How should I feel...

Tonight I asked Google's AI assistant Gemini how I should feel the night before my gestational carrier's first embryo transfer, which is surreal and dystopian and terribly exciting. Maybe. Two (or more) things can be true at the same time.

A heatwave and a dose of homesickness

Hard to believe that it's only the fourth time this decade that I set foot in France, and just the second since acquiring my nationality three years ago now. I know it's the just a marketing slogan combined with the fatigue for travel across nine time zones, but I still nearly tear up seeing the signs Bienvenue : Paris n'attendait plus que vous upon my arrival at the airport. (Welcome: Paris was only waiting for you.) One sweltering commuter train ride later, I emerged into the shadow of Notre Dame, which couldn't but draw out a smile despite the sleepless journey. After a couple gleeful selfies, I dragged my bags down the Seine to Caféothèque for a couple of rounds of caffeine until my Airbnb allowed me the luxury of a shower and a change of clothes. Refreshed, I spent a couple hours touring the city (and even discovering Fragonard's latest take on a fig scent!) before Nico's train brought him down from Lille after his week-long business trip. Together we picnicked along the Seine and dined on a terrace like proper Parisians, enjoying the sunlight that stretched well past 10pm.

I've missed this all dearly. Am I allowed to feel most at home in a place where my accent betrays me as someone who doesn't belong, even if I now hold a passport that says I'm one of them? But Hemingway himself said that for those lucky enough to live in Paris as young adults, it stays with them. And I can't disagree. The following day, my Word Daily vocab word was very on point: 

My daily vocab lesson email gave me the word for the feeling of the day as I bid Paris adieu.

We raced the sun out of bed the next morning to make our train out of Paris to the next chapter of our summer vacation: a weekend in the Drome region with Nicolas's sister, brother-in-law, their kiddos, an extra niece, and his mom. While there isn't terribly much to do in that part of the country, we did spend some time exploring one man's fever-dream-turned-30-year-passion-project, the Palais Idéal du Facteur Cheval. Beyond that, it was mostly family time in the midst of a brutal heatwave, in a country where air conditioning is a controversial concept. Such conditions hardly leave folks on their best behavior, but all except the smallest of us managed reasonably well.

Family time in the Drome visiting the Angkor-Wat-styled Palais Idéal du Facteur de Cheval

After family time, the next stop was Corsica, uncharted territory for the both of us. But first, the journey there: we wound up splurging last-minute for a private room on our ferry from the south coast of France after an unexpected 4-hour train delay left us less than 8 hours between our Airbnb check-in and check-out in Toulon. A day of naps and drinks with a view were the perfect recovery from the aching heat of the prior days, but hardly helped with the jetlag. We rolled into our Corsican Airbnb shortly before sundown to begin the tropical leg of our week abroad.

Eating, napping, sipping drinks, and enjoying the views on the 8-hour ferry ride from Toulon on the south coast to Ile Rousse in northwest Corsica

We'd booked ourselves 3.5 days in Corsica (gotta love the American vacation standards - the French measure their stays in weeks, not days) but we'd only pre-planned the first of said days: Bastille Day on the water, touring the Scandola nature reserve, which is only accessible by boat. Bright and early, beating the morning heat, we headed down to the port from our perch up in the Haute Ville of Calvi, the old fortified citadel. We loaded up into a small boat with just a handful of other tourists for a six-hour adventure that didn't disappoint. We saw eagles, mountain goats, Corsican cows lounging on the beach, and a whole lot of stunning volcanic formations. The water was even beautiful enough for Nico (infamously anti-swimming) to not only dive in but to also coax me to follow when the temperatures didn't feel quite to my liking.

Touring the Scandola nature reserve

Bastille Day went out with much more of a whimper than a bang, despite the fireworks, delayed as they were to allow the locals to watch the disastrous World Cup semi-final match in which Spain knocked France out 2-0. As the internet said, much respect to the French for their commitment to never working on a holiday.

Calvi, a small and not-overly-touristed city in northwest Corsica that we used as our home base

Our own personal travel agent, Google Gemini, advised us that the next best thing to do in northwest Corsica was hiking, and so much of it. But for unseasoned hikers in the midst of a sweltering heatwave, we had to temper it. We spent the better part of the next day strolling along the Fango River and then jumping (or shimmying) our way into the water. Some more enterprising fellow hikers brought waterproof backpacks along, and just let the water do the latter half of their hikes for them. I may have been just a wee bit envious.

I did my best to be a sport on our day of gentle hiking in the midst of a brutal heatwave

Try as I might to be a sport of it, a day of hiking (in this heat) was really all I had in me. In the interest of catering more to his urbanite wife, Nico planned out our Thursday in Bastia, the nearby fishermen's village of Erbalunga, and the Patrimonio wine country. What can I say? Fine dining with the charm of a little town where everyone's grown up together is my happy space, and Bastia's Radiche was the highlight of my time in Corsica, down to the liquor listings which included the categories of spirits, whiskeys, dessert wines, and "stuff from our friend Charles". I went in for the latter and got some homemade myrtle berry liquor, which wound up being on the house because of course it was. I'm not terribly proud to wander through one of the most stunning natural regions in France and still gravitate to the most city-dweller of activities, but luckily no one in France will ever shame you for being a "foodie" - I don't even think they have a term for that, since that is simply part of being a French(wo)man.

Yes, our meal at the restaurant Radiche in Bastia merited its own collage

There were other things to see (and drink) in Bastia, Erbalunga, and the Patrimonio wine region, though none perhaps quite as memorable as that lunch in Radiche.

As American vacations are wont to do, this one wrapped up entirely too quickly. Soon enough it was Friday, and we packed our bags to check out from our Airbnb. In the few remaining hours before our flight, Nico drove us through the hills to visit a collection of idyllic villages, where we stopped to wander and get in my steps. Everything was beautiful and it would have been lovely to stay longer (and ideally crank the temperature down 5 to 10 degrees Celsius).

Corsican mountain-top villages certainly have their charm

Last stop: back to the City of Lights for a final chill weekend. For the first time since we've been living abroad, we had to fend for ourselves this time when it came to housing. Nico's dad had been kindly putting us up in his spare home in Paris all these years, but he'd sold it right after our last trip out for the Olympics. Having to shell out sent us to a decidedly less central neighborhood than we'd previously been spoiled with. We stayed in a distinctive neighborhood near Montmartre, whether the crowds didn't really do bedtimes much before sun up. Luckily my jetlag and the diphenhydramine were carrying me through the nights, but I'm not sure Nico could report the same. We went to a film, our fourth time in twelve years actually going to the cinema, and the first time in Paris. Not too shabby either: we went to the Grand Rex, the only French theater showing Christopher Nolan's Odyssey in its original 70 mm format (not that I'm sure I really noticed the difference - shh). We window shopped, ate, wandered, and sipped the weekend away. We caught up with Nico's friends over drinks, a picnic, and the World Cup final.

Paris, je t'aime

On our second departure from Paris (certainly too many for just one week abroad), we actually did beat out the sun. The city felt intimately ours as we wandered through the silent aftermath of the previous night's World Cup celebrations and the first beams of light stretched out across the city well before she'd awoken. We made it safely to the airport with wiggle room for our 8:40am boarding time. I'm thrilled to report that we're already booked to return in November, and the big return home for good cannot come soon enough (though that much isn't scheduled for this year). To paraphrase Hemingway, I was lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young woman, and now wherever I go, it stays with me. But I cannot wait to see the day that Paris doesn't have to stay with me, tucked in my heart, because I will be staying with it, at home once more in the City of Lights.

Future babies' first road trip

Our future babies are setting off on their first road trip today: our top six embryos are being transported (on an overnight adventure!) down from Oakland to San Diego, site of the clinic that will be responsible for our future embryo transfers. Future mom (hopefully) isn't nervous at all. Call me as soon as you get there, kids! Or the embryo equivalent: there won't be any live shipment tracking available, so I'm counting on the transportation company or our agency (hardly known for their organization or communication) to actually remember to confirm successful arrival tomorrow afternoon ("or the next day, as soon as we're able") - no stress, especially given that the day after their arrival will be the start of a three-day holiday weekend. Surely no one will accidentally forget to send confirmation and leave me stressing, alone in a puddle of anxiety, with Nico flying off to Paris on Saturday. Yep, everything's cool. I'm going to be a cool mom. 100%.

Update: they made it!

With news just before the holiday weekend!

Signed, sealed, soon to be delivered

We’re finally, finally making some progress on our non-traditional journey to parenthood! After four failed matches, we have a medically cleared gestational carrier with whom we just finalized our contract. On Friday, Nico and I signed and notarized it. Today, the date for delivery of our embryos to the clinic that will do the transfers was just scheduled. (The saga that became the collapse of communication between the clinic that created our embryos and the agency sourcing our gestational carriers could merit a whole post of its own, but you know what? It’s not worth the time it’d take to type out. Suffice it to say another clinic is still playing nice with our agency, and they’re willing to take the baton.) The delays have been brutal. I remember last fall when I thought our January trip to Hawaii might be our babymoon. Or maybe the Olympics in February. Ha. (On the plus side, this has been giving me the chance to vest more Neuralink stock before our lives turn upside down.)

Things are starting to maybe sort of just a little bit feel real. But there are still so many steps to go that I’m too far away to stress about preparing for a baby. Right now, I’m still anxious whether we’ll ever reach that step. But I’m at least pleased to report that, more than ten months since we began the matching process, we seem to be getting somewhere. Sort of. Maybe.

Catalina: Cute, but no Porquerolles

In January, the BBC published an article on US parks only accessible by boat or seaplane. Among the list was the Channel Islands, not so terribly far away off the coast of Los Angeles. It sounded like the perfect long weekend, a great extra box to check off in the category of American adventures before we put a bow on our time in the States. Back then, we didn't anticipate that we wouldn't have a single weekend when the two of us would be at home and not traveling for business after the month when those travel plans were made. So here we were, making a rapid turn-around as I unpacked my bags from my most recent week down in Austin only to refill them with gear for the weekend.

Catalina was cute, and also pricey. After getting hit with a $30 price tag for a pair of ice cream cones right after we got off the boat, we started paying a little more attention to our wallets over the weekend. There was still enough to see and do without breaking the bank, though my calves had a few things to say about said low cost (and high elevation change) activities. We found that the 60s Fahrenheit hits far different under the Southern California sun than it does up in the San Francisco Bay. We didn't spot a single one of the legendary bison descended from the pack of 14 brought over for a silent film a century ago, one that didn't even feature them in the final edit. We tried our hands at a round of mini golf, I ate some fantastic lobster roll at the aptly named Lobster Trap, and we somehow didn't find the time to get Nico an authentic straw hat at Luau Larry's.

After a few months of weekly work-related travels, some SoCal voyaging just for us!

The island was cute, but with more tourists and fewer vineyards than its Mediterranean counterpart, Porquerolles. I'm glad we did it, even if it was hardly a chance to catch up on the sleep debt I've been accruing over several months of hopping back and forth between Austin and the Bay. We even made the most of the airport delays with a surprisingly pleasant discovery of a Hefe-Weissbier from the world's oldest continually operated brewery, Weihenstephan. It was lovely to simply have the chance to enjoy a few uninterrupted days in each other's company before either of jobs sent us jetting off once more.

Neurarunners do Bay to Breakers

After somehow going over seven years in the San Francisco Bay Area without once doing Bay to Breakers, I've done a total about-face and, just one year after my first run, captained my very own team this year. After sparkling my way through last year's adventure as the neuron rep in a team of microbes, I knew I had to bring this nonsense to the Neuralink run club. A year later, the raccoon/wizards team gave a fabulous nod to OG Neuralink lore, both to our history early days as a raccoon farm and to Tim Urban's Wait But Why article that first introduced our technological ambitions to the world, describing it as a "wizard hat."

The Neurarunners repped as raccoons and/or wizards

We were a solid crew of Bay to Breakers newbies, my whole single prior run somehow making me an expert. After a chaotic morning assembly around the Ferry Building (but honestly, are you doing Bay to Breakers right if it's any less than chaotic?), we gathered, tossed pitas, revelled in the collective surprises from the creativity of various costumes (or lack thereof), and then scattered as soon as we crossed the starting line. (I'm not sure the whole team got the memo that Bay to Breakers isn't to be run for time.) I tagged along with the speed demons until the top of Hayes Hill, only to lose sight of their sparkling capes when I paused for a congratulatory selfie. After a mile or two of solo running, I salmon'ed my way back upstream until I caught the mid-speed runners, Amanda and (non-Neuralink honorary team member) Israel, whose team I'd joined last year for my first stab at the event. We jogged and laughed and danced our way through the latter half of the course at a much more reasonable speed, though I still somehow entirely missed the human car washes. We crossed the finish line hand-in-hand, earned ourselves some comically green bananas, and finally whittled our group down to the final four who made it out for beers and Chicago deep dish in Hayes Valley before I frantically made a mad (and unplanned) dash back over the Bay Bridge to grab my forgotten suitcase before speeding back through the city towards SFO and another week down in Austin. The Neuralink fun never ends.

The raccoons and/or wizards of Neuralink did Bay to Breakers in sparkling style.

Here's to Neuralink's first (and perhaps not last) appearance at this San Francisco classic.

Ready for a change

Now on my ninth week of the year working down in Texas (out of only sixteen weeks in 2026!), I'm practically a resident. After all my weekends popping back over to Cali, it was Nico's turn to fly to me for a change. And it was more than that: as we start envisioning our return-to-Europe timeline, a pitstop in Texas for the tax breaks when selling some stock has its appeal. Pair that with the warmth of the Texas-based Neuralink team and it really seems time for a change. Nico's job went fully remote last fall, so we're one real estate deal and a U-Haul truck away from some very big life updates. But first, we had to get a little taste of non-work-time Texas. After several folks recommended Eeyore's birthday, an annual picnic and party in a park with very hippie/circus/Burner vibes, we set our date for an Austin preview weekend.

Kicking off our weekend with dinner at Lazarus Brewing and a Spurs game at Chalmer's, where I got to taste a (frozen) dirty Shirley, the drink of choice of my new favorite heroine, Princess Donut of the Dungeon Crawler Carl series, a set of books I've been absolutely devouring.

In the end, Eeyore's was fairly anti-climactic: the light breeze that was blowing across town was stifled in the park, making the temperatures unbearable for a pair of Texas noobs. After a quick round and a selfie with the birthday boy, we continued our adventures onward. Saturday's highlight wound up being the beer and wine festival at the German-Texan Heritage Society, where I got a most fabulous fascinator and Nico reveled in the tourist brochure that highlighted on its final page, as a deal clincher on life in Germany, that it was "just across the border from France!" - he's not wrong, the French would never reciprocate if they produced a similar brochure. Properly libated, we made it over to Congress Ave Bridge in time for the nightly emergence of the bats, one of my favorite quirks of this city. Austin has the largest urban bat population in North America, and it seems they all decided to move in under the same bridge. Apparently they do wonders in managing the local insect population. And they emerge each evening in these lovely snakelike cloud formations at twilight, drawing crowds daily.

Saturday in Austin: Eeyore's Birthday, a swing past the capitol, Maifest at the German-Texan Heritage Society, and bats!

On Sunday, we made it over to Barton Springs, a charming natural body of water that's home to an endangered species of salamander. You can somehow find yourself hugged in by trees as you float in the springs while still enjoying views across the Austin skyline: my perfect version of urban nature. Kids and adults of all ages were relaxing together in the water, the chill of which was very welcome in the Texas heat. I hadn't realized just how very much I've missed summers after 8 years out in the Bay Area. Swimming, floating, and twisting around in the water to escape the heat brought me back to some of my favorite childhood experiences, some I hope we'll get to share with our kids if and when this gestational carrier adventure finally takes off. I looked around and could definitely feel myself calling this place home.

Sunday in Austin: Austin Rotisserie to sample the "French roots with Austin flare" whose catering thrills the folks in my office, a dip in Barton Springs, and a tour along the Colorado River with some neighborhood shopping.

From there, we wandered along the Colorado River and did a bit of neighborhood shopping. I was amazed how walkable the city center was: we never once had to call an uber. If our journey back to Europe allows us some time in Austin, I think we'd be targeting a home in the Holly or Riverside neighborhoods just along the riverfront. There were so many fun bars and restaurants; we could count ourselves among the adorably enthusiastic crowds gathering nightly for the bats; a simple stroll out our front door could take us down to the Colorado River path where I've been enjoying runs for the past couple months.

How can I not have a soft spot for a city this covered in art?

The city seems quirky, welcoming, a place for people at all stages of life. In short, it's a place we could belong, a place to be happy for a time.

Restaurant Weeks 2026

Oakland and Berkeley Restaurant Weeks snuck up on us this year. I hardly get a day and a half per week in California since our return from Italy, in which time I do my best to catch up on all my non-work life from circus classes to friends to basic chores around the home. We nearly missed Oakland's entirely, squeezing in just one Rockridge destination: Forge. American comfort food with absolutely American portion sizes. It was fine enough but not some place we need to hit up again.

American comfort food at Forge, Oakland Restaurant Week 2026

We were more prepared for Berkeley’s Restaurant Week a couple weeks later, having devoted some of my airport wait time to doing homework on the dining selections. We squeezed in two restaurants and even a featured coffee shop.

Berkeley Restaurant Week 2026: Anja's with Nico, Michelle, Brian, and Sven! Featuring a lovely rose garden; buckwheat pancakes with pepper, carrot, asparagus, beans, berries, mint, and coconut (??); and breakfast beer!

Berkeley Restaurant Week 2026: Trumer Pils. Because beer isn't only a breakfast beverage.

The highlight was easily Anja’s, a German brunch restaurant (breakfast beer optional) with an absolutely charming rose garden outdoor dining area. Trumer Pils Brewery was also a delight. And Roaming Bean Coffee on the Berkeley Marina was worth the bike ride, even if Nico and his glasses may have had differing opinions.

A rainy ride over to Roaming Bean for Restaurant Week coffees.

For someone who hardly even calls the East Bay home anymore, I feel I did Restaurant Weeks right. And now I’ve got a new, affordable, and mildly boozy brunch destination to add to our weekend agendas.

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.

Understood the assignment

One of my post-fertility-treatment resolutions was to reconnect at work. Yes, that mostly meant diving in deep again, pulling the late nights as needed, and checking back in to the tech. But reconnecting has taken several forms over the year, from my weekly afterwork runs to the company-sponsored charity rides to, over this past month, preparing the most on point holiday party outfit. Theme? Arcade.

In the emotional stew simmering after we'd said goodbye to Chat, I bit off a bit more than I could chew in my first vision: a hand-embroidered, neon arcade-inspired vision in periwinkle trimmed with shimmery magenta, sparkling teal, and glowing yellow. A few weeks in, I accepted defeat and sourced a rich red blank slate to begin holiday inspo 2.0: PacMan edition.

A PacMan dress project for an arcade-themed holiday party

The starting piece, a Poshmark find, was beautiful and made for someone decidedly curvier than myself. I had my work cut out for me if I was going to turn this into my arcade outfit in three weeks’ time. Out came the seam ripper, the fabric scissors, and the collection of matching spools and bobbins It felt good to get in there, rip apart seams, and lose myself between the sewing machine and the fabric and the pins jutting out in odd directions, pricking me as I tugged and stretched and held together the material, willing an idea into a reality.

I pulled off a total resize while awaiting the PacMan ribbon, which shipped just before the Thanksgiving holiday. The trim was fully secured in time for the PacMan pillowcase, which arrived the weekend before the big day. (No other PacMan fabrics were available for sale within the States in sufficient area to cover the lace trim on the bottom of the dress, and international shippers couldn't guarantee delivery in my time window, so the pillowcase was my only way to source PacMan material.) My dress, complete with Velcro-attached PacMan appliqué and cozy brushed fiber PacMan lower tier, was finalized all of three days before it was time to slay.

A PacMan dress, the same muppet fur coat that's made an appearance at every Neuralink holiday party since we took them off-site, and some friends new and old to round off an evening capping off the year I've most belonged at this company since joining nearly 8 years prior.

A year ago, I barely survived an hour at the let-down of a holiday party hosted just a day after my final egg retrieval. I loved the contrast of showing up last night having fully understood the assignment (theme), and with enough work friends to ride out socializing and dancing through the last song of the night. It's not always obvious to find my place in a company where the default employee is a Gen Z white guy just a few years out of his undergrad in engineering. Most days I feel a million years old and, as a fairly effeminate married woman, I can struggle to connect with coworkers. But between the running, the new team, and my reclaimed position as a company cheerleader (the one who's finally making Neuraladies swag happen), I've been feeling like I just might belong at Neuralink.