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My distaste for summer is well documented. Beyond the exquisite bounty of tomatoes, I’m pretty anti-summer, if only for the ambient sweating it brings on a recurring basis. Sure, there are plenty of people who long for summer - summer vacations, summer Fridays, summer camp - some summer so hard they’ve made it a verb. Of course, I do my best to enjoy what the season offers. But each year, that seems to come to a grinding halt in the month of August. With all the renewed energy that September brings (I cannot escape back-to-school feelings, no matter how long it’s been since I matriculated), it is preceded by a thirty-one day slog of everyone being either 1) off grid, unavail, completely MIA in vacationland, or 2) so slammed getting ready for the fall sprint into Q4 and holiday time that there is no hope of getting through. Both birth unresponsiveness and an uptick in the sweat that one can only hope the crisp fall air will alleviate.

I felt it in my years of Corporate life, of course, as every exec disappeared for the entire month. And I have observed it in creative fields, as well - the coordination of programmatic seasons aligning with that trusty ol’ school calendar. This year, I feel it acutely as someone trying to build a business. A business that requires… well… responsiveness and participation (don’t they all?). I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t an edge of fear in my inbox, awaiting the autumnal return to productivity so that momentum can be built. But as an alternative to entrepreneurial panic, I’ve been thinking about this liminal phase in new ways, asking new questions of myself and my time. And in so doing, I’ve come to the realization that Augusts can happen to anyone, at any time.

Think about it: in our world centered around working and earning, there are two primary modes. You’ve got the busy, too busy, overly scheduled and overstimulated default that puts food on the table and money in your bank account. And you’ve got the please don’t bother me, my out of office reply is on, I will be in a body of water dissociating from all the stress that quite literally afforded me this break from work. This is the paradox that is an August. If by some miracle you’ve been able to avoid such a stark binary, then I salute you, but it is this very all-or-nothing state that I’m looking to avoid. Actively.

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A few weeks ago, I found myself in Bar Harbor, Maine. Two flights, an airport hotel, and a 90 minute cab ride with a chatty fellow named Woody brought me to the home of a friend. She’s the type of friend who believes in you more than you can even see possible, no return on the time investment needed. In this instance, she gathered a handful of us together - all writers, all women, all worldly and ready for a reset to carry our creative practices and our selves forward. Without agenda, we were hosted in this beautiful home where the ocean meets the forest, the mountains keeping watch as we focused on whatever we needed as individuals.

I jumped face first into writing, working on a piece that’s been at the edges of my brain and needed some extra space and focus to tackle. Sitting there with nothing but the sound of the waves to accompany the process was a true gift. But as I’ve reflected on that long, transformative weekend in Maine, so many elements contributed to feeling like the best version of myself. A day would begin, waking to the sun and heading downstairs for coffee, another member of the group asking if you’d like some eggs, or pointing out the berries picked fresh from someone’s yard. There was conversation and connection without facade, wearing the clothes that only just fit in a suitcase serendipitously falling into monochrome sets of comfort, bare face and bare feet exploring all the spectacular views could offer.

There was the big ol’ hunk of creative time, the balancing of chakras, power yoga, group dinners, hot tub star gazing, and nightcaps of wine or tea while we dove into all the issues of the day, our days, the days to come, and the days that have been. At a reasonable hour, we would excuse ourselves for the night. I’d walk upstairs and call Adam for a check in and finally fall asleep in a big fluffy bed to the sound of the ocean crashing through cracked windows. So much better than a white noise machine.

The details and memories (however magical) make way for the realization that what I really need to feel my best, to do and be my best, are: proximity to nature, space to think and make, nourishing food, movement of my body, connection with like-hearted people, and openness to the vast expanse of unknowables. Of course a writers’ retreat in a luxurious location does some heavy lifting in removing the demands of daily life. But the experience was so much more than the sum of its parts. After a less than seamless trip back to LA, I still returned home to Adam and Olive with excitement and anticipation. The triumphant feeling of having unlocked the formula that made me feel so grounded and capable was coursing through my veins.

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It’s time to dive back into my favorite series: The Returnist, IN PRACTICE - conversations with people who draw you in simply by how they move through life. It stemmed from the energizing, life-affirming, IRL conversations with discerning people that have stuck with me long after the dinner party or coffee catch-up was over. The aim isn’t to tout image or accomplishment, but to dive into what they protect in their day, and how they return to themselves again and again. It’s the rituals, perspectives, and choices only they could make. This particular return to IN PRACTICE is a mini-series in itself, talking to some of my favorite people who happen to live and work in the world of music. While my singing days are few and far between now, the value of music and its enthusiasts runs beautifully wild in my life.

First up: Maiya Sykes. In her own words, “I am a vocalist professionally who also is a songwriter, a top line writer, a vocal arranger, and a vocal educator. As a vocal educator, I focus specifically on throat development, throat support, and laryngeal vocal health.” I first met Maiya at a doggy playdate (hi, Stanley!). Yes, in fact, she is part of the famous dog crew who also has bangin’ pizza parties. Over wine and snacks and lots of barking, we’ve had regular catch-ups without the facade or frills that often come with gathering. In those deck-hosted moments, we’ve come to discover our shared background in music (though hers is very much a current reality), a love of making food for people we care about, and the joy that is laughing with friends about anything and everything. Her personality shines big and bright without overtaking, and her thoughtfulness is just as impressive.

If you ever get the chance to chat with Maiya (or her lovely mother, Sherrie, who also occasionally joins our dog crew), you’ll likely end up hearing some truly eye-widening tales from her life that include the likes of Miles Davis, Prince, and Willie Nelson, just to name a few. Or maybe you’ll get to hear her sing in a city near you and be wowed by her talent. But for me, it’s the way she connects to those around her - friends as well as the broader community - that is the most impressive. I hope you enjoy the conversation as much as I did. Edited for length below, but the full, glorious conversation in the audio recording above, including tangents on the show Pluribus and the plight of GenX. And of course, follow her on Instagram for all the latest musical happenings. Let’s get to it…

Anna Cave: To start simply, how are you actually arriving to this moment?

Maiya Sykes: At this particular moment in space and time, I’ve been in the throes of dealing with a lot of fluctuations. So I am looking forward to carving out moments of stillness, which is something I don’t think that I had the resources to do for a very long time (and I’m still fighting for the resources to make happen). But I think is very important to my overall well-being, both mentally and physically. So I’m sitting in gratitude of the fact that I am cognitively aware that yes, I have to be a person who is an active member of society and pays all her bills and stuff. But I also have a covenant I need to respect for myself, which is carving out time to have joy and friendship and stillness and laughter and light. So that’s where I am.

AC: I love that. I think stillness and light are both such important priorities. So, in your everyday life, what’s something small you revisit, again and again, that makes things feel more right sized?

MS: The thing that I’ve been kind of gravitating towards - and I know this is going to sound a bit mundane - but making my bed. Every morning I make the bed, no matter where I am. And I do it in hotel rooms (I’m in hotel rooms a lot). I make my bed and drink two glasses of water in the morning.

AC: Oh, two glasses of water? Maybe I should up my water ambition first thing. That’s a good idea.

MS: Well, I’ve been making myself do it, to be quite honest with you, because it helps me stay hydrated throughout the day. I find that if I don’t, throughout the day, I’m like, “do I have enough water?” But if I do the two-water thing right at the start, then I will have had enough for the day.

AC: Front loading. I like that. So, obviously, you do a lot of things, but you are a performer, which means this next question might feel different to you than it does to others…

Thinking about that work and how it’s transformed over the years, what have been the most significant shifts? And how did you tackle the pivot from it feeling like a performance to feeling more honest and natural?

MS: The thing that has been a weird shift for me in the last few years is having to deal with “fame”, I guess. I never thought fame was a thing. I also never thought it was a thing that I was gonna have to deal with. Lately, I’ve been put in spaces where I have to pay attention to being known and have to work at being more well-known. Or I’m in spaces where I have to navigate pictures and my image and stuff like that, which I never really factored that into my life. I focused on music - making good music and making art and all the academic things and even the performance-based things. But I’ve had a hard time being like, okay, you have to take pictures every 6 months and you have to revamp your wardrobe. I think social media has a huge part to play with that, but it’s also needing to pay attention to keeping myself in the public eye. I’m trying to find a way to do it without feeling like I’m fake or losing the part of performance and music and art and all those things that I really love. That’s weird for me.

AC: I can imagine that is quite the contrast because you are such a REAL person in life. You keep it real all the time.

MS: And I like that about myself! So having to pivot and craft it - what I look like every day and even just what I look like casually. I remember the days where you could go into recording studios and wear your bummy sweats and a doo-rag and keep it pushing. Now, everybody films these things, so I have to find cute casual wear in addition to performing. Or what hairstyle am I going to do? How is this going to match like my aesthetic? What IS my aesthetic? It’s exhausting and that is a weird pivot for me.

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AC: Beyond the routines, what part of yourself keeps showing up, no matter how much everything else changes?

MS: The one thing I will say is that I was very much raised on an “adapt or die” mentality. So that’s the one thing I know I can do. I can adapt. I will make it work.

AC: I think that’s a really undervalued life skill for everyone, frankly.

MS: I’m very grateful to my mother because my mother was always like, “okay, well, we got to pivot here… we got to do this … okay, we got to do that.” There was never a question of “can’t”. I have done some harrowing things. And when I recount them back to people, they think, “oh my god, I could never do that.” And I never was thinking that in the midst of doing it.

AC: That’s something that I’ve recognized in my own journey is people sort of wondering how you get from one day to the next or one challenge to the next. Whereas when you’re in the moment, it’s just another day and these are the things I’ve got to do. How do you think about that?

MS: I think I’ve always thought of it that way. My life has been built in that way where I’ve gone through crazy experiences because there was no other choice. So I just kept pushing myself through. I think because I was raised that way, there was never any time to think I can’t do this. But what I see a lot in high functioning people, is they show up through depression, through freaking cancer, through whatever they just keep freaking functioning. But what happens is you hit a wall and then your body literally makes you quit. So now I’m trying to pay more attention to factoring rest into it.

AC: Rest should not be earned. Rest should be a high priority. I have definitely learned that.

MS: But we live in a country where rest IS earned.

AC: Yeah, which is so contrary to what the body needs.

MS: Absolutely. But you don’t see that until you travel abroad. First of all, they call it holiday for a reason. Not only do they prioritize rest, it’s like a government mandate where if you don’t take your vacation time, you will be penalized.

AC: Let’s hold each other accountable on that. The government won’t do it, but maybe we can do it for ourselves.

MS: That’s what we have to do. The best friends in my life are like, “girl, when did you stop last?” You know what I mean? My closest friends will say, “hey, yo, one of the things I really wish for you is a day where you don’t have to do a damn thing.” So we try to manifest that for each other because we know the world in which we live.

AC: Ok, dream world: what’s your current comfort combo?

MS: In my dream world: I make a certain amount of money (I feel like I don't need to be a billionaire, but a multimillionaire would suffice. It's the Capricorn in me). But it also would allow me to provide rest for all my day-ones and to put money into their dreams. Okay, you wanna open up a Pilates studio franchise? Let's do that. Okay, you wanna open up a food resource, especially in food deserts and those kinds of communities? Let's do that. I want that kind of money so I can say, “okay, everybody manifest. How are we making the world better, but also following our dreams?”

Then I think I would love to have a partner, but this is where I know I'm probably a very modern woman: I can't imagine living with my partner day to day, but maybe three to four times a week. We would have our own spaces and our shared space. I also would love to be able to travel four months out of the year or give myself a month off in a healing commune space, maybe in Costa Rica or someplace like that, where I could just recharge, do yoga, and eat really beautiful, clean food. But then also have like a week of junk food and snacks and wine with my bitches. Do you know what I mean?

Also I would love to adopt a kid. I'm in my late 40s, and I don't know that I'm gonna do a huge IVF journey or whatever, but I could definitely see adoption and providing a stable base for children to grow and feel nurtured and loved. I would love to have that in my life. My dream world is just having a gorgeous life that I get to share with people I really love and to help my community - it has nurtured me my whole life, Watts, especially 'cause that's where I'm from. And this community - I love Silver Lake, I love Hollywood too. I love LA. I'm an LA girl in my core, and I would just love to know that I had a legacy where I left it better than I came into it.

AC: That is such a beautiful way to look at comfort that we don't always think about. So at this point in your life, what are you no longer rushing to figure out?

MS: I'm no longer rushing to figure out LIFE. I don't have the answers. I was talking about this with a good friend, she is a little bit younger than me, and she was saying, "I've never felt more lost," and I said, "Me too, but I think that's good, especially for right now, because the world is kind of lost if you really look at it." I think if you're a person who has everything all figured out while the world is in such flux, it will throw something at you that you didn't factor in and now it has disrupted your whole pretty plan.

AC: Finally: right now, what does enough look like to you?

MS: Me. I look around at myself and go, "you are enough." I constantly feel like I gotta change this or lose that or grow this. But for the first time in my life, I've just kinda realized, “this is you. This might be the best version you ever get, so you’re gonna have to rock with it, really live in it and be okay with it.” Okay, bet. I know I'm supposed to be thinner, and I know I'm supposed to have better bone density and whatever. But if none of that ever happens, I'm cool with me right now today.

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*Interview edited for length and clarity.

Audio: Wind Chimes by mc2method License: Attribution 3.0. P.

Photos courtesy of Maiya Sykes.

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At some point in my life, I must have done something truly terrible as I have been cursed with a propensity for summer colds. In the chilly months, a cold is almost chic - rosy nose, cozy bundling, hot tea and hermit time. Like a seasonal accessory. Alas, in summer, congestion in the head is compounded by heat and humidity outside which is far less conducive for layers of sweaters and self-pity. Gazpacho doesn’t hit quite like chicken noodle, you know? This time around, there were some unique-to-me MVPs of the experience: a boyfriend who makes healing adobo and walks the dog at 5:30am so I can attempt uninterrupted sleep, and said dog stepping up as full-time Corgi Snuggle Nurse, foregoing all other activities in favor of body-to-body contact. Nourishing for the soul if not for the nose.

But there have also been some extremely un-glamorous and easily found honorable mentions which I feel must be shared. Gatekeeping need not apply when it comes to blowing your nose through the Fourth of July…

Structure meets slumber - a perfectly stiff sweatshirt from the Palm Springs Ace Hotel and Swim club. The exact design is no longer available, but think oversized ivory with yellow detailing so subtle it looks like forgotten mustard. The silhouette does delightfully nothing for the figure but will cloak you in an appropriate amount of day-to-nap-to-night-to-day that comes with being sick on the couch. Pair with the old bike shorts you shouldn’t wear outside the home and zero regard for the rest of your appearance.

The brain’s off switch - alchemy, they call it. The unique rotation of Great British Bake Off, Love Island USA, a full hour of jelly cake demo videos on Instagram, Dodgers baseball, and a Billy Wilder film or two is enough to ease the brain into a mildly vegetative state. Sprinkled with many rounds of Magic Sort or Royal Match courtesy of the iPhone and you’ve got yourself true hibernation. All the energy that would have once fueled your mind is now - importantly - going toward cold recovery.

Real good stuff - here’s the recipe: hot tea (preferably green or herbal, flavor unimportant as you can’t really taste much with all the congestion) and a splash of run-of-the-mill apple juice to cool it down. It’s the ideal temperature for soothing the freaked out tonsils and the sugary juice adds enough viscosity to luxuriate in each sip.

Also: Aquaphor for lips and nose, Boom Boom stick for opening up those passageways, cold fruit on repeat, lots of vitamins, hot baths, and so much water you have to get up more often than you’d like.

That’s it - my super professional, medical recommendations (do not sue me, I am not a doctor). May they bring you comfort and healing whenever your next cold strikes.

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Flavor of the week: Not much, tbh. But I did get to conduct a very scientific, texture-specific study of two versions of Adam’s mushroom and swiss omelette.

Habit of the week: Couch naps in the afternoon, or any time really. Most prized blanket from the bedroom brought to the living room for optimal experience, of course.

Soundtrack of the week: The Telepathy Tapes podcast has had me hooked for over a month (yes, I’m very late to the game). But with so much to catch up on, it’s an ideal listen for a steamy, relaxing bath.

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Exactly one year ago, I left the corporate world - and not of my own volition. It’s super tempting to treat an exit like a clean break, either fleeing a toxic job to discover your authentic self somewhere between a Tuesday morning meditation and a sourdough starter, or you spend the next decade repeatedly reminiscing about flashy clients and airport lounges. For me, neither has been true. If anything, the past twelve months have made me more appreciative of my career than ever. I worked with extraordinary people, learned from colleagues I still admire, solved complicated problems, built things that mattered, and discovered that I genuinely enjoy helping smart people think more clearly. But I also spent fifteen years optimizing for one question: what’s next?

The next challenge, the next role, the next opportunity, the next milestone, award, bonus, moment in the spotlight. There is nothing inherently wrong with focusing on “next”. That relentless pursuit of “more” built a career I’m fortunate to have had. But importantly, it isn’t the only question worth asking. The last twelve months have slowly replaced it with another one: what’s worth returning to? This isn’t a moonwalk backward, quite the opposite, in fact. Building this new chapter in my professional life, all on my own terms, has turned out to be less reinvention and more discernment. I’m not throwing 15 years of corporate life away by any means, but I am much more selective in deciding what deserves to come with me. So, one roller coaster of a year later, here are twelve lessons I’ve decided to keep:

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Sunday, June 21st began as a Father’s Day should… with Olive giving Adam a paw-written card (with help, I’ll admit) expressing her gratitude for all the love and woofs out the window they share. Without a father figure of my own, the opportunity to recognize this unique paternal relationship, however inter-species it may be, fills the holiday-shaped hole in ways that are reparative and refreshing. But as Olive pointed out in a timely “P.S.” at the bottom of her card, June 21st called for even more reason to celebrate: it was our first anniversary.

The first 365 days of my relationship with Adam have felt like both a blink and an eternity. We’ve conquered a layoff, falling in love, cancer, and the intricacies of daily life together… in that order. It has been a whirlwind in reverse that colored our early days with a level of partnership typically reserved for those with several decades under their belt. Now we’re enjoying a delightfully cancer-free return to really dating each other - special nights out, smooches-a-plenty, and discussions of the future that reach beyond the hypothetical. Our worlds, in their beautiful yet separate circles, have a delicious overlap - an increasingly robust intersection of our Venn diagram that grows daily. I have yet to fully understand his picky-eater-algorithm or to explore the musical encyclopedia that is his lightning-fast brain in its entirety. The morning banter is the pinnacle of ridiculousness that ensures the laughter quota is met early on. We plan weekends and trips and ways to anchor our home as a gathering place for the people we love. And most importantly: we know our love is big enough to tackle the important task of learning how to be together, no matter how messy it gets. No matter how messy we are.

Post-cancer life unsurprisingly brings remarkable clarity. For me, it has also heightened my desire to celebrate each and every milestone with intention. Sure, there’s YOLO, but sometimes YGTLA (you get to live again), and holy cannoli am I excited about joy in every place I can find it. On our first date, joy was found in Cascades Park - a tiny gem of a spot in the Monterey Park area of Los Angeles complete with a man-made waterfall that is beautifully lit at night. It was an early nod to his fervent adoration of the San Gabriel Valley, and Adam requested that we return to the scene to share the celebration with the place that hosted us so graciously. I took on the task of restaurant options that would suitably ring in this milestone and we settled on Bistro Na’s - a nearby, Temple City destination for fine dining and imperial-style Chinese cuisine. Chinese food in almost any iteration is a win in my book, but this particular spot offered another “first” opportunity that got me giddy: Adam’s first fine dining experience.

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Top of my post-road-trip-settling-back-into-life-to-do-list was rearranging the room that serves as my “office”. I briefly dubbed it “the studio” - a casual attempt to invoke the creativity and productivity I aim to balance on the daily. In actuality? It’s a second bedroom that just hasn’t ever gotten the attention it deserves in part because it’s always so friggin’ active.

What it lacks in finesse (for now, for now), it makes up for in potential. Just the right moment of clarity could be three feet to the left, or maybe facing the window. Maybe boss mode faces the corner, or moody lighting will invite in prolific musings. The latest rearrangement was prompted by a craving for focus. The serious hunker down and GET TO WORK atmosphere I’ve been leaning toward lately. Which, in my case, sometimes means spending a few afternoon hours moving furniture instead of doing any of the aforementioned work.

The desk now forms an L-shape with Olive’s baby house, my colloquial attempt at softening the cage-y feeling of “dog crate”. It was a splurge ahead of her arrival, but well worth it, and the wood just so happens to coordinate delightfully with the desk for a more intentional looking duo than it actually was. The familiar players are all there: candle, coaster (a new one, hand-crocheted by my niece), hydration vessel, lip balm, cup of pens, notebook, too many cords (ugh), and - of course - laptop. The center of the room feels more open now, allowing the light and ideas to flow more freely. The desk gets all the advantages of gazing out the window without the backlit laptop frying my eyeballs. The energy is moving in the right direction - passable at the moment - but it still isn’t quite right.

There’s a six-foot-tall psoriasis-treating light machine lurking like an awkward houseguest that has no regard for aesthetics (and no other place to go). A large paper lantern waiting to be hung after spending too long in the kitchen, threatening those taller than me with a decapitation zone. An extra-large canvas has become a collection of pinned sentimental objects, which sounds charming but careens toward clutter with a backstory. There is more art to be hung (some framed, some in need of one), a few books to peruse when inspiration is coy, and definitely more life clutter I’d like to kick out.

This room must hold all the versions of me that show up for work: the writer, the consultant, the planner, the wanderer, the type-A color-coding spreadsheet zombie, and the daydreamer watching the lemon tree sway, pondering the rhythms of consciousness. It also needs to function as a thoroughfare between the outside world and inside life because Olive has determined that this is the preferred route through the apartment, and I respect her leadership. We all must.

Sitting at my desk, anchored in the room after rearrangement #[unknown], I realized that perspective shifts and furniture rearrangements have a lot in common: the pieces are often identical, perhaps borrowing from a nearby space or experience, but somehow the story changes anyway. The familiar, when encountered differently, becomes alive again.

Since our trip, I’ve settled back into the rhythms that make me feel most like myself, and last Monday, I took an extra long walk with a neighbor friend and our dogs around the Silverlake reservoir. We took the same component parts of the day’s beginning - dog walk, coffee, get to business - and stretched them into a new formation, setting the tone for the week, and rearranging our priorities to make time for self, conversation, connection, and movement. It isn’t an every day arrangement, just like this version of the “office” certainly isn’t final. There will be iterations and evolutions, new versions to come. Fortunately, I’m not looking for the perfect room, just an original view.

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Flavor of the week: Weiser Family Farms is a favorite of mine, and let me tell you: their melons are glorious (not a euphemism). The softball-sized Sugar Cube is the most mind-blowing not-a-cantaloupe you’ve ever had, and I’ve got three more types in the fridge for all my cold fruit desires.

Habit of the week: Projects. First there was the record cabinet re-do, then some re-organization in the closet department. Now I bring you: making Olive’s food from scratch. Fingers crossed, folks. Her stomach has a mind of its own.

Soundtrack of the week: Goji by Serebii. Get lost in this track which feels a lot like Girl from Ipanema meets futuristic poet on repeat.

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“None of this was here…” I said innumerable times, gesturing at the landscape on nearly every stretch of road in my hometown. It was such a recurrent phrase that Adam could have easily rolled his eyes or turned it into a game. So many housing developments, shopping centers new or evolved, a Buc-ee’s larger than some regional airports I’ve been through. Every few breaths, I’d point out the window and offer variations on the theme: that was a field before, this wasn’t here, why is there traffic, that’s all new (remind me to thank him again for his patience).

My hometown is a place I haven’t spent significant time in since the early 2000s. I last visited when the calendar said 2019 - before the pandemic, before cancer, before divorce, before the self that I am now. I was excited to share with him the place I knew, that shaped me all those selves ago, but it’s a fool’s errand to try and explain a place that no longer entirely exists. To be clear, the town is still very much standing. The roads and rivers, the institutions that were childhood landmarks, the house my mom still lives in. But just as the self I was when I lived in that county, the version I carry in my mind is caked with layers of memories and the chunks of calendar that have elapsed. Adam only had access to the current edition while I processed a twisted swirl of deja vu - a tug of war between tremendous change and that which was immediately familiar.

Driving on I-35 felt automatic, the first freeway I took on behind the wheel. Despite the decades, my body seemed to remember it. Not every bump or merging lane exactly, but the rhythm of the pavement, occasional grooves, exits, and off ramps that flow with the confidence of auto pilot. Similarly, I soaked in the sweaty stillness of the backyard. It was exactly that hush years ago - while visiting from New York - that jumped out at me, suggesting perhaps I needed more still and less everything else in my life. It was a moment that planted a seed, a serene and mildly-outdoorsy-in-a-coffee-in-the-park-kind-of-way seed that moved me from NYC to LA. That move was over eleven years ago, and yet, sitting on the deck with my mom in that same backyard as a vastly different person, the stillness was precisely as I remembered.

In the days since we’ve been back in LA, I’ve realized it wasn’t really about returning home or giving Adam a tour of a place I once called home. It was acknowledging how many homes I’ve accumulated and introducing them to one another. Home not as a singular entity marked in time - hometown, childhood home, current residence, permanent address, two apartments ago in a part of town you didn’t exactly love - but as a category, collective and enduring.

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Right now - this very instant as you’re reading - it’s highly likely that I’m napping in the car. Or maybe gazing out the window, grazing through the pre-packed snacks, perhaps even taking my shift behind the wheel. In short: we’re going on a road trip! Adam, Olive, and I are all prepped and packed up to spend some quality time on the road in the four automotive walls that will feel like a home on this journey (hotel stays notwithstanding). There is a spreadsheet that is both detailed and loose enough to allow for doing whatever the mood encourages. The guarantees are music, food, family, and soaking up the vibrations from the pavement in parts that are less familiar to our daily routines.

Travel used to be a pattern, particularly that of the work trip variety. But somewhere in the middle of rare cancer that caused blood clots in my lungs and the surgery and treatment that followed, getting in an airplane so frivolously morphed into haunting thoughts about circulation and clotting risks, physical stamina, and immune system lagging while being in a giant tube of germs for hours at a time. Friends and strangers alike would ask about my post-treatment plans. “Are you going to have a party?! Or go on a big vacation?” My answers always leaned toward more subtle, bite-sized adventures, weekends away, and seeking out the kind of vibrant experiences that make eyes widen and air twinkle. I counted down the purgatory of treatment days and longed for the time when that clung-to next chapter would begin.

Instead, my last week of chemo marked a new kind of beginning, and also endings. Suddenly my post-active-cancer-patient life looked a lot like separation, selling a house, moving, divorce. The lovely weekends away and moments worth sharing with someone felt so far away. Fast forward through the reconstruction of my world, an explicit 2.0 version of just about everything - much of which you all have been getting glimpses of - and we’re now marking another new chapter.

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Lately, I’ve had reason to celebrate. Why, you ask? Because it’s mid May which means: peony season. I’m not alone in my excitement for these bulbous beauties, there are hoards of folks who clear out Trader Joe’s of every reasonably priced bouquet, others who pop in at any store or stand to see if they are in stock, and even more who pay outrageous prices to have them delivered in various sculpted forms. I’ll take them in any color, but the cool-toned pink is my favorite. Alas, this week I settled for some coral-hued stems that were already open enough to be on their way out. With a $10 price tag, I snagged just the one bunch as a treat, reminding myself that this season doesn’t last forever. That’s part of the beauty of loving peonies - the ache for them to return, or for the odd autumnal Chilean varietal to pop up and surprise you when it’s much colder out and you can barely remember the pinks.

As I ferried home my groceries, bouquet nestled gently next to the eggs, I thought through the characteristics of peonies that have me so charmed: the tight, spherical blooms, so wound, so compact. The impossibly intricate petal structure inside that reveals itself through time, through warmth, long enough to marvel at just how nature might have made such a thing, but fading quickly enough to reinforce the importance of presence. Solid yet soft. Outwardly simple, inwardly complex. Beloved but elusive. How quick we are to fawn over the multiplicities in flowers and yet overlook them in others, even worse ignoring them in ourselves.

I can adore design but spend most of my time in an Old Navy cropped t-shirt and pandemic-purchased sweatpants. I can love big and wide and seek solace in solitude. I can laugh too hard at a joke just on the edge and also be upset when the edge is carelessly disregarded. I can ogle beautifully curated produce and artisanal apothecary treasures and also come the heck alive in the bulk cheese section at Costco (more on Adam and I becoming Costco official in another post!). I can be good and also less good, maybe even some bad however hard I may try to avoid it. And so can you, so can we all. It is the complexities, intricacies, and facets galore that give us our beauty ripe for appreciation and defiant of category.

This week’s rec is as much for me as it is for anyone: take stock of your multitudes, open your bloom enough for them to be seen and loved, let those around you get a whiff strong enough to outlast the season. Buy a bunch of peonies… and maybe a five pound block of gruyere.

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Flavor of the week: Rainier cherries, cold from the fridge, scooped up by the handful, pits spit into a little metal bowl. Location: couch. Pants: optional.

Habit of the week: more proactively putting myself out there. Inspired by “shoot your shot Wednesdays” seen in a scroll through Substack and further affirmed by the need to promote myself in order to make a living. It is an exercise in asserting my confidence and shirking the cringe that I will continue to cycle through for the rest of my days.

Soundtrack of the week: With an upcoming roadtrip to the motherland on the calendar and an NPR story recorded in my home town serving as inspiration, Kacey Musgraves’ new album, Middle of Nowhere, has my Texas childhood nostalgia feeling fresh.

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As a natural introvert, it usually takes a pretty specific invitation to get me out on a Friday night any time around rush hour, where traffic and dusk convince you that putting on a bra and changing into real clothes is vaguely unreasonable. But I was genuinely excited last night...

It was an evening featuring 2x New York Times bestselling author Anna Malaika Tubbs and the Young Women’s Freedom Center. The invite came through my friend Stacie after we’d heard Anna speak on a panel at another gathering hosted by Jorgi Paul and Lady of Record at the Women’s Twentieth Century Club of Eagle Rock. Walking into Thirteen Lune on Larchmont was fun all its own - a dreamy space that is somehow not trying too hard. So many candles and fragrances to pick up and take a whiff, enticing collections of cosmetics in expansive shades, all curated toward a more inclusive and global beauty world. There was organic wine, overflowing cheese and charcuterie boards, and warm welcomes while still celebrating aspiration and ambition. A pretty tricky balance to strike imho.

Maybe it was the word-of-mouth promotion of the event, or perhaps some sort of natural alchemy, but the room felt connected in a way that is far from quotidian. No one spoke of “networking” for networking’s sake, nor did anyone seem especially interested in performative expertise or strategically making the rounds. People were there because they genuinely cared about the books, the topic, carrying a shared enthusiasm and openness that made conversations happen naturally. Ages ranged, backgrounds varied, contacts were exchanged, “looking forward to it” echoed all around.

Before, during, and after, so many conversations tied back to the same thing: showing up. Showing up for causes, for neighborhoods, for events, for friends, for one another. At one point, I joked - but also fully meant it - that I believe community is the solution to everything. The line was met with immediate nodding and laughter and somehow became an inside joke of the evening, resurfacing in side conversations as the broadest application of my comment felt more ubiquitous.

Of course community matters in the obvious moments: catastrophe, illness, grief, hardship. But I find community unexpectedly shapes the hidden structures of daily life: a potluck with the corn salad you can’t stop thinking about, a plumber recommendation for when the one your landlord sent blew up your bathroom, a quick dog walk when someone gets stuck at work, even (as was actively happening in my neighborhood WhatsApp group while we sat at the event) someone urgently asking if anybody nearby had a shovel they could borrow. Day after day, I find reassurance in existing inside a web of mutual reliance instead of complete self-sufficiency.

It’s part of what made the conversation itself feel so resonant. Anna Malaika Tubbs has a beautifully accessible tone rooted in serious academic research that consistently brings shared history, responsibility, and solutions to the forefront. Her work (check out The Three Mothers and Erased!) examines the lasting effects of patriarchy and the ways history continues shaping whose labor, care, and humanity are recognized and protected. But the ideas never feel trapped inside theory, rather they are expertly connected to real lives and real systems and real relationships. The Young Women’s Freedom Center similarly embodies the strength of community-centered framework, focusing on solutions built with and through the women they serve rather than imposed onto them from a distance (physical or experiential).

After we said our goodbyes, Stacie, Jorgi, and I strolled down the street for a late dinner with signed books tucked under our arms. Over drinks and pasta, we started talking about our respective ventures: writing and consulting for me, the new salon for Stacie, Jorgi’s growing real estate business and women’s empowerment initiatives. We chatted ideas and fears, logistics, ambitions, the abstract emotional math involved in building something yourself. I admitted that there’s really only one thing I miss from corporate life: the feeling of an offsite.

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• Returnist Recs: 31 | Some Interruptions Are Meant to Stay

• The Returnist, IN PRACTICE | with Stacie Tabarez

• Originality, Under Review | When easier to produce means easier to mistake for the real thing

• Returnist Recs: 32 | Leveraging stubbornness and celebrating progress

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Object in your home you’d rescue first in a very calm fire?

• Stacie Tabarez: Objects I’d save are photos and art projects the kids made for us as gifts.

What small upgrade improved your daily life more than expected?

• ST: Ummm, not so small… but adopting our 2 cats, Mitzi & Babs. They are sisters and couldn’t be more different. They are weird and funny and have improved our lives in the best way!

Your current favorite smell?

• ST: My current favorite smell is the jasmine blooming everywhere around LA. It’s intoxicating! Ask anyone and I’m sure they’d agree! But I also love fresh ground pepper, specifically black!

Are you minimalist, maximalist, or emotionalist?

• ST: I am an emotional maximalist! Haha for better or worse!

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Or, at least the standouts: steamed Japanese sweet potatoes loaded with miso butter | the earliest of stone fruits | beyond juicy rotisserie chicken and potatoes from Chicken Guys at the famers’ market | an epic dinner at Marvito complete with crispy beef tacos, chicken piccata, shrimp enchiladas, and mezcal Negronis | protein style smash burgers at home | real deal delicious burgers at Amboy | hokkaido milk soft serve at Indigo Cow | novelty chips and a pastrami sandwich from Galco’s | the atelier plate aka perfect breakfast at Broome St General

Robocop | Sorry to Bother You | Say Yes to the Dress (the more recent seasons) Louis Theroux: Inside the Manosphere | Lots of Dodgers baseball | Jeopardy, as always | Snowfall | Summer House (yowza)

Plenty of Clairo | Narco by Timmy Trumpet (the ultimate hype song) | Door by Conan Grey | honey thighs by strongboi | Better Hate by Jessica Pratt | Ghostride by Crumb | Don’t Delete the Kisses by Wolf Alice | Run Baby Run by Sam MacPherson | Easy Does It by GoldFord | Losing Focus by EXUM

Coffee catch ups with friends | Longer walks | many projects around the house, including some woodwork | flea market rambles | meeting Substack writer friends IRL | brand new washer and dryer, at long last | extra snuggles from Olive when she wasn’t feeling well | donating things we no longer need and subsequently making space | going to Ontario Tower Buzzers AND Dodgers games in the same month | an attempt at being more witchy woo woo for the full moon | fringed tulips

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I’m a day late in writing this week’s recs because my hands were covered in wood filler and glue. There have been several trips to my local family-founded hardware store, once with Olive in tow because they give her treats and she loves to smell up and down each aisle. I texted one friend for wood-working advice and kept my YouTube search for help count down to a remarkable 1. It’s been a many-days-long endeavor with a few more to go, and I couldn’t be happier.

To clarify: I am not a carpenter, refinisher, or devout DIYer. But I did grow up watching an exorbitant amount of HGTV that armed me with just enough I-can-figure-it-out to latch on and run wild. The purchase: a super reasonably priced vintage record cabinet with slots and bins to store just a smidge of Adam’s collection. The catch? Upon arrival, it was clear the slots and bins were designed to accommodate 45s, not LPs. For the uninitiated: 45’s have a 7” diameter and LPs clock in at 12”. But I had helped carry this behemoth up the stairs and into the living room, I had a vision, it was a cool piece, and I wanted it to work gosh darn it.

This week’s rec is not a DIY tutorial or even a look at the work-in-progress itself. But rather an endorsement for doing something with your hands. Something difficult, perhaps unfamiliar, multi-stepped, and a bit out of reach. Do something that requires your whole body and mind to tackle each step along the way, figuring it out as you go. I cannot overstate the feeling of productivity and satisfaction that washes over me at each interval. Yes, I’m working to make this piece of furniture into something for the person I love in our home. But more than that, I am actively shaping a structure to fit my needs, my vision. Each slot, bin, divider, and frame receive my attention with a bit of but we’ve been this way a long time, and also thanks for the time and attention.

It is a new chapter for this old piece and also a gift to myself - a monument to the elbow grease, determination, and down-right stubbornness it takes to reshape existing frameworks into something that works for life now. Who knows, maybe I’ll take up refinishing as a hobby or go buck wild and buy a saw. To cut what? Who knows! But each step of this tactile journey has reignited my creativity and commitment to creating. Once it’s all sanded, oiled, lined, and looking like the star it is, I’ll be sure to share.

But in the meantime: I hope you’ll consider bringing new life to something, using your hands and will to craft it into a part of your life or home as a proud reminder that you are more capable than you may realize. Materials remember their previous shape but are ready and willing to support what you see for their future and yours. Gather your supplies, ask questions of those who have tried before you, and be willing for it to take longer than you anticipated. But each little step along the way is ripe for a tiny celebration, or at least a knowing smile.

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Flavor of the week: For the first time in weeks, I had a craving: blanched green beans in pesto. A quick wiggle over to the local Trader Joe’s resulted in a handful of ingredients (the aforementioned two + cherry tomatoes, mozzarella pearls, sun dried tomatoes) that really hit the spot. Maybe it was a pasta salad without the pasta? Or a side dish amplified into entree territory? Regardless, it was a win.

Habit of the week: Gelson’s lattes. I’m not an avid Gelson’s goer, but on an under-caffeinated whim, I grabbed an iced latte with my Swiffers that fueled my afternoon to-do list heroically. There is no scientific evidence as to their advanced efficacy, but I’m taking this one as a win in the “little treat” category.

Soundtrack of the week: I’ve rec’d Bath Time by Brenda in a previous post, and the brains/brawn behind it, Hudson Whitlock and Henry Jenkins, are two of the collaborators (along with David Thor at the helm) of Frollen Music Library… stay with me here, I’m the girlfriend of a big-time-vinyl-nerd and it’s rubbing off on me. This collective puts out jazz-funk library recordings that feeds today’s sample culture. 001-015 might be an album for the producers out there, but the vibes are immaculate for the plebes as well.

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I’m behind on my self-imposed deadline but lacking the clarity to spit out words in any way that would merit a click through or a share. Instead, I open the long list of saved Substack articles I’ve squirreled away to read, process, share, appreciate. Most from folks I’ve never read or met or even engaged with thanks to the beauty of the Notes algorithm. It’s more like browsing a library of easily digestible bits and bobs laid out for me to stumble upon. On the surface, it’s a gift - I do love Substack, after all. But on this specific afternoon, I found myself discouraged. It’s the whiplash of getting excited to read something, only to realize a few paragraphs in that no one actually wrote it.

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Last month kicked off a new series: The Returnist, In Practice - conversations with people who draw you in simply by how they move through life. It stemmed from the energizing, life-affirming, IRL conversations with discerning people that have stuck with me long after the dinner party or coffee catch up was over. The aim isn’t to tout image or accomplishment, but to dive into what they protect in their day, and how they return to themselves again and again. It’s the rituals, perspectives, and choices only they could make.

I first met Stacie Tabarez through mutual friends over backyard-grilled-meats, cheesy bread, and innumerable glasses of wine. We shared long-standing relationships with NYC and a reverence for the Olsen twins as fashion icons. She seemed impossibly cool - working as a sought-after stylist between salons in Silverlake and back in the Big Apple, raising two effortlessly stylish (and nice!) kids along with her husband, and emanating a warmth that perhaps only an aura photo could visualize. It was pre-pandemic (the specific year escapes me), but in the many moons since that delightful meeting, our friendship has spanned a myriad of events - birthdays, weekends, haircuts, holidays, new jobs, even cancer…

No one could have prepared me for the mental hurdle that was losing my hair during chemo. Before my diagnosis, I would’ve said, perhaps, “it’s just hair, it’ll grow back” or even “it’s not that big of a deal, right?”… wrong. There was more identity tied up in that scrunchie than I could admit, and the prospect of losing it all - more importantly, not recognizing myself when I looked in the mirror - was terrifying. Armed with years of knowledge of me and my hair, Stacie met my pre-bald fear with confidence and compassion. With a stomach freshly devoid of staples post-surgery and just two days before chemo, we met for lunch at a favorite spot and then went wig shopping. She miraculously made something daunting fun, and our immediate alignment on “the wig” steadied me. It was the right texture, length, and overall color to match what I knew to be me. She spent painstaking hours using two shades of powder to paint in roots so that it felt natural and lived-in rather than an off-the-rack-’do. She calmed my fears, taught me how to put it on, and rushed over, clippers in tow, when I told her half my hair had fallen out and it was time for the big buzz.

She has been there through the last two years of transformation in my life - hair and otherwise - and now she’s settling into a transformation of her own: salon owner. To say that her space, Cassiopeia, is special would be an understatement. It is a testimony to her style, her discernment, her eye for detail, and her willingness to spend time listening to what is truly needed. I hope you enjoy the conversation as much as I did, and if you’re looking for a new salon in LA, you know where to go…

Anna Cave: To start simply, how are you actually arriving to this moment?

Stacie Tabarez: I am arriving a little chaotic. I just am in the middle of conferences. Happy, but a little chaos is in the air for sure.

AC: I feel like most days. hold a little chaos at least.

ST: For sure.

AC: In your everyday life, what’s something small you revisit, again and again, that makes things feel more right sized?

ST: There are little things that punctuate the day. But for me: flowers - buying them, picking them, arranging them. It’s a consistent thing that I do and I feel like that’s the one thing that I always go back to.

AC: You always have the most beautiful flowers in your salon, but also in your home, so that doesn’t surprise me. Are there any tips and tricks you want to share for the flower arrangers out there?

ST: Oh my tips are kind of wild (and not necessarily something that you could probably do at home in your regular refrigerator) but: I put all of my salon flowers in the fridge every night. I think it’s so cute to open up a fridge and see flowers and seltzers in cute colors. It’s super visual for me. I will often take a picture of my fridge with the flowers because, in a dream world, that would be something that I want my fridge to look like.

AC: Fridge flowers should be a thing! I kind of “fridge scape” my produce, so why not have some flowers in there? That’s really beautiful.

ST: Same thing with veggies, too! Cute produce, cute flowers. It’s a little moment.

AC: Cute and delicious.

ST: And delicious.

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AC: Speaking of the salon, you made the shift from working in another salon to having your own space that you are fully at the helm of. Thinking about that work and how it’s transformed in the last couple of years, what have been the most significant shifts? And how did you tackle the pivot from it feeling like a performance to feeling more honest and natural?

ST: When I first opened, I had all these “ducks in a row” - I would open it up, find stylists, and have a running salon. But I think, in reality, it took me a beat to just get used to having this new role and being responsible for so many other things that weren’t just tending to clients’ needs or finding their color or style for them. It was so many more little things. So I think it was time, sitting in that new space, and just feeling one with it instead of hitting the ground running. It was just time and then really settling in, seeing people in that space. Instead of feeling like, “can you believe I did this?” to really claiming it: “yeah! I did this.” That felt a little different throughout the year and now I’m living in it, living this new role in my life.

AC: You say you really sat in this space and it informed this role. Are there any things that surprise you in that?

ST: I think the surprising part was needing that extra time - I really needed it. I needed to just work there, feel it out. It kind of spoke to me in a way, “what do I want in here?” It’s a really special place, it feels so intimate. Also, there’s a calmness too it that’s so beautiful. I just thought that if I fill it with stylists, it would just be moving on, being a salon. But that informed me of how I actually wanted to proceed with the space…Did I want chaos? Did I want it to stay calm? Did I want it to be something different that I hadn’t really thought of at first?

AC: It’s sort of akin to when you move into a new home, before you get the keys, you’re thinking, “oh, I’ll do this wall this color, I’ll put the sofa here”, but then you get into the space and start living in it, you really feel how your needs and the space can feed into one another. Of course that would be magnified on a professional level, especially when you’re creating something from scratch.

ST: Exactly. It’s changed and morphed, but it also took a long time to get in there and finish it enough to open the doors. I felt like it needed almost that exact amount of time to really feel it out and say okay, this is what I want to do.

AC: Beyond the routines, what part of yourself keeps showing up, no matter how much everything else changes?

ST: I think the little part that is not routine is listening to music. I just always have music going that is a little different, something new. But I make time for that.

It’s not a new concept, but there are new artists that have Spanish and English songs together and I love that. It could be upbeat and dancey or it could be a little melancholy. What Rosalía is doing is really incredible, bringing old opera to new songs, so that’s been my new fave, and it also helps with Spanish. I can’t say that I “speak” Spanish, but I definitely try, and I’d like to get to a place where I can be fluent. I feel like it helps?

AC: I actually have been pondering getting my Spanish back up to snuff with Duolingo. So maybe we can help each other practice?

ST: That would be so fun. And just to have conversations with people out in the open, if they will lend an ear.

AC: I’ve realized that I panic when I need to speak Spanish, whether it’s at like a mercadito or getting frutas. I fully panic even if I know the words, so I need to work on that.

ST: Freeze. Deer in headlights.

AC: Exactly. Ok, dreamworld: what’s your current comfort combo?

ST: When you say dream world, I think of not waking up by an alarm, but waking up naturally - maybe by sun, maybe just by feeling rested. Then leisurely having breakfast and coffee. Maybe a little warm sun and a little stack of magazines before I have to start the day. That sounds pretty dreamy because I definitely don’t have that now.

AC: That sounds incredible. Very comforting, but also setting the tone for the day.

ST: Imagine?

AC: I do try to cook myself in the sun for a few minutes on the couch in the morning, most mornings, but I haven’t gotten into the leisurely magazine stack.

ST: Oh, I miss the magazine stand on Larchmont. I have to find a new magazine stand. I really love just flipping pages. It’s so calming.

AC: How else can you smell all the perfume samples?

ST: And then rub them on your neck. And maybe get a paper cut. I mean…that may or may not have happened.

AC: Speaking from experience? Hah.

So at this point in your life, what are you no longer rushing to figure out?

ST: I’m not rushing to figure out how to have all the right decisions as a parent. There’s so much that happens that’s out of your control, that I’ve stopped trying to have the answer and just adapt. It gives me a little less stress when we come to new challenging moments, you know? That’s the one thing that where I feel I’ve stopped trying to have the answers.

AC: I imagine, the fact that your kids are ever-evolving and changing and growing also helps that lesson sink in because you can’t foresee how they’ll need or want or [whatever] in a certain situation?

ST: For sure. They’re their own humans. For so long, you’re just giving them answers and being the bumper rails, leading the way. Then all of a sudden they have their own lives and you’re like oh my god, I can’t make that decision. You make it, and I can just be a support.

AC: Finally: right now, what does enough look like to you?

ST: Sitting down with everyone and still having time for each other to have dinner. It’s so simple, but that’s the enough that I need at the end of the day. When life can be chaotic or just so busy, it’s enough if we can sit down, catch up, hear about each other’s days, and just take that little moment. That’s pretty good.

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*Interview edited for length and clarity.

Audio: Wind Chimes by mc2method License: Attribution 3.0. P.

Photos courtesy of Stacie Tabarez.

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I am, by both nature and preference, a creature of habit. I like a day that unfolds as expected. The same walk, the same coffee, the same loose structure that holds everything together without asking too much of me, especially before the caffeine hits. There’s a relief in a life that runs smoothly, and a peace in decisions having already been made. For the most part, I’ve built exactly that - a framework that allows me to focus more time on the trickier bits.

But lately, it’s been the interruptions that have stayed with me. Not the disruptive kind or the chaotic or derailing. Just small deviations, often unplanned, but expansive in the moment:

• A nearby Buddhist temple I visited once, then again. The second time not out of obligation or curiosity, but because something about the first visit felt worth returning to based on the serenity and perspective the space held. Worth sharing, too, passed along to a friend in the same way it had been graciously shared with me.

• A long morning walk with a neighbor and our dogs around the reservoir that tipped into less of a stroll, more of a workout (that hill at the end… woof). Conversation interrupted by breath, pace set as a group, dedicated time to connecting with each other and with the area around us.

• Even a tweaked back (inconvenient and more than mildly humbling) that overrode my plans entirely. Unrelated to the aforementioned hill, I promise. Every movement requires attention. How I stand, sit, rest, bend to reach for something just out of range. The solution isn’t novel or complicated: ice, heat, ibuprofen, stretching. Things I already know that just require time and a willingness to move differently than I wanted to.

Each of these, planned or not, asked something of me.

There’s an obvious version of growth that suggests big change, a new routine, a new system, a more optimized way of living. But what I’m noticing instead is in each of these instances, the interruption itself isn’t the point - it’s what happens next: whether you ignore it or return to it, deciding consciously that it belongs.

Because even the most well-constructed life isn’t finished and it certainly doesn’t lock into place at a specific point and stay there. It keeps asking to be edited, not all at once, but in nearly unremarkable ways. You don’t age out of being a work in progress. You just get better at building something that works, and, if you’re paying attention, better at noticing when something else works too.

So the rec is this: pay attention to what interrupts you this week.

Not everything is worth keeping, in fact, most things aren’t. But occasionally, something will feel just slightly better than what you had planned, a place, a rhythm, a way of moving through your day. Don’t rush past it. Return to it and see if it holds. If it does, consider letting it stay, not as a disruption but as part of the life you’re still shaping.

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Flavor of the week: Post-Buddhist temple visit dim sum at Happy Harbor, chomped and slurped up faster than I could have taken a picture. Honorable mention: the iced green tea from 99 Ranch Market next door that was the perfect beverage for the drive home.

Habit of the week: Binge watching Summer House to catch up on all the Bravo-drama.

Soundtrack of the week: Leon Bridges’ Coming Home has been making quite a few appearances on my daylist lately, and I’m always happy to hear it.

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• The Background Hum | Concern and contentment sharing the same ordinary days

• Returnist Recs: 29 | The Luxury of Recalibration

• The View From the Tub | Borrowed rituals, new perspectives, and the walls that hold them

• 2,000 Saturdays (Apparently) | Rejecting the idea of a right way to live

• Returnist Recs: 30 | Low effort, high joy and the case for a pizza party

• The Returnist, IN PRACTICE with Caitlin Pierce

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Object in your home you’d rescue first in a very calm fire?

• Caitlin Pierce: Laptop, I’m embarrassed to say.

• Anna Cave: Olive isn’t an object, but she’d be first… followed closely by my prescriptions and the ashes of my previous dog, Beep.

What small upgrade improved your daily life more than expected?

• CP: Unless I have something scheduled before 10am, I don’t set an alarm.

• AC: Drinking bone broth with protein powder, a squeeze of lemon, and a pinch of salt in the morning. It feels like i’m giving my body a gift first-thing.

Your current favorite smell?

• CP: Bay leaf.

• AC: Jasmine on warm evening walks.

Are you minimalist, maximalist, or emotionalist?

• CP: Minimalist.

• AC: Minimalist with a pinch of emotionalist.

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Or, at least the standouts: aforementioned Taqueria Frontera tacos that blew my mind | Loquat’s Mascarpone foam coffee creation | vodka sauce with shrimp linguine | hyper fixation lunch of pita stuffed with mortadella, provolone, and salad with LOTS of peperoncini | chip mountain and deviled eggs for an indoor picnic | a dreamy dinner at Queens Raw Bar (get the shrimp and DO NOT sleep on the carolina gold rice) | mini Cherry Coke and Zesty Yuzu chips | candy stripe beets, roasted via Frecker Farms | Chinese feast of chicken with mushrooms and sesame beef after a visit to a local Buddhist temple

The Pitt | Scrubs reboot | Plenty of Dodgers baseball | Jeopardy, as always | Snowfall | Harlem Nights | Love is Blind Season 10 (yikes) | Age of Attraction (double yikes)

Voces8 and Ólafur Arnalds re:member | GoldFord’s Easy Does It courtesy of A Very Baroncini Spring playlist | EXUM’s Losing Focus | Cameron Winters’ Nausicaä | Wet Leg’s mangetout | LOTS of Adam’s new vinyl acquisitions post Vinylcon

An evening conversation hosted by Lady Of Record: Knowledge is Power, focused on standing up against patriarchal systems & changing the profile of real estate ownership followed by dinner with my friend, Stacie (IN PRACTICE coming soon!) | the new-Dodgers-season excitement, amplified by Edwin Diaz’s walk-on song antics (my current hype song) | quality time with the dog playdate crew | and most of all: the official post-PET-scan word that Adam is cancer free <3

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Last month kicked off a new series: The Returnist, In Practice - conversations with people who draw you in simply by how they move through life. It stemmed from the energizing, life-affirming, IRL conversations with discerning people that have stuck with me long after the dinner party or coffee catch up was over. The aim isn’t to tout image or accomplishment, but to dive into what they protect in their day, and how they return to themselves again and again. It’s the rituals, perspectives, and choices only they could make.

I first met Caitlin Pierce when we were freshmen in high school and her Step Dad became our local priest, prompting a move for their whole family. Across adolescent self-discovery, post-graduation moves to far flung locales, a brief overlap in NYC, weddings, evolutions, and settling into ourselves, our 25 year friendship has given me a front-row seat to her unwavering individuality. Her commitment to travel and exploring cultures outside of her own has always been a stand-out. When it came time for Caitlin and her husband, Grayum, to relocate, they packed up and spent considered time in places across the US to find the spot that would become their new home - an inconvenient but incredibly astute approach most would be too scared to take. And her professional path reads more like distinct but pioneering chapters weaving through education, radio and podcasts, and now custom craft ice with the birth of Lady Chiller.

She is the type of friend who flows into your life, wakes you up, and unknowingly adds a little fuel to the fire that keeps you motivated. And yes, if you get cancer, she will book a trip to visit without asking you to plan any logistics - just, “I’ll be there from this day to this day staying with a friend. I’d like to see you as much as you’re able, absolutely zero obligation.” That week reconnecting with her was one of the best memories of treatment I have, reaffirming our friendship in so many ways. And with that, I hope you enjoy this insightful phone chat I had with Caitlin last week, condensed written version below or full glorious audio above. There are some incredible nuggets of wisdom, an accidental face time, and just a few swears…

Anna Cave: To start simply, how are you actually arriving to this moment?

Caitlin Pierce: In a very literal sense, I’m in my plant room, in a little hammock chair, and I have a Rambler sparkling water (blackberry flavor) from our near our hometown. Texas mineral water.

AC: Tell me about this plant room.

CP: It’s my favorite time of year for it because I’m starting seeds, our last frost date is coming up April 15th. It’s the most crowded time because all the plants that are usually outside (like the house plants) are also inside right now because it’s still getting below freezing. And I also have trays and trays of seedlings and potential seedlings under lights. It’s poppin’ in here.

AC: In your everyday life, what’s something small that you revisit again and again, that makes things feel right sized?

CP: There was kind of a mantra in the podcast space - we would say, “there’s no podcast emergencies” when I was working in audio. And I feel like that has kind of stayed with me. Generally, I am not in any type of situation that is an emergency, especially not in my day to day. So it’s just like, “chill, bro”. There’s no podcast emergencies, there’s no ice emergencies, there’s no dog emergencies… relax.

AC: I really appreciate that because in my professional past, most days felt like an emergency and now I’m really seeking to have a lack of emergency. That sounds great.

CP: Yeah, I feel like the corporate world is like all about manufactured urgency.

AC: Absolutely! Thinking about work and how it’s transformed in the last couple of years for you: what have been the most significant shifts and how did you tackle that pivot? How’ve you felt the shift from a performance to feeling more honest…

CP: I never make any kind of like career choice as a means to an end. I only do it for its own sake. As a freelancer, I often got advice, like “why don’t you go work at this place for a couple years and then you can get that job that you want.” I don’t want to do that, though. I don’t want to do that for those couple of years, even to get to the next place. So I’m always guided by my present moment interests and what is lighting me up.

Last October, I opened this craft ice business. I’ve had a couple of little local news articles, the journalists are always asking, “so why did you do this?” There’s no good answer except I just kept being interested in it and kept learning more until opening this business. Actually, I had this really, really terrible narcissistic boss who fired me for insubordination… so fuck that guy… but he had this really amazing piece of advice: He says we are really good at planning for our plan B. And then we spend all these resources and energy on our backup plan instead of our plan A.

AC: Ooof that’s so good.

CP: Right? I know, I know. He’s such a terrible guy, but you know, shout out to Keith for this one. I think about it a lot, too. So I’m just kind of plan A-ing all the time. I’m just like, “okay, that’s not working out. What’s the next thing then?” instead of trying to make a safety net.

AC: That’s really interesting! Because - even I, in asking the question and thinking about performance versus honesty - there is this sort of inference that the performance is at the highest level, like an imposter syndrome or trying something totally new. But actually, performance can also be holding yourself back to focus on the option B or doing something that doesn’t really interest you just because someone suggested you should. That’s really, really smart.

AC: Beyond the work and your routines, what part of yourself keeps showing up, no matter how much everything else changes?

CP: Maybe my priorities and what I value. I feel like my highest value is my relationships. And so it does help when you’re kind of overwhelmed with all the things - at the end of the day, what’s most important is whatever needs to be done to maintain my relationships.

AC: As someone who has a friendship with you, the way that you have such ease in maintaining connections (no matter the amount of time that has expired) is really special. I have reflected on that many times over the course of our 20+ year friendship. Isn’t that wild? Are we old?

CP: Yeah.

AC: Yeah. But there is an [easefulness] with which you connect and reconnect with people. I absolutely see why that’s one of your priorities.

CP: It’s funny because, I’ve noticed (maybe less now because we are older) there were a lot of friendships that dropped off in my 20s. If someone had a certain demand of how much I needed to be in touch, I often couldn’t do that. So I think why we’ve been able to be friends so long is you don’t have that demand or expectation. You just welcome it when it happens. That’s something I really value about you and about my long-term friendships. If, for some reason, we didn’t talk for 3 years and I called you out of the blue, you would answer and be happy to talk to me. But some people aren’t like that.

AC: That’s true. Some people are a lot more high maintenance in their friendships, but I love that we can go however long and then pick up the phone and it feels so natural. That’s ideal. I wish more people were like that.

CP: Exactly.

AC: Okay, so dreamworld: what is your current comfort combo?

RC: I’ve actually started to make (a lot) and work with dried chiles. I’ve been mostly vegetarian recently, and the depth of flavor…it’s such comforting food. It’s rich and creates this crazy depth that you really don’t usually get in a lot of vegetarian food. That, and then putting dark chocolate into that!

Something I love about you is how you always cook these amazing meals. That’s definitely not in my regular routine, but to slow down and do it, with the dried chiles too, that means you’re locked the fuck in. If you’re doing that, you’re in the kitchen, you’re paying attention, it takes a lot of time.

AC: How have you been using them recently? Are you pureéing them into a sauce? Is it a base for a molé? What’s the vibe?

CP: It’s kind of a chile base, but then the other day I had some leftover and then I fried potatoes in [the chiles] and it was insane.

AC: That sounds so good! Honestly, a spicy potato is a highly underrated treat.

CP: Totally.

AC: You mentioned using dried chiles in your work. What’s your current favorite ice cube?

CP: I didn’t even think about that! Maybe that’s what got the whole thing going, using the chile de arbol in my ice. Hmm…my favorite ice cube? I mean, the chile spears are pretty good. Also the roses are crazy. I think they’re so beautiful, but yet everyone does that. I haven’t seen anyone else do the chile spears, so I’m pretty into that. I have more ideas coming up for this summer…

AC: I can’t wait! It’s so inherently sculptural. Because you’re putting something in ice, it almost defies the laws of physics. I get so inspired when I see your photos. It’s so freaking cool.

CP: Thanks!

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AC: So at this point in your life, what are you no longer rushing to figure out?

CP: I feel like everything. It’s really interesting to phrase it as “figure out” because I feel so curious. I feel like super open and really, really curious. I want to learn - that’s been kind of my theme. Last year it was “businesswoman”: I read all these business books, figured out how to “do a business” and I still feel really open to learning, but I don’t really feel like I need to figure anything out as a contrast to that. I feel a little embarrassed to say that out loud, because I’m obviously not all-wise. The older woman who doesn’t give a fuck is like such my spirit guide, and I want to become that as soon as possible. I think I’m like getting closer every day.

AC: Related to curiosity - I was actually just having this conversation in the car with Adam earlier… the other day it occurred to me, “oh, I could learn a language. I could just start doing Duolingo out of nowhere. I could take a stained glass class…” right? It is almost like there are pieces of your identity or even your interests that you haven’t uncovered yet,but there’s this freedom and curiosity. I think when we’re in the rhythm of work and life and doing all the adulting things, we don’t necessarily stop and think about those extras that aren’t the absolute given in a day. Curiosity is a good one…I’m going to think about that more.

And finally: right now, what does enough look like to you?

CP: I really love my life. I can eat whatever I want, I can go wherever I want, I can do whatever I want, I can have relationships with people in whatever way I want. I think it’s freedom, basically. Enough, for me, it’s - broader than financial - to not be held back.

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*Interview edited for length and clarity.

Audio: Wind Chimes by mc2method License: Attribution 3.0. P.

Photos courtesy of Caitlin Pierce and @lady.chiller via instagram.

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Confession: lately, I’ve been thinking about pizza parties. The kind with paper plates and grease pooling in the corners of mouths, shimmering orange. Salad getting slurped and crunched through mid-sentence, talking anyway, maybe a few too many sips of soda or something more indulgent. The kind of relaxed festivity that used to be built into youth - after a soccer game, for a classmate’s birthday, celebrating nothing and everything all at once.

There’s something inherently honest, unfussy, and communal (if a little messy) about an old-school pizza party. Last night, my beloved community of dog play date neighbors got together for exactly that. It was fully come-as-you-are. Walk the block-or-so to get there, chat about anything and everything, leave feeling a little lighter. The pizza was excellent (a proper shoutout to Los Feliz’s new Old Gold Tomato Pies!), a surprisingly addictive salad, several bottles of wine open, and sour jelly beans making the rounds like little jewels. But what lingered in my mind wasn’t just the food, it was the ease of it all.

No occasion, very little hosting pressure, zero aesthetic to uphold. Just humans (and dogs, in this instance) loosely gathered, enjoying each other’s company and diving face-first into one of the world’s most reliable culinary joys. Skip the matching china or coordinated napkins, don’t even think about a save-the-date. In this case, it was as simple as “Saturday. Pizza party?” in the group text. Perfect.

I’ve also been toying with a slightly expanded version rooted in my deep love of a taste test (feel free to steal it): a larger group, each household bringing their favorite pie to transform the evening into a low-stakes tasting menu. New favorites discovered, opinions shared, leftovers negotiated. Especially now, when wallets feel tighter whilst the desire for connection grows, it feels like the exact right kind of night - simple, satisfying, repeatable.

And thus, this week’s recommendation is as straightforward as can be: have a pizza party. There’s no bad time to do it. But maybe don’t wear a white shirt… just in case.

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Flavor of the week: Queen’s Raw Bar is one of my favorite restaurants in LA, each dish overachieving as the category ideal version. But one bite at dinner the other night stopped me in my tracks: the side of Carolina gold rice. It was creamy, unctuous, savory, perfectly toothsome. Like risotto, but better? Regardless, I will be ordering a side of that rice each and every time I go.

Habit of the week: Steamy bone broth, stir in unflavored protein powder, a squeeze of lemon, and a pinch of salt. It feels like a deliciously reverent gift to my body at the start of each day.

Soundtrack of the week: There’s something about the spring light and summer temperatures that’s had me in my former-classical-singer nostalgia. Perhaps it’s all those sweaty choir tours in UK cathedrals that are too ancient to accommodate air conditioning? Anyhow, a little Voces8 nerd-out like Ola Gjeilo's Northern Lights is just the thing to cool off.

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I got an email this week that began, “You have 2,000 Saturdays left (maybe).”

Which is… a way to start. It went on to explain (with gobs of confidence) that most people will “waste” them. That Saturdays are subtly revealing who you are becoming, that scrolling and “relaxing” are actually forms of hiding, and that each weekend should be spent building, creating, compounding toward some future version of yourself who will, presumably, be very impressed with your output. There was math involved, quite a bit of it actually. “If you waste 50 Saturdays a year, you’ve wasted a full year of potential output.”

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