A girlfriend of mine called me a "lifestyle writer" at a lunch this week. The previous sentence is particularly funny as I am writing this while wearing Kirkland Signature Costco boots, discount leggings smeared with mud and some other unidentifiable stain, and a sale Amazon Essentials pullover.
I feel like quite the opposite of a "lifestyle." My days are as much a "cautionary tale" as "aspiration."
Fueled by goat milk lattes and dry shampoo, my steps forward are staggering at best and counterproductive at worst.
Yet, I say that and then make my kids a metric ton of egg salad from the gifts our chickens give us, which the babies consume with such verve I want everyone to feel this win. Or, I sip another goat milk latte while acting as a baby goat jungle gym and wish I could bottle this feeling and send it through the mail to you, even if it makes your leggings dirty.
I guess if the lifestyle I'm writing about is equal parts "trial by failure," "learning the hard way," and "revels so much in the good parts, I must write about it."
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