The Paws and Reflect podcast

MAR 12, 2025

Making my own peanut butter pie crust sundaes

I was with my ex the first time I tasted a peanut butter pie crust sundae. At that time he was not my ex, of course—he was my very new boyfriend. I was the perfect age to shout-sing Taylor Swift (when you’re fifteen and somebody tells you they love you, you’re gonna believe them) and mold my identity around everyone I liked, pushing against their boundaries in lieu of forming any of my own.It was a delicious sundae. I’d been to my hometown’s local ice cream chain many times before—I still carry golden memories of using the uneven exterior beneath the walk-up window as a little kid rock climbing wall—but I’d never ordered anything except vanilla soft serve with krunch kote. The peanut butter pie crust was a revelation.It was his revelation.My ex knew about this delicious thing—hot fudge, peanut butter, graham cracker crumble perfection—first, and he shared it with me, and I felt that bonded us more deeply. Even when I ordered our favorite sundae without him present on the increasingly rare occasions I hung out with my high school best friend or sister, I thought about Matt. Peanut butter pie crusts were ours. Everything we did together, even just a single time, was ours. My world existed in shades of him.But then I left.I mean, it wasn’t that simple, my departure. Those months, after so many years, were a snotty-teared mess. But finally I came out of “us” as “just me”, and even though we weren’t yet married (I had to cancel the DJ and photographer, deposits lost) I found myself internally battling for custody.We didn’t have property or pets or children. But we had our own version of a life, the kind college students can easily build: favorite restaurants and TV shows and memories. Prom photographs. Mutual friends. Peanut butter pie crust sundaes. We were too young when we started dating. (I was too young.) I’d yet to build my own sense of self, and he was too willing to act as my backstop, and so I became his shadow, his shape, his image—“Matt’s girlfriend”, not “Haley as a person”.What was ours and what was his and what was mine?I wish I could tell you I ordered the damn sundaes and stopped thinking about him. That I still played “On My Way” by Phil Collins just because I liked it. That I said “these preferences are pretty tiny and trivial, anyway, and they don’t have to have anything to do with him”. In reality? My stamina improved, and I jogged faster over time, but the memories stayed on my heels.When I started dating Sean, we went to our my beloved ice cream chain before I was ready. “We passed a soft serve place that sells one pound cones!” my new boyfriend announced when I arrived to stay with him and a few other friends at an up-north cabin. “We have to go!”“I grew up in Wausau! Of course I know Briq’s,” I said. It still makes me think of Matt, I didn’t.I told Sean to order the peanut butter pie crust. The employees made it wrong—no hot fudge—which was a disappointing introduction to the deliciousness. But I realized, sitting there with our friends as Sophie joked about how Sean can “do bad things to ice cream” (he did indeed order the one pound version), that to them peanut butter pie crust sundaes were Haley’s recommendation. They were my preference. Just mine.It was a start.Still, over the years when we visited my hometown and ordered Briq’s, stubborn and unwelcome recollections sometimes insisted on tagging along. You build new memories on top of old ones, you round out your life, but there’s no rewrite button. Reclamation is a slow process.Until finally… the old foundation just crumbles. And you get in there to chuck out the debris and realize you breathe so much better without the moldy stench you’d somehow grown used to and erroneously accepted as a fact of life. You shout-sing from a later Taylor Swift album, now: I think I am finally clean.This past summer Sean and I started making homemade peanut butter pie crust sundaes. The recipe: Melt peanut butter and dark chocolate chips in a mug, stirring to a smooth consistency. Scoop a hearty amount of Häagen-Dazs vanilla bean (vanilla bean, not just vanilla) ice cream on top. Sprinkle crushed pie crust (we like to buy the miniature premade ones in a six pack) over the whole thing. Then savor, passing back and forth after every spoonful, sharing the joy.These sundaes are a new ours. They are not just an experience we happened to share once, to which I assigned unreasonable importance—they are an intentional creation inspired by old tastes and made even better. A tiny thing, to be sure, but a thing we built together.One of many, many things we built together. Get full access to Paws and Reflect at <a href="https://www.pawsandreflect.blog/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_4">www.pawsandreflect.blog/subscribe</a>

4 MIN

MAR 8, 2025

Close encounters of the creature kind

First drafted in Everglades National Park, after a week of mesmerizing nature experiences.Paddling a designated mangrove trail, I cringe as our inflatable kayak rubs the bottom of the pond. “We’re stirring up the mud,” I worry aloud. “How many organisms call this mud home?” Sean shakes his head.We turn around shortly after. By this point we’ve already seen five alligators (one swimming parallel to us, disquieting agility on full display) and a dozen birds and too many fish to count. I’m in awe that this has been our Monday morning activity.I’m also wondering if it should have been.So often close creature encounters fill us with wonder—they allow us to more fully appreciate our fellow animals. But they are also, so often, one sided. What does the cardinal get from me peering closely except a modicum of discomfort? The Florida tree snails are dormant for the winter so my photography (in theory) doesn’t stir their slumber, but still—I am here, in their world, leaning in. And I am clumsy and species-centric and unable to coexist without inadvertent harm.“Oh no, you scared him,” Sean said of the small toad I tried so carefully to step around on yesterday’s trail. “Shoot, she ran away,” I echoed about the anole I paused too long to observe.How much of these reactions is normal? Creatures move toward and away from each other all the time. Perhaps I am not adding to their stress (the alligators certainly seem unbothered by my presence in their swamp); perhaps it’s self-aggrandizing to think so. But perhaps I am. Perhaps I am layering harm upon small harm, weaving fear deeper into their nervous systems, making their already fraught existence harder, all out of a desire to love them.Love can hurt. Especially when it comes from a person.Little Me developed so much respect for the natural world by engaging with the natural world. That’s the justification for practices—some worse than others, certainly—at organizations from SeaWorld to the tiny elephant sanctuary I called home after graduating college. Where do we draw the line? On our guided night hike in the Everglades, I was thrilled to see a nightjar illuminated by the ranger’s flashlight—but guilt pinged within me, too, at the creature’s small form huddled in the beam. Would we, me and Sean and five middle-aged couples, have felt less inspired if we hadn’t gotten to see up close? Would the bird have felt less scared?Whose experience is more important, and do they have to interfere with each other, and how can we ever understand costs and benefits?These questions are top of mind thanks in part to <a target="_blank" href="https://nerdyaboutnature.substack.com/p/is-outdoor-recreation-a-form-of-resource">Nerdy About Nature’s recent post on whether outdoor recreation is a form of resource extraction</a>. He thinks it is, and I largely agree. I also agree with the article’s top comment: “outdoor recreation is a gateway to caring about the planet,” writes Nick Costelloe. “The more people engage with natural spaces, the more they’ll care about them—and the more willing they’ll be to advocate for climate solutions.”I’m just not sure what, exactly, ethical engagement with nature spaces ought to look like.This past fall we drove up a steep, bumpy road to the most beautiful dispersed campsite we’ve ever seen overlooking the Great Tetons. We carefully followed every National Forest Service guideline. No campfires. Don’t stay more than five nights. Drive on previously used roads. Pack in what you pack out; leave no trace.I grinned almost every minute we were there. I threw wide my arms and teared up at the sunrise and leashed Scout the second we saw another animal or person. But afterward, despite being a perfect stickler for the rules, I still had to ask: Is it truly possible to leave no trace?One morning a fox trotted along the edge of our site. They paused, head raised, before darting away down the mountain. Neither we nor our dog pursued this breathtaking creature—but the canid knew, unmistakably, that we were there. Every living thing nearby knew we were there. How much of my own joy (and make no mistake: I experienced bright, bursting, overwhelming joy) is worth native flora and fauna’s discomfort? How much do NFS restrictions, even when meticulously observed, actually mitigate human impact?How much could I love that mountain—that view, those creatures—if I hadn’t breathed their same air?I don’t know. It’s easy to preach platitudes about respecting the environment. (Pick up trash, be bear aware, don’t bend the rules, do what the organizations in charge tell you to.) It’s harder to trust that these actions are good enough. And everything is exacerbated by the crisis facing American public lands under our current administration, <a target="_blank" href="https://www.npca.org/articles/6978-parks-group-responds-to-deepening-national-park-staffing-crisis-as-hundreds">worsening, it seems, by the day</a>: staffing cuts, hiring freezes, harrowing sound bites to “drill, baby, drill”.Never has holding great wonder—the kind that inspires us to care, that doesn’t allow us not to give a damn—about natural spaces been more important. Never has asking how we skew the ratio toward much more awe than harm. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit <a href="https://www.pawsandreflect.blog/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_2">www.pawsandreflect.blog/subscribe</a>

4 MIN

MAR 7, 2025

A "virtue signaling" deep dive, anyone?

Virtue signaling:* Oxford Languages (labeled derogatory): the public expression of opinions or sentiments intended to demonstrate one’s good character or social conscience or the moral correctness of one’s position on a particular issue.* Wikipedia: Virtue signalling is the act of expressing opinions or stances that align with popular moral values, often through social media, with the intent of demonstrating one’s good character.* Helpful Professor: ... actions that are more about posturing and impression management than actual action.Last week an Instagram commenter said I was virtue signaling on a <a target="_blank" href="https://www.instagram.com/reel/DE41ge6pBaX/">post</a> about off-leash dogs in on-leash areas. This is not that uncommon of a reaction. The “leash your dog” conversation continues to be more controversial than my past self ever imagined—I’m not entirely sure what other stuff (defensiveness, resenting urban restrictions overall, the struggle to read tone online?) comes up for people here, but the responses often seem bigger than the topic itself.As I should have predicted, this particular thread quickly devolved. I know I ought not to give strangers on the internet much of my time—especially after they’ve tried to insult me by making fun of people with disabilities (seriously?!)—but the experience did get me thinking more about virtue signaling: the words themselves, what we take them to mean, how we use them to talk about other people’s behavior.And I’m considering some questions now.When someone accuses you of virtue signaling, it’s not a compliment. But (if we take the words at face value for a minute) why is it inherently bad to signal—we’re constantly relaying information to fellow humans—virtues we actually hold? Certainly it’s harmful to look down our noses and write others off and shut conversation out. But in a world of overconsumption and division and literal fire, shouldn’t we all talk about our values more? I am not ashamed of my virtues—I’m proud of my beliefs. Why would I not want to “signal” them to you and then hear about your own?Of course, it’s hard to discern from a single post or comment section whether someone actually lives out their values. And preaching “just to sound good” is the red flag in definitions of virtue signaling as the term exists today. Virtue signaling is done with the intent of demonstrating one’s good character and is more about posturing and impression management than actual action. (This is why it’s often associated with “popular” moral positions—it’s a way to fit in, at least shallowly. Not that popular things are always worthy of derision, but that’s another essay.)So if our fundamental goal is to insist on our own loveliness? Yeah. Ew.My question is how we make that distinction in practice.Don’t we all want to have (at least our personal vision of) good character? Don’t we all want the people around us to see and believe in that character? Acting with public opinion as the primary interest is toxic and unproductive. (I used to struggle immensely with my own ego in the dog world, particularly when it came to Scout’s reactivity training—and it sucked for everyone involved.) But is it truly possible to act with no interest in public opinion? We’re social creatures. Of course I want you to think I’m good, or thoughtful, or reasonable, or something like that! Of course you want the same!I think this is where I’m arriving:Surface-level virtue signaling is shitty, particularly if it’s inauthentic (professed values are not internalized and followed) and/or lacks nuance (I don’t believe there’s “objective” morality allowing us to insist other people make our own exact choices). But virtue signaling that includes an explanation of one’s reasoning—by a person who lives their values earnestly—isn’t a problem. I mean, it’s not really virtue signaling at all. It’s just… talking about what matters to us. Sharing where we’re coming from. Discussing how we make decisions.I am aware I’m spilling too much ink about this. (Good thing blank document screens don’t run out like pens. 😉) But the way we—collectively, modern members of our species—communicate online both interests and tires me. Word’s aren’t everything, but they’re not nothing, and it’s worth thinking about how we use them.Sometimes we need to be called into conversation about properly uncool things we’re doing. Other times those of us doing the calling out need to look inward first. Pointing out that someone is virtue signaling can be a genuine critique of their behavior… but it can also be a lazy attempt to dismiss their arguments without consideration. I find that latter possibility sad and scary. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit <a href="https://www.pawsandreflect.blog/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_2">www.pawsandreflect.blog/subscribe</a>

3 MIN

MAR 5, 2025

Why I love to eschew marriage norms

Sean and I don’t regularly wear wedding rings. (The ones we do have are cheap nontraditional bands.) Our ceremony was short and, to be candid, kind of not a big deal. He did not only see me in my dress before our vows—he actually found my dress in the first place. I kept my last name. We rarely celebrate anniversaries beyond a “hey, look at the date!” nod.I am unduly proud of the ways we eschew marriage norms—and I think I’m finally able to name why.I worried for a while that my feelings were some sort of petty self righteousness or a “look how I’m not like other girls!” desire to be special. (Which... ew.) But that doesn't track with the fact that I’ve felt truly, properly happy for all the people in my life who do embrace western relationship norms in their own ways. Like, I have never once wondered if my best friend’s relationship is any less fulfilling or progressive or meaningful than mine because her ring is fancy gorgeous. I would never dream of telling my badass feminist colleague that taking her husband’s last name makes her a slave to the patriarchy. Still, though: I loved that I wasn’t doing these things.What gives?In my serious relationship before Sean, I relied on any and every surface-level signal that we were a couple. I needed evidence—traditional, obvious evidence—that our love was real. It wasn’t just the big things like my fancy engagement ring (come to think of it, my ex spent more time talking about how he chose the diamond on the day he proposed than why he loved me) or our over-the-top anniversary presents. We also needed constant nicknames and good morning texts and social media posts. (We once had a huge fight after a road trip because I captioned an Instagram of us—just one of many from those two weeks—something simple instead of using it to profess my love.) We were that couple. You’d hate seeing us on your feed, using public posts to insist things we didn’t even truly feel in a flawed attempt to grease the wheels of a squeaking, falling-apart relationship. (Sidebar: This habit made our breakup even harder because I’d spent so long convincing casual acquaintances we were great!! that they couldn't believe we’d actually had a billion problems. Ugh.)Anyway: I needed so much “evidence” of our love precisely because there wasn’t, in reality, all that much love. I thought I could cover our failings with the right decor. What do you mean there’s a massive gap in the floorboards? No no, it’s nothing; we can hide it with a super fancy sofa!It’s the exact opposite with Sean. I don’t crave external signals or classic traditions to reinforce our commitment because I already know we’re real. I believe in our love more than anything else—I have never doubted it, never felt the urge to mental-gymnastics something out of nothing.Saying no thanks to nice rings and elaborate rituals isn’t a larger statement about how I think things “should” be done. (I do not believe there’s one “right” way in basically any area of life. And obviously not everyone uses traditions to mask massive relationship problems, in which case… more power to you. My past self is jealous.) No, my pride in this regard is about me, as an individual, emphasizing the juxtaposition between where I used to be and where I am now.It’s funny that the excuse I gave some family members for why our nuptials were so small (I already planned a big wedding and we didn’t work out, I want my real one to feel as different as possible) turned out to be so centrally true. I love not doing these traditional things because I love not needing these traditional things.If you want them, though? That’s a whole different story. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit <a href="https://www.pawsandreflect.blog/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_2">www.pawsandreflect.blog/subscribe</a>

3 MIN

MAR 4, 2025

On procrastination and productivity

This morning I find myself saying to Sean, not for the first time: “You know, whenever I build a task up in my head and then actually sit down to do it, it’s easier than I imagined? Not sure why I put things off.”I am not proud of this recurring declaration.I’ve long been a bit of a procrastinator—usually motivated by perfectionism—who manages to rarely miss deadlines but consistently doubt the quality of what she turns in. I often feel like I don’t have the resources or focus or ability to do something perfectly right now… but maybe I will tomorrow. Or the next day. Or, you know, when rubbing right up against the due date.This tendency got worse the first year we lived in our converted van. We were so busy with the logistics of a life on the road (and, admittedly, the associated joys) that I grew accustomed to putting tasks off before knocking them out in a late-night haze. I once set an alarm for three am to finish a copywriting assignment I’d had a full week to complete. (I mean, that’s inexcusable.) Even just last fall, after I’d organized my life on the Todoist app and kicked my writing practice into better gear, I still occasionally fell into the habit. I revised my first piece for ROVA Magazine (an article I was so excited to share) up until the morning it was due.On the surface, everything is fine. I’m a functioning (perhaps even highly functioning) professional. Most of my clients and editors are happy to work with me; at least some of my quality concerns have more to do with imposter syndrome and overthinking than the actual work I submit.But too often—entirely too often—I carry the weight of an uncompleted task days longer than necessary. It infiltrates my ocean swims. It colors my interactions with Sean. It pushes me to maniacally read other people’s words in hopes of forgetting that I am not (but should be) writing my own.I feel even worse about this impulse to put things off because I work from such a privileged position. The reasons I procrastinate are 1) I’m concerned about doing things well enough or 2) I’m distracted by living in the real world—basically never because I’m truly exhausted, lacking support, or bereft of the right resources. There are people producing amazing art and commentary and impact in astronomically more difficult situations than mine. My life is so cushy. I should be able to write an article about training rescue dogs in one damn sitting!Lately my procrastination takes a disguised form: Enthusiastically working on something that isn’t due while ignoring a piece that is. It’s increasingly rare that I put off a task because I’m lounging in the sun or burying my nose in a novel or scrolling social media. That’s good—that’s great!—but just because I’m writing doesn’t mean I’m writing the most important thing.Of course, what’s “important” is a whole discussion. Sometimes inspiration strikes in a moment I blocked off to finish work for a client and the romantic artist in me latches on with worry the idea will disappear before I can act on it. Sometimes this situation produces a piece I love, and that sense of accomplishment lifts me through the rest of the day (maybe even the rest of the week), and I’m happy in all the ways: creatively, logistically, professionally.Other times the inspiration is a red herring. Or too complex to tackle right away. And I can’t even live under the illusion that I was being productive by spending my time on a half-baked, questionable premise instead of the clearly defined task begging for my attention.The solution here seems simple: Just do the thing. I know, logically, that I always feel better after doing the thing! Doing the thing rarely prevents me from also doing other things later on! Why is this a problem?!A whole bunch of reasons, I think: I’m a creatively minded person willing to ride whims. I have no semblance of a structured schedule. I’ve built rapport enough with my editors—and also am content enough with my life in general—that the stakes usually feel low. (And while I used to long for this level of comfort, there’s no denying we sometimes need a fire under us to get going.)So I’m trying to light more controlled fires. In the upper right corner of my desktop, a digital sticky note displays my top six life priorities in order. I’ve set a rule—and asked Sean for enforcement help—that I’m not allowed to reschedule tasks on my to-do list unless there’s an emergency. (Not wanting to put down an interesting book is not an emergency.) I’m reaching out to fellow writers to build a stronger craft community, something I’ve been lacking for too long. I am repeating, over and over, that “done and good enough is better than perfect”. I am setting more ambitious deadlines for client work—and communicating those deadlines to editors ahead of time so I have no way out.I am also giving myself grace, because I love this life I’ve built (and lucked into), and there’s a reason I left my stable 9-5 in pursuit of greater flexibility. I do not need—and sure as hell do not want—to work all the time. I just want to work more effectively.And float on my back in the Atlantic without worrying about missing checklist ticks. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit <a href="https://www.pawsandreflect.blog/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_2">www.pawsandreflect.blog/subscribe</a>

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