Show Me How Good It Gets

Spoil me, Universe.

Good morning, I’m feeling introspective today after what I thought was a cold turned out to be long COVID, which I’m still recovering from. I’m no longer contagious, but I’ve been drained and weak. An Olympic gold medal sleeper—tens across the board.

The silver lining of having lots of sudden downtime is that I’ve been able to spend more time than usual catching up with friends. And it’s funny, I don’t know if there’s something in the air, something going on with the moon or stars or the universe or whatever you take stock in, or if it’s just the general state of the world, but everyone seems to be struggling more than usual lately. Things have just been feeling… adversarial.

Since 2025 hit, New York City feels suffocating. My apartment feels smaller. Every problem feels bigger. People have broken my heart. And the winter here stubbornly refuses to let go.

So I know it's time to get the hell out of town.

I booked a bunch of short, easy trips to my comfort places: fly fishing in North Carolina this weekend, followed by some pool time in Palm Beach and a visit with friends in Charleston in May, and then five days of sunshine in Miami. Come June, I’m off to the Hamptons.

There’s no real point to these trips; I don’t have a work assignment, a big event, or a far-flung covert lover. I just enjoy traveling alone sometimes.

While others find it intimidating, it gives me a significant recharge because it indulges my insatiable curiosity. That spirit is a muscle I strengthened through all my years of writing travel stories around the American South. And it has atrophied since moving to Manhattan. I intend to get it strong again.

It used to be normal for me to be driving to some fisherman’s shack in the middle of nowhere to befriend a grizzly bartender for the sake of a story. Or to be perched at a hotel restaurant, people-watching and taking notes. I missed the Kentucky Derby this year! And The Masters! Usually right about now, I’d be in Augusta paying more attention to the Azaleas and the crowd than the golfers or wandering around some distillery arguing about whether Kentucky is the South or the Midwest.

I don’t mind spending entire days with total strangers because I’m curious about people. For example, I have no idea who my fishing guide will be this weekend. Still, it’s always someone interesting — one time I had a guy show me a little cold hole with a random salmon population (which is not something you see in the Smoky Mountains), and I still remember my trout guy at Blackberry Farm. He had me belly laughing the entire trip. “We don’t see too many ladies of your, erm… persuasion (read: straight) solo fishin.” “Y’know, I find it works much better if you get reaaaalll close to the water after you cast your line and say, ‘heeeereee fishy fishy.’”

I think the key to these trips is never to be searching for anything in particular. You can’t go in with too many expectations of who you’ll see or what you want to happen.

If you’re too prescriptive about it, you won’t end up anywhere fun. You just have to be open to whatever God decides is coming your way that day. One time, I went to Bonnaroo by myself, happened upon an Artist wristband, and ran into a girlfriend who was also there solo for work. I ended up having the absolute time of my life, side stage at Bon Iver, laughing with Aziz Ansari.

There wasn’t a lick of cell service, and I couldn’t tell you the name of a single friend I made that weekend. However, I do remember my friend Matt picking me up for dinner and a rehash afterwards, and him saying, “This would only happen to you.” I disagree. It would happen to anyone willing to forego the path of least resistance.

There’s an old Anthony Bourdain quote I’ve always liked: “Your body isn’t a temple. It’s an amusement park. Enjoy the ride.” He was probably leaning more hedonistic in his intentions, but the sentiment prevails.

I believe anyone willing to say, “Hey God, hey Universe, show me how good it can get” is going to have that challenge met. And that applies to everything, not just travel. I also think it’s a great attitude to have about things like romance and money. Why else would you be put on this earth were it not to suck the marrow out of the life you’ve been given?

“Show me how good it gets” is akin to Russian Roulette with a magic bullet. It’s a way of playing Passenger Princess with the Universe and saying, “Spoil me.” It’s an improv class with God: “Yes, and…”

Everyone’s been so gloomy lately. So I’m going to bring a little “Yes, and…” energy into my life. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right? Everything that happens after that lives in the stories you tell.

You know where mine will be.

We’ll be back to regular content next week, but a few things to have on your radar now:

• In a very “Yes, and” moment, I found myself at Blackberry Farm as a guest of Krug champagne a few years back, where I met Sunday Suppers’ Karen Mordechai. She has since started a beautiful line of oils and vinegars called Le Marké, which I’ve been enjoying while cooking. She kindly extended a discount to our readers: JESS15 for 15% off.

• L.A., LeSet is hosting a sample sale this Thursday through Friday from 10 am to 6 pm and Saturday through Sunday from 10 am to 4 pm. Location here.

• Speaking of being spoiled, Moda Operandi sent the most incredible PR delivery for their Club Moda capsule, which this year is centered on the French Riviera. I’m obsessed with everything, and we will dive deeper next week when the Mother’s Day gift guide hits, but take a cruise through now to get first crack at the good stuff.

• Don’t forget, our Substack Starter Pack giveaway ends this Tuesday, April 29. I’ve added all kinda of new fun stuff to it, so get those extra entries in.