We Absolutely Cannot Eat Here
A Boulder snowstorm, emotionally exhausted sushi, alpine lakes, free cookies from strangers, and the return of Rock Boy
Week 51
This week was a full-on weather whiplash situation. One minute I’m feeling springy, buying cucumbers and tomatoes like a woman who clearly has her life together, and the next minute Boulder gets absolutely buried in snow like we accidentally relocated to the North Pole.
Sunday started on a high because I got to hold a baby. Truly nothing grounds you in the present moment quite like a smiling baby. This little guy was all cheeks and joy and gummy smiles and I honestly could have held him for hours. There is something magical about babies. Their expressions are so pure. They have no idea what taxes are or what Slack messages feel like.
The baby’s mom is a close friend of my sister Shelby. She’s an Emmy Award winning documentary producer and storyteller who has had all sorts of adventures around the world. Yet somehow, watching her navigate life with this tiny adorable human felt like maybe her biggest adventure yet.
Sunday afternoon, before my weekly grocery shop, I had a moment.
I looked inside the refrigerator and thought, “Absolutely not. We are not wasting all this produce again.”
And honestly? I’m pretty proud of myself.
I peeled and chopped actual carrots. Real carrots. Not baby carrots pretending to be carrots. Have you ever noticed regular carrots taste infinitely better than baby carrots? Why are baby carrots always vaguely disappointing? Yes, prepping real carrots takes more effort, but not THAT much effort. We’re talking five minutes, not open heart surgery.
I also had cucumbers and asked ChatGPT what I could make with rice vinegar, sesame oil, soy sauce, and sriracha. The result tasted like Din Tai Fung cucumbers and made me feel wildly accomplished.
Then there were the tomatoes. I tossed them into a jar with olive oil and balsamic vinegar and shook it around like I was starring in my own little Nancy Meyers kitchen scene. I felt deeply domestic. Like someone who owns matching serving bowls.
I think a lot of us buy groceries with the fantasy version of ourselves in mind. The organized woman who lovingly prepares vegetables every day. The woman who never gets hangry and orders takeout because she waited too long to eat. The woman who definitely uses the herbs before they liquify in the back of the refrigerator drawer.
I am not that woman.
Monday night I had dinner with my friend Lindy. Two weeks in a row! Honestly, that’s impressive considering we’ve gone years without seeing each other before. She lives in Denver and was in town, so we went to Wild Pastures, which G and I had almost gone to over the weekend.
The whole concept is very Boulder. Grass-fed beef. Fries cooked in tallow. Milkshakes sweetened with monk fruit and date syrup.
And before some of you roll your eyes and go gross, I need you to know that I genuinely love this kind of thing. Don’t ick my yum as the children say. Though honestly, who taught kids that phrase? Somewhere there is a kindergarten teacher doing emotional wellness work none of us were prepared for.
Then Tuesday happened.
Snow.
Real snow.
Not a light dusting. Not a cute little flurry. I’m talking multiple feet of snow falling from the sky in MAY. It was absolutely bananas.
Now remember, snow is still somewhat novel to me because I grew up in San Diego where weather was basically copy and paste for most of my childhood. But even longtime Colorado people were acting personally attacked by this storm.
Tuesday night I was invited to a sneak peek class at Kinetic Pilates, a reformer studio opening this weekend. Thank you Jules.
There is an energy inside a newly opened fitness studio that is impossible to explain unless you’ve experienced it. Somebody had an idea. A vision. Then they poured money, time, stress, tears, spreadsheets, branding meetings, construction headaches, and probably several emotional breakdowns into bringing it to life. And then one day the doors open. People walk in. Community begins.
It reminded me of the early BoxUnion days when we’d suddenly look around and realize the room was full of people we didn’t know. Complete strangers showing up because something you built resonated with them. There is something incredibly emotional about that.
Midweek, as the snow was coming down, G entered what can only be described as a weather-induced existential crisis. To be fair, he went to school in upstate New York and lived in Manhattan for years after college. Somewhere during those freezing East Coast winters, probably while stepping into gray slush wearing inappropriate shoes, he made a solemn promise to himself that he would never be cold again.
And yet here we are. In Boulder. In May. With snow piling up outside. The man was devastated. Boulder loses major points with him on gray days. He emotionally identifies as someone who should constantly be near a beach.
He is powered by sunshine. He wants shorts. He wants to run outside.
This snowstorm really made us realize how excited we are for our next adventure. We have loved getting lost in Colorado, but we are both itching for that feeling again. Being somewhere unfamiliar. Hearing languages we don’t understand. Trying foods we can’t pronounce. Wandering grocery stores and accidentally buying things we did not intend to buy. I love that feeling.
I also need to tell you that I spend an absurd amount of time writing these Substacks every week and weirdly I love it. It’s become a ritual and I can’t believe I’ve been doing this for almost a year!
I’ve developed what I consider a productivity hack, though people observing me in public may think I’ve absolutely lost my mind.
This past week, whenever I had an idea, I opened Wispr AI on my phone and started talking. Just full stream of consciousness rambling while walking through Boulder.
The thing is, I definitely write more eloquently than I speak. Talking me is chaos. Writing me is edited chaos. So I use the voice notes as a starting point and then spend a lot of time massaging everything into coherent sentences.
I do occasionally wonder what people think when they walk past me while I’m aggressively talking into my phone about boutique fitness studios, endangered reefs, weather depression, and salad dressing. Maybe they think I’m recording a podcast. Maybe they think I’m on a work call. Maybe they think I escaped from somewhere. Honestly all are fair assumptions.
The snow completely ruined my hiking plans with Emma. Let me tell you about Emma because she’s one of the most impressive 22 year olds I’ve ever met. I met her last week at an event where she was presenting a product she has been working on since she was sixteen years old. SIXTEEN. Meanwhile at sixteen I was probably worried about my frizzy hair and eating frozen yogurt. Emma created a reef-positive sunscreen, Bluu. Not just reef-safe. Reef-positive. Apparently reef-safe is now basically table stakes. What Emma and her team of scientists and marine biologists developed is technology that may actually help support reef ecosystems rather than simply not harming them.
She’s brilliant. Polished. Passionate. Optimistic. One of those people who radiates energy and purpose. The packaging is beautiful. The branding is thoughtful. She recently graduated from Berkeley and has clearly maximized every resource around her. I left that conversation feeling inspired.
I just really love people who are building things. Especially when the products are thoughtful and mission-driven.
Speaking of good people, I met Amanda, the owner of Lagroove, for smoothies Thursday morning. I immediately understood why the studio has such good energy.
Amanda and her husband bought the business in August after she had been a devoted client herself. She comes from a corporate background like me, and we instantly connected over the realities of entrepreneurship, staffing challenges, customer experience, exhaustion, and trying to keep twenty-seven spinning plates in the air at all times.
I’ve taken six classes there now and really love the vibe. After meeting Amanda, it all made sense.
I also had a phone call this week with a longtime BoxUnion client who was born in Naples and now runs these incredible Italian dinner experiences through her company Ragu & Mosh. If you are in LA and ever want a perfect Italian dinner party situation, she is your person. Gregg and I attended one years ago and still talk about it. Homemade pasta. Beautiful tablescapes. Thoughtful wine pairings. Every detail carefully considered. At the center of every dinner is homemade pasta.
The work front has been energizing too. I spoke with over a dozen studio owners this week. The conversations were all over the map. Leadership challenges. Staffing. Sales. Burnout. Growth. I genuinely love growth mindset people. People who believe there has to be a better way. People willing to invest in themselves. People humble enough to seek guidance but confident enough to build something unique from it.
One conversation this week really shook me though. A close friend joined a new concierge medicine practice recently and during baseline scans they discovered thyroid cancer. Thankfully they caught it incredibly early. She had surgery Friday and will not need chemo or radiation Phew. She is one of my favorite people on the planet and I felt physically sick imagining anything happening to her. What struck me most though was how she’s approaching life now. She’s this incredibly high-achieving, brilliant woman whose oldest son is graduating high school while her younger son is heading into sophomore year. Both boys are obsessed with baseball as is she. Both still genuinely want to spend time with her. And she’s making the conscious decision to step back from some work commitments this summer to fully soak in this phase of life with them.
I really admire that and I know not everyone can afford to do this. I think as we get older, time starts to feel much more concrete. You realize once a season passes, it’s gone forever. When your kids still want to spend time with you, you take it. Because someday they won’t.
And honestly, when they were little and attached to your body like tiny barnacles, there were definitely moments where escape sounded appealing. Now those moments feel precious.
Friday night deserves its own SNL skit. A Boulder local in the restaurant business recommended a sushi spot and told us it was his favorite restaurant in town and not to tell anyone because he didn’t want the secret to get out. In hindsight, I’m now questioning whether he was trying to protect the restaurant or the general public.
We made a reservation. We were excited. The second we walked in, our instincts started screaming. You know when your body processes information before your brain fully catches up? That. The lighting was strange. The vibe was off. Everything looked off. Not dirty exactly. Just deeply tired. Or maybe a bit dirty. We arrived early and were offered seats at the sushi bar while waiting for our table. Mistake or perhaps an omen. Directly in front of us sat the fish case. Usually this is where I stare lovingly at glossy salmon and pristine tuna while saliva fills my mouth. Instead the fish looked exhausted. Gray. Sad. Like it too was struggling emotionally with the Boulder weather.
Then we looked up at the sushi chefs. Listen, I know appearances are not everything. I understand this intellectually. But when raw fish is involved, appearances become at least SOME things.
The chefs looked deeply disorganized and questionably hygienic. Think Peter from Family Guy and Homer Simpson if they were in their thirties and dressed exclusively in faded Grateful Dead T shirts.
And this is where I need to explain something important about our marriage.
Early in our relationship, G established a rule. If we were ever in a situation where one of us felt deeply uncomfortable and said we needed to leave immediately, there would be no questions asked in the moment. No debating. No convincing. No “let’s just stay for one drink.” We would simply exit first and discuss later.
Honestly, it’s a pretty solid marriage policy. Well, apparently after 23 plus years together, we no longer even need words. Now it’s just a look. G and I locked eyes. No words were exchanged. Married people know this look. It’s the silent communication equivalent of: “We absolutely cannot eat here and we must leave immediately.” We stood up so quickly it probably looked like we remembered we left a toddler in the car. I felt bad because I genuinely hate hurting people’s feelings. But I also very much enjoy not getting food poisoning. So we bolted. Honestly, one of the fastest coordinated movements of our entire marriage.
We ended up panic-calling AOI, the sushi place we had gone to a few weeks ago and loved. Thankfully, they told us they had a table available. The only catch was we needed to be done by 7pm. It was 5:45pm. Perfect.
We are not leisurely diners. We know what we like, we order quickly, and after our near brush with what felt like a gastrointestinal crime scene, we were more than ready to move with urgency. The second we walked into AOI, our nervous systems relaxed. The lighting was normal. The restaurant smelled fresh. The sushi chefs looked clean and alert. And perhaps most importantly, the fish looked happy.
Honestly, the whole experience made us laugh so hard afterward. There is something deeply bonding about silently locking eyes with your spouse and mutually deciding, “Absolutely not.”
And then Saturday arrived and with it came one of our classic Colorado adventure days where we wildly underestimate weather conditions, overestimate our preparedness, and somehow still end up having the best time.
We left Boulder in the morning and headed to Breckenridge to do the Blue Lakes hike.
Now in our defense, Boulder had been sunny and relatively mild when we left. Breckenridge apparently did not get that memo.
The second we arrived it felt like someone had opened the door of a commercial freezer directly into our faces. It had to be at least thirty degrees colder than Boulder and the wind was AGGRESSIVE. The kind of wind that makes your eyes water instantly and causes you to question every life choice that brought you to that exact moment.
Meanwhile, G was wearing shorts. SHORTS. To be fair, we did bring jackets, but everyone else on the trail looked like they were preparing for an Arctic expedition. Full Coats. Gloves. Beanies. Proper hiking boots. And there stood my husband, proudly exposing his bare legs to the elements.
The original hike plan quickly became unrealistic because there was still too much snow and we absolutely did not have the correct gear. And even if we did, I don’t think we are those kinds of hikers. Not yet at least. But honestly, what we did see was spectacular.
The views were ridiculous. Bright blue alpine lakes surrounded by snow capped mountains and dark green trees. The kind of scenery that almost looks fake because it’s too beautiful to process properly. The clouds were dramatic, the air smelled incredible, and despite the freezing wind whipping across my face, I kept stopping just to stare.
And then we saw a beaver. An actual beaver. In the wild. I have somehow gone almost fifty years on this planet without seeing a beaver, and suddenly there was this adorable chunky little creature living its best mountain life. Five minutes later we saw a chipmunk too. I would also like to report that somewhere along this hike, Rock Boy returned. If you are new here, Rock Boy is the personality G occasionally adopts where he becomes completely mesmerized by shiny rocks and minerals like a prospector during the Gold Rush. Every few feet he would stop abruptly, crouch toward the ground, squint intensely, and begin examining rocks with the seriousness of someone evaluating diamonds at Sotheby’s. “Ooooh look at this one.” “This has gold in it.” “Wait, this one is silver.” At one point he was so excited about a sparkly rock discovery that I briefly worried we were about to become one of those couples who abandons modern society to pan for gold in the mountains.
He ultimately left with two prized specimens in his pocket and the energy of a man who had personally struck it rich. Meanwhile, I was trying to maintain patience because Rock Boy significantly slows the pace of any hike. But every time I started feeling mildly annoyed, I would look up at the lake, the snow, the mountains, the ridiculous sky, and think, okay fine, maybe this is actually kind of perfect.
After the hike, we headed into Breckenridge, which honestly looks like a movie set. Adorable buildings. Cute shops, restaurants and cafes. Mountain views everywhere.
Naturally, we stopped at Mountain Top Cookie Shop because every adventure includes G searching for baked goods.
There was a couple in front of us ordering cookies and the special was buy six get two free. The man turned around and said, “We don’t need the extra two. You guys want them?” How nice is that? So G happily accepted his two free cookies courtesy of a stranger.
From there we continued to Frisco, another impossibly charming mountain town with another cute little main street. We wandered through a few stores, browsed things neither of us needed, and basically lived out our small town Hallmark movie fantasy.
Then we drove through Georgetown. It’s this historic Victorian mining town tucked into the mountains with lakes and old buildings and scenery so picturesque it almost feels fake.
By this point I was fully romanticizing mining town life despite the fact that I would absolutely not have survived actual mining town life.
Our final stop of the day was Idaho Springs where we had pizza at Beau Jo’s, or as they formally call it, Colorado Style Mountain Pizza.
There was a huge wait, which normally would test my patience because hanger is a very real part of my personality, but Idaho Springs was so cute we didn’t even care. The little downtown area is lined with old historic buildings and honestly every single one of these Colorado mining towns feels like someone built a theme park version of “charming mountain America.” The whole day felt like one long postcard.
And now it’s Sunday. Mother’s Day.
I want to take a minute to wish my mom, Dr. Louise Stanger, a very happy Mother’s Day.
To all of you reading this, whether you are a mom, have a mom, miss your mom, are grieving your mom, longing to become a mom, or navigating complicated feelings around today, I’m sending you a lot of love.
I feel incredibly grateful for the woman who raised me.
My mom taught me how to talk to anyone. How to be curious. How to find connection through stories. She taught me resilience long before I fully understood what resilience meant. She also taught me that trauma does not have to define you forever and that sometimes the hardest things we survive become the very things that deepen us.
Also, Wzy has a new book, “Trauma Is Your Superpower” coming out and I cannot wait for you all to see it.
Until next week.