Troy’s Waterfront Farmers Market, Troy, NY

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There’s a certain kind of morning you don’t plan too hard you just show up and let it unfold. That’s what the Troy Farmers Market feels like. My girlfriend and I went to the first opening day, which starts in May the first Saturday and then every Saturday there after. We arrived about 9:30. I suggest you get there early because it tends to get a little crowded mid afternoon and you want to get a jump on the good stuff in the morning.

Tents stretch down the street, white canopies lined up against old brick buildings, the kind that have seen a hundred versions of the same Saturday. People move slowly here. Not lazy just unhurried. Coffee in hand, dogs weaving between legs, conversations that don’t feel rushed.

The first thing that pulls you in is the color.

Bouquets stacked in wooden baskets, wrapped in brown paper like small gifts. Deep reds, dusty pinks, wild textures that don’t look overly arranged just gathered. Behind them, wreaths hang in rows, each one slightly different, like someone took the time to make sure no two were exactly alike.

You keep walking, and it shifts from flowers to food without warning.

There’s a table with cheese pull-apart bread from a vendor called Ideals. It’s the kind of thing you don’t overthink you just know it’s coming home with you. Warm, soft, the kind of bread that pulls apart in layers and disappears faster than you expect.

A few tents down, the smell changes again. Something savory, heavier. That’s where Lidia’s Empanadas is set up. You order without much hesitation. They hand it to you hot, and you realize pretty quickly this isn’t a “save it for later” situation. You eat it standing there, half paying attention to the crowd moving around you.

Then there’s the quieter side of the market.

A produce stand stacked with greens bok choy, radishes, bunches of herbs still smelling like the ground they came from. I made roasted garlic and radishes as a side dish and it was delectably wonderful! You pick up basil and cilantro, not because you had a plan for them, but because they looked too fresh to pass up. That’s how a lot of decisions get made here.

Not everything is food.

There’s a small thrift setup tucked between vendors racks of vintage clothes, simple and a little unexpected in the middle of everything else. You flip through without urgency. It’s less about finding something and more about the act of looking.

And then there are moments you almost miss if you’re not paying attention.

Someone shaping pottery right there at their booth, hands steady, turning clay into something useful in real time. Tables of handmade goods. Old glassware arranged carefully on wooden shelves inside a shop just off the street quiet, warm lighting, a contrast to the open air outside.

The market isn’t loud in the way you’d expect. It’s full, but not overwhelming. People sit at small tables in the street eating, talking, staying longer than they probably planned.

You don’t rush through it. This is the type of place where you want to take your time browsing and leaving no stone unturned. I was in heaven.

You wander, double back, pick something up, put it down, then go back for it anyway. By the time you leave, you’ve got a mix of things you meant to buy and things you didn’t but somehow all of it makes sense together.

That’s the thing about places like this.

You don’t just go for what you need. You go because it feels good to be there. I actually lost myself there for a bit which was exactly what I needed.

Independence keeps you safe but understanding it might set you free.

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Some of the strongest people you know aren’t strong because life was easy. They’re strong because, at some point, they learned they had to be.

Hyper-independence is often mistaken for strength. On the surface it looks attractive and desirable to someone who handles everything themselves, asks for nothing, and keeps moving forward no matter what. But hyper-independence isn’t just independence. It’s a learned way of surviving in a world where, at some point, relying on other people didn’t feel safe.

For many of us, it starts early. A difficult childhood teaches us how much space we’re allowed to take up in the world and whether someone will show up when we need them. I was a latchkey kid, the youngest of four girls. By the time I came along, my parents were, in many ways, already spent. The house wasn’t always peaceful, there was a lot of yelling/screaming, and my father’s extra-curricular activities left cracks in the foundation of our family that a kid can feel even if she doesn’t fully understand them yet. So I did what a lot of kids do in those environments: I learned to take care of myself. I played alone. I figured things out on my own. And like many children growing up in complicated homes, I learned some lessons about trust and safety far earlier than I should have. Maybe that is why people mistake my mistrust for hyper-independence/”being strong.”

When independence becomes the only way you know how to live, it follows you into adulthood. You become capable, resilient, and outwardly strong but relationships can feel complicated. Sometimes we choose solitude not because we truly want to be alone, but because being close to someone requires a level of vulnerability we never learned how to trust. Sometimes we sabotage good things without meaning to, pulling away just when connection begins to feel real. It isn’t because we’re broken. It’s because the part of us that learned to survive alone still thinks it’s protecting us. Is this something that we will ever be able to get over? Will we ever allow ourselves to welcome a new healthy relationship into our lives? 

If you recognize yourself in this, I want you to know something: you are not strange, and you are not alone. Many of us learned early that the safest place to stand was on our own two feet. That instinct kept us going when we needed it most. But it doesn’t mean we were meant to walk through life alone forever. Understanding where hyper-independence comes from is the first step toward loosening its grip toward letting people in, little by little, without feeling like we’re giving up our strength.

And if you’re someone who has built a life around doing everything yourself, who sometimes pushes people away even when your heart wants connection, I see you. Truly. There are more of us out here than you realize.

Being 55, Without Apology

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There’s something quietly beautiful that happens in your fifties especially around 55 if you let it. A kind of clarity settles in. The noise fades. And for many of us, life finally begins to feel lighter.

You stop worrying so much about other people’s judgments. You don’t replay conversations the way you once did. Embarrassment loosens its grip. At some point, a simple truth clicks into place: most people aren’t paying attention to how you live and if they are, it’s often because they wish they had the courage to live more freely themselves.

Peace starts to feel like the ultimate luxury. Home becomes a sanctuary. Your bed, your routines, your dog, the quiet these things matter more than appearances ever did. You realize you don’t need more… you need less.

This is also the decade when many people finally learn to let go. You recognize when relationships carry ill intentions through words, actions, or patterns and you walk away without guilt. You stop taking things personally, because emotionally healthy people don’t invest their energy in trying to hurt others. And those who do? You wish them well. You pray for them. Then you choose distance.

So much comes into focus in your fifties. You step outside your comfort zone without fear. You simplify your space, your finances, your emotional world. You stop living above your means and start living within your values.

You no longer chase people to like you or love you. Real connection doesn’t need pursuit. And there’s a quiet confidence in knowing that the right partner the right people will fit your energy naturally, without force or performance.

Most of all, you learn how to speak honestly. Calmly. Directly. If something involves you, you address it with clarity, not defensiveness. Because by now, you understand that protecting your peace isn’t selfish it’s necessary.

Your fifties teach you this: letting go of nonsense isn’t loss it’s freedom.
It’s the season where you stop living for approval and start living with intention.
And for many of us, that realization feels like coming home to ourselves for the first time and living in the moment.

And the most surprising part of all? I don’t feel my age I feel younger than I ever did. It’s crazy! Not in a chasing youth kind of way, but in a grounded, settled way. I feel lighter and freer. There’s an ease now that didn’t exist before now, when everything felt rushed, heavy, or uncertain. This kind of feeling comes from self-acceptance, from knowing who you are and no longer apologizing for it. I never thought I would reach this point in my life, but I did and so could you at any age actually.

Why Maria’s Pasta Shop Will Always Be a Utica Staple

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Some places don’t need flashy signs or trends to stay relevant they just keep doing things the right way. Maria’s Pasta Shop in Utica is one of those places.

Maria’s isn’t a sit-down restaurant. It’s better than that. It’s the kind of place you stop at on your way home, knowing dinner is already taken care of and knowing it’s going to be good. Homemade pasta, sauces, and prepared Italian dishes made with care, the way food is supposed to be made.

This shop has been a part of the Utica community for years, and you can feel that the moment you walk in. It’s a true local staple the kind of place families rely on for weeknight meals, Sunday traditions, and special occasions. No shortcuts. No fuss. Just really solid, comforting Italian food.

Personally, I can’t say enough about the lobster ravioli, hands down my favorite. Rich, flavorful, and perfectly done every time. The stuffed breads are another must have. Warm, hearty, and dangerously easy to eat more than you planned. You have choices like sausage, lasagna, spinach, and more. I ordered them for Christmas. Everyone went berserk over them.

And next on my list? Their daily “bullets.” Each day of the week features a different stuffed bullet, and I honestly can’t wait to try them. It’s little things like that rotating specials, traditions, consistency that make places like Maria’s feel special.

What really sets Maria’s apart is the homemade quality of their pasta. You can taste the difference immediately the texture, the freshness, the care behind it. This isn’t pasta that’s meant to sit on a shelf; it’s pasta made to be cooked, shared, and enjoyed. Every bite feels intentional, like someone actually took the time to get it right. It’s the kind of food that reminds you why homemade will always matter more than convenient.

In a world where everything seems rushed and mass-produced, Maria’s Pasta Shop is a reminder of what happens when food is made with pride and roots in the community. If you haven’t been, you’re missing out. And if you have you already know exactly what I mean.

You will not be dissapointed. I promise.

Maria’s Pasta Shop 2520 Oneida St, Utica, NY 13501 315-797-6835