Category: Eat, Pray, Love

Passport-Worthy & Budget-Friendly: Safe & Underrated Destinations That Won’t Break the Bank (or Your Spirit)

April 18, 2025

Eat, Pray, Love, Travel Advice

Let’s get something straight, right off the tarmac: you don’t have to be rich, retired, or reckless to travel well. And you sure as heck don’t need to follow the crowds to have an unforgettable adventure. Some of the best destinations on the planet are flying under the radar—and guess what? They’re safe, stunning, and shockingly affordable.

So for all my fellow wanderers who want the experience without the expense (and don’t want to be looking over their shoulder the whole time), here are my top underrated, non-billionaire-requiring, travel advisor-approved spots to explore.

1. Oaxaca, Mexico – Culture, Cuisine & Color

Why go: This region is a feast for the senses—vibrant markets, colonial charm, ancient ruins, and food that will ruin you for basic tacos forever.

Safety Snapshot: Stick to well-lit, central areas, use hotel-arranged transfers, and don’t go tequila-tasting with strangers named “El Diablo.” Be smart, and it’s very welcoming.

2. Albania – Europe’s Secret Slice of Paradise

Why go: Mediterranean beaches, rugged mountains, charming towns, and meals that cost less than your Chick-fil-A order.

Safety Snapshot: Low crime, especially for tourists. Locals are friendly, and you’re more likely to be offered homemade raki than robbed. Just don’t drive yourself—the roads are… adventurous.

3. Georgia (The Country, Not the Peach State)

Why go: Mountains that rival the Alps, ancient wine regions, and a capital city full of quirky charm and history.

Safety Snapshot: Extremely safe for tourists. Occasional protests in Tbilisi happen, so check with your advisor (hi, me) before heading to any big squares waving a selfie stick.

4. Vietnam – Breathtaking Beauty on a Budget

Why go: Lantern-lit cities, beaches, rice terraces, cruises on Ha Long Bay, and food that’ll make you question every chain restaurant you’ve ever loved.

Safety Snapshot: Petty theft in busy areas is the main thing to watch for. Big cities can feel chaotic but not dangerous. Scooters are wild. Pack your patience.

5. Alentejo, Portugal – The Other Wine Country

Why go: Quiet villages, rolling hills, olive groves, and enough vino to fill your carry-on and your soul.

Safety Snapshot: Portugal consistently ranks as one of the safest countries in the world. This region? Even safer. Only danger is becoming too relaxed.

6. Uruguay – Chic, Chill & Cheaper Than You’d Expect

Why go: Colonial charm in Colonia, beach bliss in Punta del Este, and Montevideo’s artsy, laid-back vibe.

Safety Snapshot: Safe, stable, and underrated. You’re not likely to have issues—but like anywhere, stay alert in cities and don’t flaunt the bling.

7. Québec’s Eastern Townships – Bonjour on a Budget

Why go: You get all the charm of rural France—without that pesky transatlantic flight. Cozy inns, cheese, wineries, and maple everything.

Safety Snapshot: Honestly? Unless you’re mugged by a moose (unlikely), you’re good. It’s Canada. They’ll probably apologize before they rob you anyway.

So… Is It Really That Easy?

It can be. When you work with someone who knows how to read between the reviews, navigate the news, and plan a trip with both heart and good sense.

Affordable doesn’t have to mean risky. Underrated doesn’t mean unknown.

And just because you’re not a Kardashian doesn’t mean you can’t have a passport-worthy experience.

Ready to explore the world smart, safe, and within your budget?

Let’s chat. Call me at [770-334-2256] or get a complimentary quote at taketimetotravelga.com/quote/

Your dream trip might just be the one no one’s talking about yet—and I’m here to help you find it.

Cindy – Jani – Tammy – Trisha – Krystal

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Cancer. Over it.

April 18, 2025

Eat, Pray, Love

I’ve had enough of cancer, y’all. Flat-out enough. Breast cancer, especially, has stomped all over too many of my friends and a few of my family over the years. And working so closely with Trisha? Whew. It changed everything I thought I knew. Because it’s not just the physical toll—though that is brutal enough—it’s the mental side that doesn’t always get talked about.

This disease? It’s a thief. It takes your peace, your plans, and for a while there, it’ll try to take your power. It’s not just a “let’s remove the lump and move on” kind of deal. Sometimes it’s that. But most times? It’s appointments, and meds, and surgery… and then another surgery… and another. Oh wait! One more for good measure.

And let’s talk about that port in your chest. And the drain tubes with the little bulbs hanging down like some twisted DIY project. I mean… should we bedazzle them? Put ‘em on Etsy? “Limited edition dangly drains—one for each round of chemo!”

You won’t see most of this on social media. And Hallmark sure as hell isn’t showing you the midnight meltdowns, the gut-punch anxiety, or what it feels like to look in the mirror at a body you barely recognize anymore.

And don’t even get me started on the fact that it’s 2025 and we can bring back dire wolves—yes, literal Ice Age wolves—but still no cure for cancer? I’m not saying I’m the smartest gal in the room, but somebody explain that to me. Please.

To every single woman fighting, surviving, and picking herself back up day after day—you are more than a warrior. You are a walking miracle. And I see you. I really see you.

With love and madddd respect!

XOXO, Jani

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So… Why Am I Writing A Blog Anyway?

April 16, 2025

Eat, Pray, Love

Last week, a friend of mine asked me—genuinely and with no sass—“Why are you writing a blog anyway?”

Now, I could’ve tossed out a quick one-liner or shrugged it off with something funny (which, let’s be honest, is my default setting). But I didn’t. Because her question deserved an honest answer.

Truth is, it’s not a simple answer.

Or maybe it is.

I’ve been writing in some form since I could string thoughts together. My earliest memories of writing go all the way back to that little pink diary with a heart-shaped lock that thought it could keep out a nosy sibling (it couldn’t). But to me, that diary was a sacred place. I spilled my secrets, my fears, my big dreams—and sometimes just what I had for lunch and how mean my step-monster was being. It was mine. All mine. And it felt safe.

Maybe it’s in my blood. My Paw was a writer. So was my Daddy. His two sisters too. And my cousin Jessica? Lord, she can write like poetry pours out of her fingers.

Me? I’ve never considered myself a beautiful writer. I don’t craft prose like some well-trained novelist. What I write tends to tumble out exactly as my brain and heart think and feel. Sometimes messy. Sometimes a little tangled. Always honest.

Over the years, I’ve worked hard to shape those thoughts into something more fluid, more readable—because Lord knows, not everyone speaks fluent “Jani brain.” But no matter how polished I try to be, my writing is still me. It’s my therapy. It’s how I process the world—past, present, and even the chaos I haven’t met yet.

Some of what I write will be shiny and lighthearted.

Some of it will come from the deeper places—the childhood that wasn’t all sugar and spice, the teenage years that required more strength than anyone should’ve had to muster, the heartbreaks, the healing, and all the getting-back-ups.

Writing is how I breathe when the world feels heavy.

It’s how I hold on to the moments that matter.

And yes—it’s honestly for me.

But—if something I write makes someone laugh out loud, or feel less alone, or stop and say, “Well, damn, me too…”—then I’ll feel like I’ve done something right.

So yeah. That’s why I’m writing this blog.

Not for the likes. Not for the algorithms. But that’s cool, FR!

For me.

And maybe, just maybe, for you too.

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Holding My Head High – Lessons from Chubby

April 15, 2025

Eat, Pray, Love

Describe a positive thing a family member has done for you.

Lily Ruth Atkins Aylsworth

We called her Chubby.

Now before you start picturing a round little Southern granny, let me clarify—my paternal grandmother never had a chubby day in her life. The nickname came before I was born and my Paw would make sure it stuck! Ha!

She grew up in Decata’ (Decatur) Georgia

Chubby was Southern elegance personified. If you plucked a woman off the pages of a Ralph Lauren catalog, dusted her with a touch of sass, and gave her a backbone forged from steel and grace—you’d have my grandmother. Her platinum blonde hair, thick and coarse, was always pulled back neatly as she aged. And even on her worst day, she looked like she belonged on a front porch sipping sweet tea in only the finest—never out of place, always put together.

Purr-fiction in every way

Her hemline always matched her shoes. Which is impressive, considering she had a mountain of shoes—each pair nearly identical except for the color. She loved Estee Lauder—makeup, perfume, and everything in between. Youth Dew was her signature scent. If you ever walked into her home in Adairsville, you’d know she was near before you ever saw her.

Yes, my Paw is wearing a Confederate uniform. It was a festival 🤣

To the folks in our little town, she was “Ms. Aylsworth or Ms. Ruth.” And to be real, some folks thought she was a bit “high and mighty,” as the Southern saying goes. But if you truly knew her, you saw something much deeper. My grandparents were characters—Paw was her “Rooster,” and she was his “Hen” or “Chicken,” I can’t remember. It was like living in a Tennessee Williams play, but with better shoes and less yelling.

One thing I’ll never forget: her long, golden necklace. It had a tiny gold ring on it, and nestled inside that ring was clear resin holding the smallest mustard seed you ever did see. “If you have faith the size of a mustard seed…” And y’all, she did. She truly did. She carried her faith with quiet power, and she wore that necklace like armor. She didn’t need to go on and on. It was just in her.

Esteè Lauder Lipstick, Youth Dew and that ever-present mustard seed

What Chubby gave me wasn’t just a closet full of fashion goals or a love for Estée Lauder (I’m definitely not). She gave me something far more important—the ability to hold my head high no matter the mess life serves up. When my daddy was arrested, when my grandfather passed away during that same chapter of heartbreak, and even when she lost her youngest daughter a few years later—she kept moving forward. Chin up, eyes ahead, faith intact.

That quiet strength? That fierce grace? I know I got that from her.

She shared her good genes and her birthday with me!

Now, I’m a little different. I wear my vulnerability on my sleeve. I cry, I talk, I write. But the getting-back-up part? That’s all Chubby. Every one of us Aylsworth cousins knows it. We joke about all the things we inherited from her—and let’s be honest, the Aylsworth gene runs strong. I see her in my kids too. Even though Jake and Jarrett seem to look nothing alike, they both look (and act) like me, they both carry pieces of her, and now their kids do too. That makes my heart proud in a way I can’t quite put into words.

I miss her. Lord, do I miss her. If I could go back in time, I’d soak up every second. I’d sit with her in that kitchen, watch her apply that Chestnut Estee Lauder lipstick, and maybe borrow a pair of those matching shoes.

But most of all, I’d thank her—for showing me how to walk through life with grace, even when your world feels like it’s falling apart. And for reminding me, without ever saying a word, that sometimes, faith as small as a mustard seed is more than enough.

I hope she looks down from Heaven and will always be proud of us.

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Big Pharma, Dire Wolves & An Unlikely Hero

April 15, 2025

Eat, Pray, Love

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

Whew.

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

Ron Woodroof

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

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

Prehistoric Dire Wolf

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

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

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

But hey. Dire Wolves, right?

XOXO, Jani

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Frankie’s!

April 14, 2025

Eat, Pray, Love

What is your favorite restaurant?

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

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

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

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

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

April 13, 2025

Eat, Pray, Love

What are 5 everyday things that bring you happiness?

— In No Particular Order, Y’all —

1. That First Sip of French Roast Coffee

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

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

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

3. Porch Sittin’ with Coffee & Critters

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

4. Early Mornings Before the World Starts Yellin’

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

5. Morning Reiki, Prayer & Meditation

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

In Closing…

Happiness doesn’t have to be loud or expensive.

It’s not always a grand adventure.

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

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

XOXO, Jani

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

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High School Lesson: Life Turns on a Dime

April 12, 2025

Eat, Pray, Love

Describe something you learned in high school.

Me in my Billy Idol Era

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

Life turns on a dime.

When I was 14, my dad went to prison.

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

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

Big beautiful home? Yep. With a pool.

Farm? Yep.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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These Grown-up Boys of Mine

April 12, 2025

Eat, Pray, Love

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

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

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

Me w/ Jarrett and Jake

Blended, Blessed, and Beautifully Ours

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

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

Me and Greg

Mitch w/ me and Kenzie

Jake: The Chef with a Margarita Welcome

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

Jake w/ Harvey and AJ

Mitch: The Calm in the Middle

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

Mitch w/ Wyatt

Jarrett: My Forever Sidekick

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

Jarret w/ Libby

Watching Them Raise Their Own

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

Three Good Men. One Lucky Momma

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

Three boys.

One beautifully blended family.

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

XOXO, Jani

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

April 11, 2025

Eat, Pray, Love, Travel Advice

Describe one positive change you have made in your life.

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

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

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

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

And then, one day, I just… stopped.

I took a leap.

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

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

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

Me.

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

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

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

I get to explore this beautiful world.

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

And most of all?

I got me back.

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

Hands down — changing careers midstream.

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

Because trust me — you are.

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