Big news! We just had the opportunity to write for one of our mega-faves, Darling Magazine!

We wrote on a topic that couldn’t be closer to our hearts: Emotional Maturity and alllllll that comes along with that. If you haven’t had the chance to read the article yet, you can find it here. We totally fangirl out over Darling’s pursuit of “The Art Of Being A Woman”, and are so excited to have been a lil part of it all!

Yay, girls!




We’ve been thinking about Summer a lot over here…

When you’re a kid, it’s pretty much what you live for… Even as an adult, we get a little butterfly-y when we talk about summer. However, as we have grown older- Summer seems to have lost a bit of its luster, mostly at the hands of our INSANE SCHEDULES.

As you’ve probably hopefully surmised by now, we Inks are after reclaiming slow living, savory living- satisfying soul living. Part of that means that we give ourselves the license to do the things that bring us joy. It almost sounds like we’re joking, right? Why would we feel badly about doing things that bring us joy? In large part, our culture has told us that if it’s not productive, then it’s pointless, maybe even selfish. As a lot of really relationally focused people can relate to, we shudder at the thought of living simply for ourselves, so we just, ya know, do the productive things. But that has far too often led us to burnout and apathy and being tightly wound. So, NO MORE! Little by little, we’ve been finding further freedom in “small” things that we love. But honestly, it can be hard to rediscover yourself. A little uncomfy, a little too quiet, even a little expensive at times ($12 juice, hollaaaa)!

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Your twenties can just be… complicated.

For most, you are sifting off the muck of your old self, grieving losses (or just realizing there are things to grieve), testing the waters, moving into new and scary unknowns, confronting expectations, trying to settle into the right career and re-orienting yourself into your family of origin as a “mature” son or daughter (and not the 16 year old hormonal teen that still shoves your little sister). No big deal. It’s exhilarating and the absolute worst all at the same time. 

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Kinda. If a symbiotic culture of bacteria and yeast (SCOBY) counts as a pet, then the above statement is accurate.

If you follow Rachel on Instagram, you’ve undoubtedly seen a few snippets of her new journey into the slimy, fermented, grosssssss, scary interesting world of homemade Kombucha.

How intimidating though?! I definitely tinkered with the idea for no less than 3 years and wrote it off as something I never had the time/patience for. BUT, DON’T BELIEVE THE LIE PEOPLE! I will tell you though, that making Kombucha is a slippery slope (little pun for my fellow brewers). Maybe it’s like the organic gateway drug to becoming a little more hippie. Soon I’ll be hanging eucalyptus in my shower, using beet-based lip stick and be a one-woman apothecary of essential oils. I hope so.

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Fridays are the exceptions to my week. 

Fridays are indicative of no alarms, open windows, cleaning the disaster that ensued Sunday-Thursday, french presses, waffles and, HER.

This is a tale of how I made one of my most prized possessions, my Friday Friend.

Fridays are not as lazy as Saturdays and hold a different kind of adrenaline. It’s fun and freedom and the beginning of the ever anticipated break from the psychotic routine of my life. It’s only fitting that she is apart of it. She learned my schedule enough to know that Fridays are those moments in my week where she can jump in and soak up some sweet time. To say that her desire for a friendship was humbling is an understatement.

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