-to-Jesus moment?

I am flat-out over this new trend of blaming everybody and their momma for every little inconvenience, trauma, or misstep. And before someone gets their feathers all ruffled—no, I’m not saying childhood doesn’t leave marks. Believe me, I know it does. But at some point, we’ve got to stop blaming our past for every poor decision we make as grown adults.

If my boys turned out that soft, I might’ve had to disown ‘em (not really, but you get the idea). Thank the good Lord above they’ve got grit—and maybe just enough of their momma’s attitude to keep ’em grounded. At times they fail and maybe even wallow a bit hit then they strap up.

Here’s the truth we don’t say out loud enough: Parents are going to screw up. Repeatedly. Dramatically. Spectacularly. There is no manual. Half the time we’re just doing the best we can with what we’ve got—and praying we don’t completely mess y’all up in the process.

And another thing? Everybody has some kind of bull crap from childhood. Everybody. Some wounds are deeper than others, sure—but no one escapes unscathed. It’s part of the human experience.

Also. People will hurt you. You will hurt people. That’s not always intentional—it’s just part of the messy, tangled web we call life. You will love and lose and laugh and cry and wonder what the hell just happened. And then? You pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and carry on.

Because here’s the big, not-so-secret secret:

Once you hit adulthood, your life is your responsibility.

Not your momma’s. Not your daddy’s. Not that one bad teacher you had in 7th grade. YOURS.

You make the choices.

You pick the path.

You deal with the consequences.

And if you screw it up? Guess what? You deal with that too. I mean, get some therapy! Take a pill! Chew a gummy!

I’m not trying to sound cold-hearted. I’m just being honest. Because somewhere along the way, this culture decided that every mistake needs a scapegoat. And y’all… that’s just not how life works.

Life isn’t fair. It’s just life.

And the sooner we stop expecting fairness and start embracing personal accountability, the sooner we start actually living.

One of my son’s favorite quotes comes from George Jung, and it’s stuck with me for years:

“Sometimes you’re flush, and sometimes you’re bust. And when you’re up, it’s never as good as it seems, and when you’re down, you think you’ll never be up again—but life goes on.”

Ain’t that the truth?

So, deal with it.

Learn from it.

Grow through it.

And for heaven’s sake, quit whining and start walking.

With tough love (and a smirk),

XOXO, Jani

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Five Everyday Things That Bring Me Happiness—Monday to Friday Edition

April 13, 2025

Eat, Pray, Love

What are 5 everyday things that bring you happiness?

— In No Particular Order, Y’all —

1. That First Sip of French Roast Coffee

There’s just something about that first sip. It’s warm, bold, and feels like the world might just be okay after all. French roast is my love language. And let’s be honest—until I’ve had that mug in hand, I’m really not ready to interact with anyone, including myself. Espresso for extra points!

2. My Fur-Babies: Cash, Shelby & Bean

My morning crew includes two floppy-eared Basset Hounds and one independent, slightly judgy feline. They follow me around like I’m the queen of snacks, and in return, they offer unconditional love (and lots of hair on everything I own). They are my peaceful chaos and my favorite therapy team.

3. Porch Sittin’ with Coffee & Critters

This is my happy place. Coffee in one hand, two sleepy Bassets at my feet, and the rocking chair doing its slow Southern back & forth. The world is quiet, the sun’s just coming up, and I’m soaking in that sweet little pocket of peace before the day begins.

4. Early Mornings Before the World Starts Yellin’

Truly, I’ve always been a morning person—but these days? I crave it …with that coffee! Those calm, quiet minutes before the emails, calls, and general chaos take over… they’re gold. There’s power in waking up early on purpose and actually enjoying the silence.

5. Morning Reiki, Prayer & Meditation

This has become my sacred routine. A few minutes of healing energy through Reiki, a quiet prayer of gratitude, and a little meditation to pull it all together. It grounds me, calms my mind, and reminds me to breathe—before the whirlwind of life kicks in.

In Closing…

Happiness doesn’t have to be loud or expensive.

It’s not always a grand adventure.

Sometimes, it’s just a quiet porch, a strong cup of coffee, and a two Bassets snoring at your feet.

Life gets busy—but these small, soulful moments? They’re the ones I cherish the most.

XOXO, Jani

P.S. Want a peek into my porch life? Stay tuned for a snapshot series I like to call “Coffee, Critters & Calm.” It’s nothing fancy… but it’s everything I need.

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High School Lesson: Life Turns on a Dime

April 12, 2025

Eat, Pray, Love

Describe something you learned in high school.

Me in my Billy Idol Era

If high school taught me anything, it wasn’t from a textbook. It didn’t come from the periodic table or diagramming sentences in English class. Nope. What I learned came in one of those hard, jarring, buckle-up-buttercup kind of ways:

Life turns on a dime.

When I was 14, my dad went to prison.

Not county jail. Not a weekend stint. Prison. And not for a year or two—he served 28 years. That alone should give you a pretty big clue about the kind of turn I’m talking about.

Before that moment, we were that family. The one people saw and probably whispered things like “must be nice.”

Big beautiful home? Yep. With a pool.

Farm? Yep.

Mercedes and Jaguar in the driveway? Naturally. My dad’s shiny new truck was the cherry on top.

We had a condo at the beach every summer, and money? Well, it flowed. Until it didn’t.

When the gavel dropped, it was like someone snapped their fingers and said, “New life. Figure it out.”

We didn’t lose everything, but enough to feel like the rug had been yanked right out from under us. We went from “Oh wow, the Aylsworths” to “Oh… those Aylsworths.”

I moved in with my maternal grandparents, which kept me on a somewhat steady course. Now—let’s be clear—“relatively normal” still meant my dad was in prison, my mother was a whole trainwreck, and my stepmother could’ve given Nurse Ratched a run for her money. But I survived. My little sister stayed with her mom (that’s a whole other messy novel I’ll save for later).

But back to high school—while other kids were worrying about prom dates or their GPA, I was learning that nothing, and I mean nothing, is guaranteed. One day, you’re just some teenage girl with the world at her feet (or so it seems), and the next… someone shakes the snow globe and you’re stuck watching the flakes fall in a completely different direction.

So yeah—life turns on a dime. And that lesson? It stuck.

Stay tuned—there’s more to this story. There’s always more.

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These Grown-up Boys of Mine

April 12, 2025

Eat, Pray, Love

When your kids are little, loving them more than anything just comes naturally. You hold their sticky hands, wipe their tears, pray over them every night, and hope you’re doing it halfway right. And of course, sometimes you aren’t. But even in the fumbles, they learn—grit, grace, and a good sense of humor.

My two boys, Jake and Jarrett, were 12 and 14 when life shifted. It wasn’t always easy, but we figured things out together. We grew. We got stronger. And somewhere between the chaos of school mornings, teenage moods, and late-night heart-to-hearts, I blinked—and they were grown.

Now here I am, watching these men I raised navigate life and fatherhood, and let me tell you—I genuinely like who they are. Not just because I’m their momma, but because they’ve grown into kind, capable, funny-as-hell humans. People I love being around.

Me w/ Jarrett and Jake

Blended, Blessed, and Beautifully Ours

Years later, I married Greg. By then, all our kids were already grown, but blending our families still felt like coming home. Mitch—Greg’s son and my bonus boy—was raised by Greg with a little help from his amazing parents. And even though I didn’t raise him myself, he’s very much mine now, too.

Three boys. Three very different paths. One big, blended family that just works.

Me and Greg

Mitch w/ me and Kenzie

Jake: The Chef with a Margarita Welcome

Jake, my oldest, is a phenomenal cook. I’m not talking “spaghetti in a pinch” here—I’m talking full-on restaurant-worthy, pour-you-a-margarita-when-you-walk-in-the-door kind of hospitality. He’s warm, welcoming, and thoughtful to his core. He is the one that people are drawn to and the one who will always have your back. Solid! And he’s got my heart and my appetite wrapped around his finger. Did I mention my grans, AJ and Harvey!?

Jake w/ Harvey and AJ

Mitch: The Calm in the Middle

Mitch, our middle son, lives close by. He drops in for dinner, chats on the porch, and heads off fishing with Greg like it’s just another Tuesday. He’s steady, loyal, and effortlessly kind—the kind of person who makes everything feel a little more relaxed just by being around. Plus, my grand-boys, Wyatt and Wilson add a little more sweetness.

Mitch w/ Wyatt

Jarrett: My Forever Sidekick

Jarrett, the youngest, is my movie date. About once a month, we grab popcorn and lose ourselves in whatever’s playing—his treat. We laugh, we cry, we occasionally whisper, “What in the world did we just watch?” did y’all even see Cocaine Bear? He’s got a soft heart and a cold streak that reminds of how much like me he is. He keeps us entertained and grounded all at once. Jarrett blessed me with Swayze, Urban, Liberty and Seger. Yes! Four! He’s the one who is smart but at times, I have questioned the military entrusting us to him. LOL.

Jarret w/ Libby

Watching Them Raise Their Own

All three of these boys are now raising families of their own. They’re doing the whole parenting thing with heart, humor, and a whole lot more patience than I probably had. And the best part? They like me. As an adult. As a friend. As someone they call up just to chat—or to share a margarita and a moment.

Three Good Men. One Lucky Momma

I loved them when they were little. I adored them through every awkward, angsty stage. But now? Now I get to see them in their full glory—grown, grounded, and good.

Three boys.

One beautifully blended family.

And a momma who wouldn’t trade this chapter for the world.

XOXO, Jani

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Flat Squirrels & Fast Decisions

April 12, 2025

The Sitcom Called “Mary Jane”

I saw a squirrel in the road today.

Yep. He was flat. Like, bless-his-heart kind of flat. Poor little guy. But the moment I saw him, a quote I heard years ago popped right into my mind:

“Be decisive. The road of life is paved with flat squirrels who couldn’t make a decision.”

Ain’t that the truth?

Whether it’s a squirrel trying to decide which side of the street is safer… or me trying to choose between tacos or pizza (okay, tacos win 90% of the time), we’ve all been that squirrel at some point—frozen mid-decision, unsure, overthinking, and WHAM. Life hits ya.

Now, I’m not saying we’re all doomed if we pause to think. There’s value in pondering. But honey, sometimes life calls for pedal to the metal—especially if you’re driving through Atlanta. I don’t care what the speed limit says, if you’re not going 80 MPH and praying at the same time, you’re basically that squirrel. You hesitate, and next thing you know, a tractor-trailer with Florida plates is riding your bumper while someone in a Tesla zips around you like you’re parked.

So here’s the lesson I took from Mr. Flat Squirrel (may he rest in peace under that patch of Georgia asphalt):

Stop second guessing yourself.

Pick a lane.

Punch the gas.

Make the dang decision.

Whether it’s booking that dream trip, saying yes to a new opportunity, or finally choosing what to order off the Cheesecake Factory menu—decide. Don’t sit in the middle of the metaphorical road waiting for life to choose for you.

After all, no one wants to be a speed bump in their own story.

Now go be bold today. Be brave. And if you happen to be driving through Atlanta… keep it at 80 and stay in your lane.

XOXO, Jani

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Trading Scrubs for Suitcases: The Best Midlife Plot Twist I Never Saw Coming

April 11, 2025

Eat, Pray, Love, Travel Advice

Describe one positive change you have made in your life.

If you had asked me ten years ago what I’d be doing now, I would’ve said something like, “Probably still up to my elbows in fur, vaccinations, and explaining (for the 843rd time) that no, your dog cannot take human ibuprofen.”

Veterinary Medicine was my thing. My heartbeat. My calling. I adored my furry clients, loved their humans (mostly), and prided myself on being that fierce advocate for those who couldn’t speak for themselves. But somewhere along the way, that love started to fray at the edges. It wasn’t the animals — it was the weight of the job. The 24/7 responsibility. The emotional toll. The burnout that silently crept in and made itself right at home.

Did you know that Veterinary Medicine has one of the highest suicide rates of any profession?

Let that sit with you for a second. I mean, it seems like it should be all puppies and kittens, but the reality is a lot heavier than that. I was still “me” — but a version of me that felt stretched too thin, worn down, and barely hanging on some days.

And then, one day, I just… stopped.

I took a leap.

After a six months sabbatical of sorts, my dear friend Tammy called and asked, “Why don’t you come work for me? It won’t pay what you were making, but I think you’d love it.”

And just like that, I traded in the chaos for calm (mostly), exhaustion for excitement, and needles for… passports?

I started part-time at Take Time To Travel, just answering phones, pitching in here and there. It was honestly refreshing not to carry the weight of the world on my shoulders. And slowly — so slowly — something started to bloom again.

Me.

I began learning the travel business, planning trips for people, and even took my first cruise (to Alaska, no less — go big or go home, y’all). Three years later, I feel like I’ve hit the joy jackpot. Not the make-a-bazillion-dollars jackpot — let’s not get crazy — but the wake-up-smiling, love-your-job, soul-deep-joy kind.

I work with a group of women who are family. Our office feels more like a sitcom than a workplace most days — in the best way. We laugh, we fuss, we support the hell out of each other. Our fearless leader is like a mom, keeping her wild daughters in line (and trust me, that’s no easy task).

I get to help people dream big, then turn those dreams into boarding passes.

I get to explore this beautiful world.

I get to keep learning every single day in a business that is always evolving.

And most of all?

I got me back.

So yeah, describing one positive change I’ve made in my life?

Hands down — changing careers midstream.

And if you’re out there wondering if it’s too late, too hard, too risky to chase joy — honey, it’s not. You just have to believe you’re worth the change.

Because trust me — you are.

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