Well, cheesebabes…I came back! You’ll remember I said you’d be lucky if I returned from Nashville, but apparently the show must go on and there was cheese to be dealt with. And wow, what a trip! So much good food, drinks, music, and of course the best company!
I’m home now, back to regular life and the general pile of things that somehow multiplied while I was gone. But I’m still thinking about it, because I really loved this trip, and I’m realizing how much I love these little escapes.
A little adventure goes a long way
I traveled a lot in my 20s, then took a step back for a while. Life got busy, the calendar filled up, and my idea of an adventure started looking suspiciously like making it through my to-do list without forgetting something important.
Chelmsford is great and all (I mean, it is home, and I love our little community), but there’s something pretty damn wonderful about getting out, seeing a new place, meeting people, hearing stories, and soaking up a different culture. Nashville had so much good food, music, and energy, and I loved being somewhere that felt new to me. Sometimes you just need a change of scenery to remind your brain there’s a whole big world outside your inbox and whatever mysterious thing is happening in your notes app.
And, yes, I’m very grateful I get to work hard and still make room to visit the places on my bucket list. That balance doesn’t just happen because the universe sends you a calendar invite titled “Self-Care, Please Attend.” Sometimes you have to plan it, put it on the calendar, and commit.
Work hard, play hard… but maybe also breathe
I work seven days a week. There, I said it! Between shop life, catering orders, prep, messages, and (yes, I still miss the Red Bulls a little, don't @ me) the sheer volume of it all, the days can run together pretty fast. I love what I do, but loving it doesn’t magically make me immune to being tired. I’m a person, not a cheese-powered robot (although, honestly, the cheese-powered robot could probably keep better track of her keys).
And if I’m being real, 2025 and 2026 have both beaten my ass. I asked for the basic human experience, and the universe accidentally enrolled me in the accelerated PhD program of chaos without my consent. It’s been a lot. So getting away, even for a little while, felt like a chance to recharge and remember that life can be more than the next deadline, delivery, or grocery list.
And I’ll be honest, this one was quite a long trip for me. I love the little weekend getaways in the states, and I love a long weekend in Bermuda too. It’s nice having a place there, but it’s also really nice to see other places, which is exactly what Nashville was for me. Best of both worlds, honestly.
I’ve been trying to get trips on the calendar ahead of time, including plans through 2027, so I’m not scrambling to find a break after I’m already running on fumes. I’m even planning a 2027 SailGP tour when they’re in the states, and one in Bermuda which is booked as of today! I know, I know, a sailing race tour is a very specific dream, but the boats go INSANELY fast and I have no self-control when something is that cool. It’s not that the work disappears when I go away; we all know business does not politely tuck itself into bed and wait for me. But having something fun to look forward to makes the busy stretches feel more manageable. A little light at the end of the tunnel! Or at least a tiny neon sign that says, “Abby, go eat something delicious and look at something that isn’t your inbox.”
I wrote a little about this in a previous blog and I still believe it. I want the hard work to build a life I actually get to enjoy, not just an even longer list of hard work. Work hard, play hard, and please remember to drink water in between. That last part is a note to myself, mostly.
The universe can wait; I’m going on the trip
I know taking time away can feel complicated, especially when you run a small business and have a small kiddo. There’s always something to prep, someone to email, something you meant to order, and a list that grows back the second you cross something off.
But the trip reminded me that stepping away for a little while doesn’t mean I care any less. It means I’m trying to take care of the person who does all the caring and prepping and answering and arranging. And honestly? One of the biggest things that makes these trips possible at all is knowing George is well taken care of while I’m gone. That peace of mind is everything. When you’re a mom and a business owner, your brain usually runs about nine browser tabs of worry at all times, so being able to actually relax and be present somewhere new because I know he’s happy, safe, and loved? That is the real luxury. Not the food, not the music, not the broadway-level honky tonks (okay, those helped). It’s being able to fully exhale because the person who matters most is in good hands. I don’t take that for granted for one second, and I’m so grateful for the people who make that possible for us.
And this is the part I really want to sit with, the part that rearranged something in me on this trip: loving myself IS taking chances. Seeing things. Because here's the truth nobody says out loud in the school pickup line or the shop back room: you don't know how many days you get. None of us do. Tomorrow could be your last day on earth, and can you imagine getting to the end of it all having experienced nothing? Having saved all your living for a someday that never came? Sitting in the same chair, staring at the same four walls, telling yourself the trip can wait, the chance can wait, the life can wait, while the whole time it's quietly not waiting, it's just passing.
I've watched what the universe can do to a life. I've had the years that beat me down, the seasons that took more than they gave, the losses that rearranged who I am at the molecular level. And every single one of those taught me the same thing from a different angle: the time is now. It was always now. The version of me who kept waiting for the right moment? She's still waiting. The version of me who books the flight, who says yes to the honky tonk and the new city and the stranger's story on a barstool? She's the one actually living this thing.
So no, I'm not waiting for permission or for the calendar to be empty or for someone to hand me a certificate that says I've earned it. I'm taking the chances while still being a business owner and a mom and a friend. That's the part that took me thirty-something years to understand: it's not either/or. Nobody hands you a gold star for shrinking your life down to just your job title or just your role in other people's stories. You get one wild, absurd, unrepeatable spin around this planet, and the work will always be there, the laundry will always be there, but the chance to see Nashville with a drink in your hand and live music rattling your ribs? That is a now thing. That is a today thing.
All of it can be true at once. You don't have to pick a lane. You can love your work, love your people, and still love yourself enough to go see the world while you can. And maybe that's the whole point, not to be one thing well, but to be everything you are, fully, before the music stops.
And listen, if you're reading this and you've been telling yourself the same story I told myself for years? The someday story? This is your sign. Book the trip. Take the day off. Say yes to the thing that scares you a little. You are not too busy. You are not too late. You are not too far behind everyone else. The only version of this that ends badly is the one where you never start. I'm not saying quit your job tomorrow and sell everything you own (unless you want to, in which case, godspeed). I'm saying: stop treating your own life like it's the errand list at the bottom of everyone else's. It's not too late for you. It's not too late for any of us, until one day it is, and that day is exactly why today matters so much.
Go before it's too late and you've missed out. That's the whole message. That's what I'd want someone to grab me by the shoulders and tell me, and that's what I'm telling you: go.
But I'll be so real with you. Even though this trip was all peaks, no pits, I did miss George terribly. That's the trade, isn't it? Your heart is in two places at once, and one of them is snoring in his bed back in Massachusetts. I keep a little mental list of the things I want to tell him about a trip, like a running tab of moments I owe him, and honestly half the fun of going anywhere is coming home with stories for that kid.
And when he's older, I'd love to travel more with him, but four and solo travel and long distances seem scary. He's only four, and the logistics alone could make a grown woman cry (although, the kid is a better flyer than half the adults I've sat next to). The furthest he's been is Bermuda, and it's quick and easy, which is exactly why it works right now. So for now, the travel is either solo or with friends, and that's fine! That's the season we're in. But I'm excited for the day we can do it together, the day I can show him the world instead of just telling him about it. One day he'll be tall enough to see over the railing on the ferry, old enough to remember the trip instead of just the flight, and we'll be standing somewhere brand new together and it'll be the best day. Until then, Mama goes, Mama comes back with snacks, and everyone wins.
And because I only give you the glamour here, a quick quality-of-life report from the road: I discovered that eating hot chicken at 1030AM is apparently legal in Tennessee and nobody even looks at you. THE HEARTBURN THOUGH. And I have now been spoiled by southern hospitality to the point where a cashier simply saying "have a good one, darlin'" nearly made me emotional. Massachusetts, we need to talk about our energy. We're a little bit… brisk. Anyway, 10/10, would be called darlin' again.
I came back with memories, a little more perspective, and a full-ish battery. Got in at 730AM on Tuesday morning and went right to work. Wild. Booked the events this weekend, meetings, calls, daily shop chaos, meal prepped, now I need some serious sleep. You know, just so I can do it all again this week.
But can we talk about the descent for a second? Because the hardest part isn't the goodbye. It's the coming home. You touch back down and the world looks identical, same familiar streets, same routines, the exact same rhythm waiting at the front door. Except you aren't the same person who packed that bag a week ago. You've traded the comfort of the predictable for the static of somewhere new. You let your edges get a little blurred by open skies and different time zones and the quiet electricity of places that didn't know your name.
And suddenly, home feels smaller than you left it. The walls feel a bit too close. The old problems look smaller against everything you just witnessed. Because once you let the world in, once you let yourself be rearranged by movement and distance, you can't un-know what it feels like to live wide open. You can't un-feel the expansion. You don't just bring home souvenirs. You bring back a version of yourself that doesn't quite fit the old mold anymore. And honestly? You shouldn't try to squeeze back into it.
And now? I’m easing back into the shop and getting ready for the Thanksgiving rush and farmer’s markets. Thank you guys for being patient while Graze was closed for a magical week and ordering was paused. I’m so grateful for every order, message, and kind bit of understanding while I took this much-needed break. You guys are part of this whole chaotic, lovely journey, and I really do appreciate you.
I’m back, I’m thankful, and I’m already mentally bookmarking the next place I want to see. Thank you for cheering me on, waiting patiently while I went off to eat and listen to music, and letting me come home to the work I love. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to find where I put my “back from vacation” brain. It’s probably under a stack of receipts.
XX,
Abby
Song of the day: Gracie Abrams-Risk
I’m just over here standing on the edge of life and wrestling with the fear of looking foolish versus the regret of never trying. It’s the perfect song for dropping the "someday" story and deciding that the risk of living fully is always worth it. That’s all.
Willing to attend sports if I can get my hands on a hotdog. Only way.
If you come across 7 paintings, book it.
Took a while to find this place but cocktails were elite and so was the sourdough 🥰
Give me a sunset and a vineyard any day.
Thought this was a candle holder. Thought wrong.
