As a child growing up in the mountains of western North Carolina, I always knew I was in trouble or had done something particularly foolish when I heard the words “dammit, Hali” leave my dad’s mouth in his slow, southern way of talking.
Even though I am grown now and haven’t lived in the same small town as him for quite some time, I still hear “dammit, Hali” when I call him up and say something like “dad, I didn’t know what that little light meant on my car’s dashboard when it came on two days ago and now I have a flat tire.” Yeah, foolish. Dammit, Hali.
It seemed like a fitting title as I document the missteps, adventures, and semi-successes of my late 20s and navigate this little thing I call my quarter-life crisis.
I am: a wife, a motherless daughter, a Carolina gal, an adventurer, a drinker of local beer, a dog mom, and a novice foodie.