A not-so-scary birthday, twice over

I marked my final birthday of my 30s this week. It wasn't as bad as I'd feared—I woke up Thursday morning and felt just the same. I drove myself to downtown Austin, borrowing a Tesla from the company fleet and getting behind the steering wheel for the first time in a few years. Having successfully navigated without killing myself, I enjoyed a 12k morning run along the Colorado River. That evening, I dipped out of work early for an advanced pole dance class at a studio I hadn't yet tested, followed by cocktails with coworkers. The bar closed early for a private event, which could not have turned out better, as we stumbled out and straight into a magical, Harry-Potter-themed double-decker-bus-turned-speakeasy, complete with animatronic steam punk Hagrid bus driver. Our drinks bubbled and sparkled, and the evening absolutely flew by. I managed to nurse a non-alcoholic Dragon's Breath as I did wind down the final hours of my birthday back in the office with some bonus work. Riding the high from an unexpectedly fun evening, I hardly minded the late hours.

Turning 39, Texas edition: a birthday I'd feared that wound up magical instead.

Official birthday plans awaited back on the West Coast. We'd packed our Saturday agenda with a skate at the Church of 8 Wheels followed by dinner at an Italian hole-in-the-wall around the corner and ice cream at our old neighborhood favorite, Salt & Straw. Each of my non-Neuralink friends had some version of the response, "I'm going to fall on my butt skating—pass" and all my Neuralink friends said, "I'm going to fall on my butt—count me in"—there's a reason I'm still working at this crazy place 8 years in—so my birthday celebration became round two of partying with my coworkers, who I'm pretty sure I can now categorize as friends. The folks who turned out were all amazing sports despite some having never before donned a pair of skates. And, ice creams in hand post-dinner, we wandered down the street and into a jungle gym which we quickly conquered. I so love discovering that growing up doesn't have to be what I saw when I was a kid. I hope everyone gets to wrap up their 30s on a Saturday night atop the tallest playground equipment surrounded by people who make them laugh as much as this fabulous crew. 

Turning 39, California edition: One-upping the Texas celebration, which I didn't even think would be possible. Note to self: jungle gyms after dark are an excellent way to remind yourself that growing up doesn't have to mean growing old.

The Viennese Ball

Two months down and I've ticked off as many balls from my 2026 agenda. This time around, it was the Viennese, hosted by Stanford and sponsored by none other than the city of Vienna. My invitation came courtesy of Tanvi, a former intern now in her freshman year at Stanford. She and I endured many long days on the "infra therapy couch," as is affectionately termed the office couch occupied by an assortment of software and infrastructure engineers who spend their days watching their souls get sucked into their laptop screens as nothing ever quite seems to work as planned. Tanvi and I easily struck up a work friendship, not just because we were two of very few women who spend their days at Neuralink writing code. She's someone in whom I see a lot of my younger self, and whose zest for life is delightfully contagious. But, as twenty years my junior, I'd assumed the infra therapy couch was also where the friendship ended. Tanvi packed up and went off to classes across the Bay last fall, but she never became a stranger. She'll occasionally pop by on a Friday after classes to say hi, and her former team has been known to take field trips to visit her on the Stanford campus. Come the new year, a friendly text message and another office visit set the wheels in motion, and we finally started becoming real life friends. An invitation to a crepe party was returned with a ticket to the ball, and suddenly I found myself on the hunt for some black tie attire. Our trip to Italy followed immediately by my getting deployed down to Neuralink's Austin site for all but Saturdays and Sundays didn't exactly make this an easy task, not when my first gown arrived with two solid extra inches in the waistline and a pattern that made home modifications near impossible. The second gown purchased ultimately shipped too late, and I found myself frantically scouring consignment shops last weekend for the perfect fit. After spending my sleepless wee hours from Saturday into Sunday fruitlessly hacking apart and sewing together two vibrant dresses, one with an overly high waistline and the other that couldn't quite sit on my waist and contain my bust (the joys of the long torso life), I found myself packed and ready to fly to Austin without any dress in my bags. En route to the airport, I made one last frantic dash to my nearest Goodwill, nabbed a minimalist bridesmaid gown that still had its original tags, and jetted off. A trip to Michael's and Marshall's in downtown Austin followed by a couple late nights at the ranch house stitching to add a bit of flare (and padding), and I was honestly way happier than I'd imagined I'd be with my final get up. And most importantly, I had the privilege of showing up for Tanvi and beginning the adventure of creating an inter-generational friendship that I've never lived from the other side. It's so interesting getting to simultaneously enjoy someone's company as a peer and to share perspectives from decades of extra time spent trying to figure life out. And it's a pleasure to enjoy the company of someone so vivacious, curious, and appreciative of my perspective - it makes me feel like I've done something with my years, and I love imagining that someone else can make something more of theirs because of mine. So there you have it, my first Stanford Viennese Ball and the beginning of a new friendship, check and check.

My fears of looking a million years old at the undergrad party were ultimately unfounded, much to my relief. What a lovely Friday night with Neuralink's own Tanvi, now my real-world friend.

Another Olympic vacation

The Paris Olympics were such fun that we decided to take another crack at it, this time with more death-defying stunts, a (minor) language barrier, and a whole lot of driving: yes, we were all in for Milan-Cortina 2026, the most geographically spread-out games in history. We booked five different events in five totally different venues, and we (by which I mean Nico) mapped out our route. First stop, Milan for day 1 of the team figure skating competition. But before the games even began, we had another cause for celebration: the night of our arrival marked 8 years since I'd joined Team Neuralink. It's a milestone I hadn't imagined, and also hadn't anticipated celebrating over pizzas and tiramisu in northern Italy. It's nice when life surprises you that way. Sometimes I'm not sure how we got this lucky.

Celebrating Day 1 of our first winter Olympic journey and Year 8 since I joined Team Neuralink.

Booking yourself a morning activity the day after your arrival 9 time zones away from normal is a pretty decent way to combat jet lag. The excitement of the event kept me going. Being in the stadium, seeing the athletes' emotions, joining the crowd - everything I'd loved from Paris 2024 came rushing back. It's such a privilege to get to share these deeply human moments, where people who've given their everything to attain the pinnacle of their sport have their moment; to experience the culmination of years of devotion, extraordinary talent, and unwavering determination; to be a part of their joy and their heartache. I couldn't always understand the judges, but I loved the skaters. My personal favorite? The Canadian ice dance couple - what they may have lacked in the technical precision of the Americans they made up for in heart and bold personality. I left the stadium more inspired to maybe finally start composing my own choreography.

Event #1: Figure skating team event in Milan

We had no time to spare when the event let out: we booked it back, grabbed our things, thanked the hotel staff in my dusted-off Italian, and bee-lined to the airport to pick up our rental car. Next stop: fair Verona, a decent mid-way point to break-up the longest drive of our vacation. The next morning, despite my best efforts to ignore the noisily protesting phone, we showered, dressed, and squeezed in some Italian Renaissance. We even sampled some of the local pastry fare: risino, a tart shell filled with a rice-pudding-esque custard. Not half bad.

A quick stop in fair Verona en route from Milan to Cortina.

The Italian Dolomites welcomed us in good time with easy driving, allowing for a quick nap before heading over to the second host city, Cortina, where we'd booked an evening of luge. The event was an unexpected highlight: we got to wander all around the course, hear the coaches shout as they sent off their athlete, and feel said athletes whoosh past us as shocking speeds. We even tried our hand (or butt) at sliding - unofficially - using icy paths the kids (presumably) had smoothed out as short cuts around the path that hugs the track. I couldn't stop laughing as the announcers referred to athletes as "the Czech guy" or "the Austrian guy" when listing anyone after the competitor currently holding the top position: who even are you if you're ranked third? The mulled wine rounded out the event, before tucking into some typically northern Italian Germanic cuisine for a late dinner en route home in a pub in a small mountain village.

Event #2: Men's luge in Cortina

A luxuriously slow start to the day was finally in the cards the next morning: we'd found an Airbnb half-way between our second and third events, so for once we weren't packing up and checking out. After a round of coffees and traditional Dolomitic jam-filled, powdered-sugar-dusted cookies on our snowy balcony, we were off to Anterselva for the mixed biathlon relay. This event earned the top rating from the both of us: not only was the venue stunning and the excitement of watching the French secure gold after an incredibly neck-in-neck competition, but we were even treated to a surprise party complete with live Austrian band and dancing on table tops before we loaded back up into the absurd daisy-chained series of shuttles that eventually got us back home well after sun down. We capped off the evening with more local fare: spinach and cheese canederli for me - something like vegetarian meatballs - and a semifreddo with pumpkin seeds, vanilla, and cardamom. It should come as no surprise to hear the Italians know their way around the kitchen, even this far north. (My former Sicilian roommate might have a thing or two to say about that.)

Event #3: Mixed biathlon relay in Anterselva

The next morning we hit the route westward bound. En route we swung by Merano for lunch where I discovered pizzoccheri, a hearty buckwheat pasta served with cabbage, potatoes, and loads of melted fontina. The waitress cocked her head when I placed my order, but I couldn't have been more pleased with my discovery of this local delicacy. Not part of any recommended diet plan, but 10/10 would recommend. Round it off with a nice slice of apple strudel, why don't you? It's only respectful to acquaint yourself with the Olympic host country's local culture, right?

Treating ourselves to local cuisine in Merano, driving past typical South Tyrolean architecture, and spotting the headquarters of Forst Brewery, which made an impressive non-alcoholic beer widely available in the region but sadly not sold Stateside.

Next stop: Switzerland. Our final destination for the day was the ski resort town of Livigno, home to the Big Air competition, but local housing was so expensive that we actually crossed the border for a cheaper place to stay. This must be the first time in history that Switzerland has been the economical choice. 

Nico says the secret to being happy is low expectations. That may have been my curse for the Women's Big Air final. Other than skating, I'd been most excited for this one. The town did its best, setting up the nicest fan zone we'd seen so far complete with a giant snowy Olympic rings sculpture and a series of elaborate snack huts where we discovered the bombardino (an Italian response to a hot toddy, you might say?) but the event itself wasn't all it'd cracked up to be. We had to plant ourselves in a single spot and the freezing temperatures rapidly began gnawing into my thoroughly bundled feet. Not even the exuberant chanting from the Team GB fan club, into which we'd somehow planted ourselves, was enough to warm my poor toes. When the event did finally start, we honestly didn't get much of a better experience that the viewers at home - perhaps a worse one at that. The tricks were all happening quite far up in the air, and from our angle we'd miss half the intricacies of the trick, relying on the announcers descriptions and big screen replays to really get a complete understanding of what the heck was going on. After the final competitor landed her last jump (or, in this case, failed to) and medal positions were secured, we packed it in and headed to a bar to defrost rather than riding out the medals ceremony. No regrets re: round two of bombardinos.

Event #4: Women's big air finals in Livigno

We could hardly travel all the way into Switzerland without reserving a day to say hello to the Swiss cohort of Nico's family! The following day was reserved for a visit with Serge. Our rendez-vous was set for the small town of Zuoz, where we hiked in snow, I finally made a (decapitated) snow angel, and we dined on Swiss frittatas, which are apparently a regional specialty. I also finally made the link between the Italian word casa and the French chez, which has always been a head scratcher for me. As we drove through Switzerland, I noticed signs for Chasa so-and-so morph into Chesa so-and-so, and I finally connected the dots. A quick Google search confirmed it: the different dialects of Romantsch (the fourth official language of Switzerland) share the same roots as the aforementioned French and Italian words for home. I was positively tickled - fun fact of the trip for your nerd girl over here.

A half day in Zuoz, Switzerland with Nico's dad Serge

Late that afternoon we crossed back into Italy for the final legs of the journey. We were up in another mountain village that evening in time for the next morning's Nordic Combined, the only Winter Olympic discipline that excludes women. The unseasonably warm weather made for rough conditions for our athletes competing in wet and slushy snow. Still, the guys showed up, and in more than one case it was a family affair. Both Austria and Norway had sent a pair of brothers on each of their respective teams. And one of those Norwegian bros, after a close call in the final lap of the cross-country leg of the competition, catching his ski in a barrier and nearly tripping over, took that extra dose of adrenaline to pull away from the competition and ultimately cross the finish line in first. (Have to wonder how it feels for the other brother who failed to secure a spot on the podium: you make it all the way to the Olympic team and you're still the slacker at the family dinner.) The race was tight until the end, and though it didn't end in a photo-finish-style sprint, the medalists were each within an arm's length or two of each other as they reached the finish line.

Event #5: Nordic Combined in Tesero

En route back to Milan, having successfully navigated the muddy Olympic parking lot that nearly took us out after the event, I learned that my Consumer Advisory Board colleague's almost-sister-in-law (brother's fiancée), who'd been representing the US in women's luge, had landed herself on the podium! This now puts me at one degree of separation from an Olympic medalist and, not gonna lie, I felt pretty proud of myself. (And yes, I know, I have done nothing to earn this misplaced pride. And no, I do not care.)

Our Olympic agenda had come to a close, but the journey was still far from it. I spent the latter half of the journey back to civilization studying up on the scientist I was scheduled to meet with the following morning. And, after 18 years, I was also scheduled for a reunion with my boss from my senior-year internship in Pisa. The next day was a whirlwind of shop talk and catching up and learning all I could about the Swiss/Italian neurotech scene. And I may have walked away with a standing job offer? It's honestly incredibly exciting to start really envisioning what the next chapter will be: this American one has been going on for quite some time now. We are really hoping we're down to the final two-to-three year stretch now.

Highlights from Milan: the Olympic flame, the final French-American ice dance show down we enjoyed from a (somewhat disappointing) Milanese fan zone, the Duomo, the Castello Sforzesco, typically teensy Italian cars, deliciously thick Italian hot chocolates, pasta, and pizza. Not bad for a couple of spare evenings.

Over dinner on our penultimate evening, we caught up with Nico's Paris-based friend Victor, on assignment in Milan with the NY Times. We shared stories and pasta and Italian craft brews until it really was past our respective bed times. After all, Nico had made sure we didn't leave an empty slot in our agenda: our final day was allocated to an adventure off in the medieval town of Bergamo.

I won't lie: I did not have any historical context for this town. Exhausted between the mental strain of Neuralink, the excitement of the Olympics, and the questions as to whether I could see a life for us here in Milan, there wasn't leftover mental bandwidth for Bergamo's Città Alta (the medieval town). The only thing on my to-do list was to down an affogato before the trip came to a close, which I am pleased to report I most certainly did. I also sampled a local polenta-based dessert (not as good as it looked) and dined in a renovated decommissioned church (even better than it looked). We also got in about 1400 feet of elevation gain during our adventures. While the running gear I'd packed for this vacation didn't get put to use, we were doing more than just getting in our steps (and get them in we did, averaging nearly 20k per day!).

Bergamo, on the final day of our Italian Olympic vacation.

Last spring I'd met a guy at our neighborhood dog park who'd excitedly informed me of his plans to attend the Milan Olympics. Me too! I'd exclaimed. Nearly a year later, here we were, ticking off the final agenda item of the vacation: catching up with Luna's dad over pizza and beers in the capital of Italian fashion, swapping stories of our Olympic events and the travails of reaching the various venues. If you thought we'd been adventurous, just consider Alex, who'd decided to pull this off via public transport. Let's just say Alex didn't include sleep as an essential activity during his Olympic vacation.

Our online check-in reminder came too soon. I wasn't ready to head back west, to the land of grind and hard-core and work = life. But something felt a little different as we bid Italy arrivederci. I'd been studying the locals, noticing Milan's dog-friendliness, admiring the evening run clubs that jogged past. I'd been imagining what it might be like to make this place home. I'd been asking Gemini about it. I got the feeling I was flying back to the beginning of the end, like I might just be able to feel the page starting to turn on our American chapter. And yes, there are still some very big years in the States to get through first. But oh, I cannot wait for what comes next. I really wouldn't mind a bit more of la dolce vita.

The Edwardian Ball

San Francisco hosted the 25th annual Edwardian Ball this past weekend—Edwardian as in Edward Gorey the fantastical author and illustrator, as opposed to the English era. It was a place for people watching, a host to surreal and interactive art (including animated taxidermy and performances by circus artists I’m starting to recognize!), and an evening for the Burning Man types to enjoy a much cushier setting—the Regency Ballroom. After years of hearing the hype, it was a pleasure to finally gown up and experience the Edwardian Ball first hand.

Edwardian Ball 2026

A tropical start to the new year

Our new year has kicked off with a decidedly tropical flare. On the 2nd we jetted off for a few days in Hawaii — Nico's first visit, and more than two decades since my last. We didn't bother planning much in advance, as life has been keeping us on our toes, but we figured things out on the fly and had a decidedly enjoyable five day adventure.

We stayed in Waikiki, a beach neighborhood in Hawaii. On our first full day, we ventured out to Hanauma Bay for snorkling all saw all sorts of exotic fish mere feet from the shore.

The food scene wasn't half bad. As a cacao producer, we found plenty of decadently rich dark chocolate treats. I discovered I am a big fan of salmon belly. And Aloha Beer's In-POG-nito Wit (a witbier with notes of pineapple, orange, and guava) and their furikake crispy rice salmon bombs (oven-roasted miso salmon belly on crispy rice topped with garlic aioli, furikake, teri glaze, and jalapenos) were so good they earned a second visit.

We reserved the rainiest day for a trip to Pearl Harbor, a stop for my history buff of a husband. It was chilling, in the wake of our country's unprovoked invasion into and kidnapping of a foreign leader, to be reminded of just how long it's been since we've been properly on the "just" side of a military conflict.

We ventured across the island to hike at Diamond Head and Makapu'u lighthouse, to visit to the Valley of the Temples Memorial Park (where we saw some of the world's most socialized goldfish), to admire the surfers at Pupukea Beach where the wild chickens entertained us, and to conquer the pineapple maze at the Dole plantation, where we discovered how well dark chocolate pairs with fresh pineapple.

On our final night, we embraced our nature as tourists and hit up a luau. Aiming for something less painfully commercial, we found one where a dance troupe performed traditional dances with costume changes for each of the Polynesian islands. We learned that Tonga is the only Polynesian island kingdom to have never been colonized. And of course, we got a taste of some fire dancing after dark, the perfect way to cap off our brief escape into paradise.

Guess I'm a resolutions person now

My NYE 2026 look positively sparkled

I've been adamantly anti-resolution. The new year is such an arbitrary time point. Why wait until then to start changing things, exploring new interests, and becoming the person you want to be? But the resolutions I made a year ago worked surprisingly well. I gave myself quarterly check-ins and actually made progress to varying degrees on all of them. I guess that makes me a resolution person now? While I'm not entirely convinced, I won't throw away something effective just to stick to my principles, so here's some thoughts on another year of trying to progress as a human:

1. Be more present. This is a really hard one to measure or concretely act on, but it's one of my biggest issues. I'm so focused on the next ten steps that I often struggle to experience the moment. I've been to a few parties over the past year that helped me focus on this, but there's a lot of work to do.
2. Compose a choreography. I followed up on last year's circus fitness goal and am absolutely in shape for this. Unfortunately, it's already looking unlikely my schedule will align to actually perform something this year, but I'd still like to fully compose an act. Still working on picking an apparatus.
3. Develop some work friendships. I've done a decent job of reconnecting at work, but it can often feel lonely. Towards the latter half of the last year, I began building some connections with mixed success. This year, I'd love to see myself really have a place in the office not based just on my skillset but also my connection with the folks I see on the daily. It would be especially lovely to have some folks who I'd properly call friends even if we no longer share an employer.

They're not exactly as sweeping or ambitious as last year. I suppose I don't really need to find myself as much as I did a year ago. But they're some decent goals for a new year.

The real Christmas

Having ticked off the holiday travels back east over Thanksgiving this year, we were free to enjoy a relaxing holiday on the best coast this year. We'd just warmed back up to hosting with our first games night of 2025 a few weeks prior, and we were on a roll. A quick negotiation with Wolfgang and Steph earned us the Dec. 25 hosting time slot (the real Christmas) to their Christmas Eve. (I still can't get over how some Europeans think Dec. 24 is the day for celebrations.) Steph and Wolfgang hosted the perfect pre-game on Christmas Eve, where we broke out day one of two of our signature non-alcoholic mulled wine. In parallel, our own small guest list slowly expanded as we swallowed up more Christmas orphans until a few hours before we warmed up the oven on Christmas morning. Somehow the mishmash crew of guests came together quite nicely, and our evening rode out until nearly 2am, with one guest claiming our newly freed up guest room for an overnight. We enjoyed such a lovely and warm evening filled with love and zero drama, a proper Christmas-edition Friendsgiving.

Managed a family photo of the fur kiddos, and shot pics from both Steph & Wolfgang's and our meals, but failed to snap a single shot of the wonderful humans who added flavor to our delectable Christmas celebrations.

I'm really loving life in this moment between the hellscape of embryo creation and the reality of parenthood. The buttery smoothness of foie gras with armagnac, the sweet pop of a candied cranberry stolen between elaborate high-fives with an Oakland native, and the crisp effervescence of a non-alcoholic La Chouffe, all swirled up in laughter and a late night with friends: I'd have had a hard time drawing up a better Christmas.