Journeys With Jani

For the Love of Basic Jeans—Y’all Have Lost Your Minds

July 29, 2025

The Sitcom Called “Mary Jane”

Alright, let’s just dive straight into the deep end, shall we?

Apparently, the world has officially lost its mind over a simple American Eagle ad featuring Sydney Sweeney. Yep. A young, talented actress modeling a pair of jeans. That’s it. That’s the scandal. Heaven forbid she be blonde, white, and gorgeous in a classic pair of denim. For the love of basic jeans—PEOPLE! WTAF is wrong with you?

That’s not even a real question anymore, because I already know. We are collectively circling the drain of common sense and critical thinking, and the plug is out.

Let’s break this down real simple: It’s an ad.

A promo.

A snapshot of a person in a pair of jeans with a clever little caption about being an “American Beauty with great jeans.” And spoiler alert—she is an American beauty. Full stop. No qualifier needed. That doesn’t mean only she is. That doesn’t erase anyone else’s beauty, heritage, or identity. It’s just this ad. With this actress. And this denim.

But oh no, out come the pitchforks and the outrage Olympics.

If it had been a Black woman? Or a Latina? Or an Asian model? Crickets. Nobody would say a damn thing except maybe, “Yasss queen.” But because Sydney Sweeney is white and successful, it’s suddenly a threat to progress? Give me a break. She didn’t even write the tagline. She’s just out here looking stunning in a pair of Levi dupes, doing her job. And y’all are acting like she stormed Capitol Hill in a denim jacket screaming about manifest destiny.

Here’s the part that really bothers me—and yes, I am going to say it:

Stop being so soft.

Not everything is an attack. Not every ad is a war cry. Not every white girl in a pair of jeans is erasing your existence. Sometimes… an ad is just an ad.

But let’s take a wider look for a second, because the hate we’re seeing? It’s not just about race. Or religion. Or politics. It’s gone deeper. Meaner. Now, people will hate you because you’re happy. Or because you’re successful. Or because your hair looks good in humidity. It’s that unhinged.

It’s not progress when we shame someone for existing just because they don’t check every demographic box. It’s not activism if your argument only works when you’re tearing someone else down. You want a world with more inclusivity? Great. Me too. But you don’t build that world by crucifying one actress for posing in a pair of jeans.

We’ve got bigger things to worry about than a denim campaign, folks. Try inflation. Try healthcare. Try the fact that the cost of bacon is now comparable to the price of gold. Be mad about that.

In the meantime, I’m gonna need y’all to get it together and put that misplaced rage back in your emotional junk drawer. And maybe go outside. Touch grass. Eat a sandwich.

And if you’re still pressed? Take a walk. In some jeans.

Until next time, friends… stay sane!

XOXO, Jani

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The World Has Been a Dumpster Fire Before… And Yet, Here We Are

July 27, 2025

Eat, Pray, Love

Let’s Talk About It…

Do you ever just scroll through social media and wonder if people have completely lost their grip on reality? Like—truly believe that we are living in the Worst Time in History? Now, don’t get me wrong—today’s world has plenty of issues. But… trauma isn’t new. Global crisis isn’t new. Hardship isn’t new. And for some reason, we’ve forgotten that.

This post was actually inspired by something I saw shared by Hannah and Renee on Facebook, originally from Heavy D. It gave me pause—because the perspective was powerful. So of course, I had to dig into the history a bit deeper (and put my spin on it, naturally).

So sit back and let me give you a little reality check—wrapped in truth.

👵 Imagine Being Born in 1900…

If you were born in 1900 in the United States, your childhood wasn’t exactly filled with iPads and Pop-Tarts. Nope. At 14 years old, World War I breaks out. A global bloodbath. By the time you turn 18, it’s finally over—with 22 million people dead. Happy Birthday, kid!

But wait—it gets better. Right after the war ends in 1918, the Spanish Flu pandemic shows up. Not the sniffles, not a bad cold—this sucker wipes out an estimated 50 million people worldwide by the time you’re 20. Fifty. Million.

💰 Then the Economy Crashes and Burns

Just when you think you’re catching a break, 1929 hits and boom—the Great Depression. Banks collapse. People lose everything. Unemployment soars to 25%, and global GDP shrinks by over 25%. You’re 29 years old, trying to build a life, and instead you’re scraping by on hope and Hoover stew.

🌍 But Wait, There’s More: Another World War

By the time you’re 39, it’s 1939 and here comes World War II. And at 41, you’re officially living through another global nightmare as the U.S. enters the war after Pearl Harbor. Between then and your 45th birthday, over 75 million people die worldwide. That includes 6 million Jewish people murdered in the Holocaust. Evil on a scale we can barely comprehend.

🔥 Cold Wars, Hot Wars, and a Whole Lotta Fear

You make it to 50, and then the Korean War kicks off. Another 5 million deaths. By 62, the Cuban Missile Crisis nearly ends the planet in a nuclear blaze. The world literally held its breath for 13 days while we sat one red button away from annihilation.

Then just for fun, the Vietnam War drags on from your mid-60s into your mid-70s, killing up to 4 million people. And let’s not forget the civil rights movement, assassinations of major leaders, Watergate, and watching disco happen. (Honestly, disco might have been the emotional breaking point for some.)

😳 And Y’all Think 2025 Is the Worst?

Don’t get me wrong—our modern world is a mess in its own right. Social unrest, political drama, climate chaos, health crises. Yep, all valid concerns. But we’re acting like struggle is brand new.

Let me be clear: we are not the first generation to face hard times. Not even close. But what’s different now? We’ve become loud about our stress and quiet about our resilience. We treat every inconvenience like the end of civilization and every disagreement like a betrayal. Meanwhile, our grandparents were out there surviving wars, pandemics, food shortages, and economic collapse—and still managed to put on a dress or tie on Sunday morning and go to church with a smile.

💡 Here’s the Point

Perspective. It’s a powerful thing. Our ancestors made it through devastation we read about in history books. And they did it without therapy apps, organic smoothies, or TikTok rants. They survived. They adapted. They kept going.

So let’s cool the hysteria, stop treating every modern-day problem like it’s the first of its kind, and take a breath. Be smart. Help each other. Have grace. Because no matter how bad it feels right now… this too shall pass.

And when it does, don’t forget to be the person who survived it with empathy, not ego.

XOXO, Jani

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Italy on Delta One!

July 26, 2025

Eat, Pray, Love, Travel Advice

If you won two free plane tickets, where would you go?

You ever play that game in your head—what if you won something big? Like the lottery, or a car, or even just two free plane tickets to anywhere in the world? Well, I’ve played that game, and honey, let me tell you, I’ve got my answer locked and loaded.

If I won two free plane tickets, I wouldn’t even hesitate. I’m grabbing my cousin Jarie, booking us in Delta One (because if we’re dreaming, we’re dreaming right), and we’re flying non-stop straight to Italy for a two-week whirlwind of wine, food, culture, and unforgettable moments.

Now, let me tell you a little something about Jarie. She’s the cousin who would have my back in a bar fight, a PTA meeting, or a life crisis. She’s tough, loyal, hilarious, and full of heart. And she deserves to see more of this big ol’ blue marble we live on.

Why Italy?

Because Italy is everything …and my dream!

We’d start in Rome, because duh. The Colosseum, the Pantheon, the Vatican—history literally oozes from the cobblestones. We’d eat cacio e pepe* at some little hole-in-the-wall trattoria**, drink house wine that tastes like heaven, and probably get scolded by an elderly Italian woman for not eating enough. (We’d accept that scolding with gratitude and go back for seconds.)

Then we’d hop a train to Florence. Art and architecture that’ll make you cry, gelato so good it makes you question every other dessert you’ve ever loved, and leather markets where Jarie would absolutely haggle like a pro.

Next stop: Tuscany. Wine country. Rolling hills, olive groves, sun-drenched villas. We’d sip Chianti Classico under a pergola at golden hour and toast to family, friendship, and free plane tickets.

And Venice? Don’t get me started. Floating through the canals with a spritz in hand, getting lost in those winding alleyways, and buying masks we absolutely don’t need? Yes, please.

We’d finish off our Italian love affair on the Amalfi Coast (I love hearing Trisha talk about it). Lemon trees, sparkling sea views, cliffside villages like Positano and Ravello, and seafood that tastes like it was caught moments before it hit our plates. I can already see Jarie with a linen wrap and oversized sunglasses, living her best life while I document every second on my phone like a proud momma at a dance recital.

But here’s the real reason.

I want Jarie to feel what I feel when I travel—to stand in front of something ancient and beautiful and bigger than life and feel small in the best way. To breathe in air that smells like garlic and sea salt and basil and history. To hear languages she doesn’t understand but somehow still feels. I want her to know that there’s so much more to see, to taste, to feel, to live—and she deserves every last bit of it.

So yeah. If I won two free plane tickets, I wouldn’t be thinking tropical or trendy. I’d be thinking timeless. I’d be thinking Italy—with Jarie by my side, eating pasta, laughing till we cry, and living like the queens we are.

*Cacio e Pepe (pronounced KAH-cho eh PEH-peh) is Italian for “cheese and pepper”—and that’s literally all it is. But don’t let the simplicity fool you. This Roman classic is pure magic.

Here’s what’s in it:

Pasta – Usually spaghetti or tonnarelli (a thicker, square-edged pasta) Pecorino Romano cheese – A sharp, salty sheep’s milk cheese Black pepper – Freshly cracked, bold, and peppery Pasta water – That starchy water is key to creating the silky sauce

That’s it. No butter. No cream. No garlic. No nonsense.

It’s all about the technique: tossing hot pasta with finely grated cheese and pepper while adding just enough pasta water to melt the cheese into a creamy, clingy sauce. It’s cheesy, peppery, salty, and totally comforting—basically the Italian version of grown-up mac and cheese, but with a passport and way more attitude.

If you’re ever in Rome, order it at a trattoria. If it’s done right, you’ll dream about it for the rest of your life.

**A trattoria (pronounced tra-toh-REE-uh) is a type of casual, family-owned Italian restaurant. Think of it as the cozy middle ground between a fancy ristorante and a no-frills osteria.

Here’s what makes a trattoria special:

🍝 Homestyle cooking – The food is traditional, hearty, and often based on family recipes. No over-the-top plating here—just good, soul-satisfying dishes. 🍷 Affordable prices – It’s usually less expensive than a ristorante, and often the house wine is cheaper (and better) than anything you’d find back home. 🪑 Laid-back vibe – Casual seating, maybe a chalkboard menu, sometimes no printed menu at all. Don’t be surprised if the owner is also your waiter and chef. 🇮🇹 Local and seasonal – Menus change based on what’s fresh and in season. You’re getting a real taste of the region you’re in.

So when I say “little hole-in-the-wall trattoria in Rome,” I mean the kind of place where Nonna is in the kitchen, the wine flows freely, and the pasta makes you believe in magic.

Let’s Talk About It… 🍷✈️🍋🇮🇹

XOXO, Jani

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🔫 Guns, Kids, and Common Sense: Let’s Talk About It…

July 26, 2025

Eat, Pray, Love

I believe in the Second Amendment. I believe in my right to protect myself, my family, my home, and yes—my little Basset hounds if it ever came to that. I was raised around guns. I’ve shot ‘em. I’ve cleaned ‘em. I’ve respected ‘em. So, let’s get one thing straight right out the gate: this is not an anti-gun blog.

But Lord have mercy—something’s gotta give.

The number of school shootings in this country? It’s terrifying. And what’s even scarier is how numb we’re all becoming to it. Another headline, another lockdown, another “thoughts and prayers” post before we just… move on. But these are children. Babies. Classrooms should be loud with pencil tapping and bad recorder solos—not bullets.

Now, I’m no policy maker. I don’t pretend to have the answers. But I know this much: saying “if someone wants a gun bad enough, they’ll find a way” doesn’t mean we stop trying to make it harder. That’s like saying, “people are going to drive drunk anyway, so let’s not bother with the DUI laws.” We’ve got to use some dang common sense.

Here’s where I land:

Yes, I want to keep my guns. No, I don’t want unstable people to have easy access to theirs.

Seems like there ought to be a middle ground, right?

Background checks? Sure.

Safe storage laws? Absolutely.

Red flag laws so a clearly unstable person can’t just walk into a store and grab an AR-15 because they had a bad breakup and a grudge? Yep.

Mandatory waiting periods so someone has time to cool off or reconsider? That feels reasonable.

I’m not trying to take anyone’s freedom. I’m trying to protect kids and keep schools from turning into war zones. There’s not a teacher in this country who signed up for combat duty. And there’s not a momma I know who should have to explain to their child how to barricade a classroom door with a desk.

And while we’re at it—can we also talk about the mental health crisis? Because that’s part of it too. We’ve got to stop brushing off warning signs because “he was always a little quiet” or “she just needed attention.” We need counselors, not just cops. We need adults to stop being scared to speak up when something feels off.

Listen, I don’t believe the government is coming for our guns. And if they are? They’re gonna have to go through my overly organized ammo box first. But I do believe we can support the right to bear arms and also support laws that make it a privilege earned through responsibility—not just something handed out like Halloween candy.

Protect our rights.

Protect our kids.

Both can be true.

Let’s stop acting like it’s one or the other.

Let’s be the generation that finally says: “Enough.”

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go double-check that my safe is locked, my coffee is hot, and my Basset hounds haven’t dragged a sock into the yard again.

From the heart and the holler,

XOXO, Jani

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Carry-On & Conquer: My Iowa Experiment in Traveling Light

July 26, 2025

Travel Advice

This southern-born, over-packing, “but-what-if-I-need-it” kinda gal took a weekend trip with nothing but a carry-on and my big work backpack. That’s right—I traveled light and lived to tell the tale.

We just got back from a family reunion in Iowa—land of peaceful views, card games, cornfields, and cousins. It was a quick trip, just a long weekend, but I challenged myself: no checked bag. I grabbed my carry-on, loaded up my very large backpack (yes, my crossbody went inside it like a nesting doll), and got strategic …my backpack is huge but still fits under the seat!

And honey… it worked.

🧳 What I Packed (and How It Fit)

Did I miss anything? Not one thing. Here’s how I made it work:

Vacuum bags- These things are witchcraft in the best way. I rolled, packed, flattened, zipped, and suddenly it was like Mary Poppins’ carpetbag in there. Three outfits + pajamas + one extra “just in case” shirt. (You can take the girl out of the South, but you can’t take the over-preparer out of the girl.)

Toiletries in TSA-approved sizes, tucked right into my quart-size bag like a little puzzle of moisturizers and mascara. Shoes? Two pair packed, one on my feet (don’t judge). That’s it. And yes, I survived.

I slipped my ID, cards, and essentials into my crossbody, then popped that into my backpack along with chargers, my iPad, snacks (because of course), and a travel pillow.

What I am using-

TSA Approved Carry On- https://amzn.to/4lXRpvK

Backpack- https://amzn.to/4fh5fa0

TSA Approved Vacuum Bags- https://amzn.to/4575vnf

Crossbody Bag- https://amzn.to/3TY22lN

Travel Pillow- https://amzn.to/4feFIhu

What I want-

Lovelook Backpack- https://amzn.to/4lbdNAA

Joyway Carry On- https://amzn.to/4740K09

🎯 What I Learned

Honestly, this little test run gave me the confidence to aim for bigger carry-on goals. I now know I can absolutely pack this way for 4-5 days. That’s my next challenge—and it’s one I plan to win with a smug little carry-on strut through the airport.

Now, a full week or more? Mmm… let’s not get crazy. I’m ambitious, not delusional. But who knows? Maybe I’ll keep leveling up until I’m one of those carry-on-only unicorns even on a 10-day trip. (Spoiler alert: I will still not be the person who packs one pair of shoes. I am not a monster.)

💡 A Few Tips from My Trial Run

Pack neutrals. Mix-and-match outfits cut your clothing needs in half. Shoes are the space hogs (yes. I said that). Be ruthless. Wear your bulkier items (sweaters, sneakers) on the plane. Vacuum bags are a game-changer—just make sure you’ll have access to a way to reseal them before flying home. Backpack > Purse for personal item. It fits more, distributes weight better, and keeps your hands free for coffee and airport snacks.

✈️ Why It’s Worth It

Less to carry. Less to worry about. No waiting at baggage claim. No “oops, my luggage is in Phoenix” situation. More time to enjoy your trip and more space in your brain for the things that matter—like memories, not outfit regrets.

If you’re on the fence about trying the carry-on life, start small like I did. Take a weekend trip and see what happens. You just might surprise yourself.

I sure did.

Want help figuring out how to pack smarter for your next trip? Reach out—I’ve got carry-on hacks and travel advice for days.

Until then—carry on, friend. Literally. 😉

XOXO, Jani

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Broken Glass

July 23, 2025

Eat, Pray, Love

I broke a glass once.

Nothing dramatic. No wild hand gesture or kitchen tantrum. Just a simple slip, a clink, a crash, and there it was—shattered into a thousand tiny pieces across the floor.

And what did I do? Instinctively, I got down on my hands and knees and started cleaning it up. Every sliver. Every shard. I moved slow and deliberate, because I didn’t want to cut myself—or worse, leave a piece behind that someone else might step on.

Because that’s what you do when glass breaks, right?

You clean it up.

But here’s the thing—I’ve been thinking about what would’ve happened if I hadn’t. What if I had just… thrown a towel over it? Or shoved it into a corner, out of sight, out of mind?

I mean, I would still know it was there. I’d be the one walking around it, stepping carefully, rearranging things to keep others from finding it. Eventually, someone—me or someone I love—would trip over it. Or maybe it would slice open a bare foot at the worst possible moment.

And that, my friend, is what brokenness does when you ignore it.

I don’t just mean broken dishes. I mean the stuff deep down inside us. The grief. The shame. The guilt. The disappointments. The trauma. The lies we believed. The truths we buried. The moments that cracked us wide open.

We all carry our own version of broken glass.

And just like that shattered tumbler, we’ve got two choices:

We can clean it up.

Or we can cover it up.

One gives us peace, the other just gives us a ticking time bomb.

I’ll be honest—I’ve spent seasons in my life doing both. There were years when I tried to hide the mess. Slapped on a smile, threw a rug over the pain, acted like everything was fine. But brokenness doesn’t just sit quietly in a corner. It waits. It festers. And eventually, it makes itself known—in your body, your relationships, your decisions.

Cleaning it up takes time. It’s painful. It’s not always graceful, and sometimes you’ll find a piece months later that you swear you already swept away. But it’s worth it. Because when we choose healing—real, messy, soul-level healing—we protect not only ourselves, but the people who walk through life with us.

So if you’ve got some broken glass on the floor of your heart, maybe this is your gentle nudge to pick up the broom.

Not for perfection. Not for performance.

But for peace.

And if today isn’t the day you can clean it all up? That’s okay too. Just start with one tiny shard.

You’re worth that much.

XOXO, Jani

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More Than a Legend: An Ode to Ozzy Osbourne

July 23, 2025

Eat, Pray, Love

I grew up with Ozzy Osbourne’s voice echoing through the speakers—wild, raw, untamed. The Prince of Darkness. The rebel. The rocker who defined a generation (or two). But the older I get, the more I find myself drawn not to the madness, but to the man behind it.

There’s a photo I came across not long ago—Ozzy standing with Sharon and their children, all smiles, wrapped in love in front of a waterfall. And y’all, it stopped me in my tracks. Because in that snapshot, you don’t see the mayhem or the chaos. You see family. You see love. You see a man who, for all his demons, never stopped loving his wife and kids fiercely.

Sharon stood by him. Through addiction, scandals, health scares, and fame that would’ve broken most people—she held the line. And he knew it. Their love wasn’t perfect, but it was powerful. Rooted. Gritty. Real.

His kids adored him. You can see it in their eyes, their arms wrapped around him like he was their whole world. And maybe he was. Maybe they were his reason to keep trying. Because make no mistake, Ozzy fell. Many times. But he got back up. Over and over. Not for the spotlight—but for them. For the people he loved.

That’s what hits me hardest now. Not the headlines or the music (though let’s be honest, “Mama, I’m Coming Home” still gives me chills). It’s the reminder that even the loudest voices in rock ‘n’ roll are still just people. Fathers. Husbands. Sons. Survivors.

Ozzy wasn’t just a legend—he was a man who loved his people. And they loved him right back.

And y’all… that? That’s the kind of legacy that matters.

🖤

#OzzyOsbourne #FamilyManFirst #MoreThanMusic #JourneysWithJani

XOXO, Jani

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Jani’s Big, Bold, Beautiful Travel Bucket List

July 20, 2025

Travel Advice
When I was little, I’d flip through my grandparents’ photo albums for hours. Snapshots of them standing in front of cathedrals, castles, canyons, and coastlines — they went everywhere. They had the kind of adventures that made the world feel both massive and reachable, and even though I didn’t have the full-blown travel bug back then, those albums definitely planted the seed
I’ve always been drawn to a few things:
🏝️ The beaches up the Northern coastline
🏕️ The Pocono Mountains (summer camp memories, anyone?)
⛰️ The hazy beauty of the Smokies
✈️ And let’s not forget FLIGHT. Lord have mercy, I love to fly. Still do. My Grandpa had stock in Eastern Airlines, so I flew before I could even talk. First solo flight? Age 6, baby — Georgia to Pennsylvania like a little boss in Buster Browns. And true story? I swapped those Buster Browns for my pink plastic Barbie heels* before we landed because fashion waits for no runway.
Even now, 50 years later, I have to watch takeoff and landing, clouds brushing under the wings, and the endless patchwork quilt of America fly by below. It’s magic. It just is.

The Grand Must-See List
- Italy – The whole dang boot. Rome, Tuscany, Amalfi, Sicily. And yes, I will cry at the Trevi Fountain.
- Paris in the Fall – I want to sip wine in Montmartre and pretend I’m in a 1950s black-and-white film. Yes, I have been, but I want to go again!
- Greece – Santorini sunsets and feta everything.
- Switzerland – Those alpine towns, that chocolate, and a train ride through the Alps that looks like a Hallmark movie.
- Yellowstone National Park – Geysers, wildlife, wide open skies. I visited when I was young but remember very little.
- Alaska – A summer cruise with glaciers, whales, and no cell signal. Sign me up. Oh wait! I did that. And I’m doing it again in 2026!
- The Scottish Highlands – Castles, coos, and misty moors? I’m there.
- Northern Lights in Norway or Iceland – God’s light show. Period.
- The Holy Land – To walk where Jesus walked? That’s not just travel — that’s spiritual.
- Bali or Thailand – Jungle luxury, ocean vibes, and a little zen with my umbrella drink.
For the Beach-Loving, Margarita-Sipping Side of Me
- Maui or Kaua‘i – I want to go back and do it my way. Hawaiian dress and all.
- Bermuda – Again and again. Because that pink sand is my love language.
- The Florida Keys – I want to toast the sunset at Isla Bella Resort then head into Key West for cold drink and zero worries.
- Turks & Caicos – That water. That beach. That peace.
- The Amalfi Coast – Yes, it’s already listed under Italy, but it deserves its own dang bullet.
Road Trip Royalty
- A New England Fall Road Trip – Covered bridges, apple cider, and leaves that crunch just right. Yes. I’ve been, but does get it old?
- Castles of Upstate New York – I’m already planning this one, and y’all… it’s going to be chef’s kiss.
- Route 66 (well, parts of it) – From quirky diners to wide open roads, gimme all the Americana.
- Montana & Wyoming – Big skies, slow drives, and fresh air for days. Yes please.
Personal Pilgrimages & Meaningful Moments
- Eastern Airlines Museum – If it exists, I want in. I’ll be the one sobbing over a flight schedule from 1982.
- The Pocono Mountains, again – Just to stand there and see if the air still smells the same as it did at camp.
- My “watch the world” window seat – Somewhere high above, flying over the flyover states, still in awe of how beautiful this world is from up here.
So, what’s the takeaway?
The world is big, beautiful, and waiting — and I don’t plan to leave this Earth with a passport that still has blank pages. My grandparents showed me the wonder of it all, and now it’s my turn.

And in true Jani fashion, I’ll do it with some sass, a carry-on that probably needs to be checked, and a whole lot of joy.

XOXO, Jani
Now, tell me—what’s on your list?
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Weight Loss Shortcuts, Tools & the Real Work: Let’s Talk About It…

July 19, 2025

Eat, Pray, Love, The Sitcom Called “Mary Jane”

Let’s have an honest little chat, shall we?

Weight loss …oof! The topic alone makes half of us cringe and the other half start Googling the latest “quick fix.” But here’s the truth—there’s no one way to get healthy. And that’s the beauty of it.

From surgery to supplements, apps to accountability buddies—people are using all kinds of tools to get where they want to go. And let me be clear: I am not here to shame a single soul for the path they choose. Because for some, a medication or procedure is the thing that finally helps them break free. For others, it’s a new product line, a meal plan, or just sheer determination and sweat equity.

The point is—whatever works for you, works for you.

But what I will say (from experience): there is no product, plan, or “shortcut” that can completely replace the real work of caring for yourself. You still have to show up. You still have to adjust habits, fuel your body better, and move in ways that support your health. Even with help—and help is totally valid—it still requires commitment.

Let’s be real, too—we all want to look good. Ain’t no shame in that game. Feeling confident in your skin is a beautiful thing. But I also want to feel good. I want to breathe easier, sleep better, and be able to run (okay, walk briskly) through Disney with my grandkids without needing a nap and an oxygen mask halfway through.

I’ll be honest—I was doing great for a long time. And then came 2020, lockdown, stress, and those “few” extra pounds that snuck in like uninvited houseguests and just refused to leave. And now? I don’t feel like myself in this body. My frame’s not built to carry this much weight. I’ve got curves (thanks, genetics), but this ain’t it.

After a recent little heart rate scare (yikes!), I decided to do something for me. I’m starting a new routine—a mix of health-focused products, better eating, and intentional movement. I’m giving this my all, not just to look better, but to live better. Because I’ve got a big life to keep up with—kids, grandkids, and a bucket list full of places that aren’t going to explore themselves.

I’ll share exactly what I’m using after 30 days—along with before and after photos (gulp). Then I’ll update you each month so we can walk this road together—one real, imperfect, grace-filled step at a time.

Let me say it louder for the folks in the back:

Your journey is your own.

Whether you choose surgery, supplements, shakes, or a good ol’ fashioned reset—you deserve to feel good in your body.

So here I go. Starting over… again. And proud of it.

Stay tuned,

XOXO, Jani

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Your Reaction is Your Responsibility — Let’s Talk About It…

July 17, 2025

Eat, Pray, Love, The Sitcom Called “Mary Jane”

Y’all ever hear something so simple it punches you square in the forehead with truth? That’s exactly what happens every time my friend Tammy—yes, that Tammy, the queen bee of Take Time To Travel—says, “Your reaction is your responsibility.” Now, I don’t know about you, but I can be a tad reactive. OK fine, more like a fireworks finale at the Fourth of July if I’m caught on the wrong day, wrong foot, wrong mood, wrong humidity percentage. You get the point.

But Tammy? She’s cool as a cucumber rolled in sweet tea 99.9% of the time. And when she says that line, she doesn’t say it with judgment. She says it like someone who’s had to learn it the hard way—just like the rest of us.

I mean, how many times do we let someone ruin our day? Somebody cuts you off in traffic, your kid rolls their eyes one too many times, or your coworker sends a snarky email (bless their passive-aggressive little heart)—and suddenly we’re spiraling. We start justifying our mood with, “Well I wouldn’t be this mad if they hadn’t…” But let’s be real: they didn’t make us feel anything. We chose to let it stick.

It’s annoying, I know. Because if we’re responsible for our reactions, then we can’t keep handing out blame like candy at a Christmas parade. We have to sit with it. Reflect. Adjust. Ugh, right?

But also… what a gift. When we take ownership of our reactions, we take back our power. No one gets to pull our strings unless we hand ‘em the cord. That’s not just self-awareness. That’s self-preservation. And Lord knows, with the chaos of daily life, I need all the preservation I can get.

So now, when the day gets sideways or someone decides to come at me with a full plate of nonsense, I try (TRY being the operative word) to pause and ask: “Do I really want to go there? Do I want to spend the next hour (or week) stewing about this?”

Sometimes, yeah, I do want to go there. Sometimes I’m in the mood to stew. Sometimes a good ol’ vent session is exactly what the doctor ordered. But it’s still a choice. And knowing that? It makes all the difference.

So here’s your friendly reminder from me (and Tammy):

Your reaction is your responsibility.

It’s hard. It’s humbling. And it’s holy work.

But it’s also what keeps us sane, kind, and—hopefully—a little less like a sparkler in a fireworks warehouse.

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