I am pretty tired today. I promise my post will be better tomorrow but for now I will leave you with one of my favorite things in this world: This American Life.

I don’t know what it is, but I LOVE This American Life and The Moth. Both are stories involving real people and real experiences. My special man hates both because usually real stories involve tragedy, leaving the listener feeling even worse about humanity than before. I don’t know if I am a masochist or if I just enjoy hearing people’s stories. I think in the end, it makes me feel more human, more connected with the human condition.


Good Diet = Good Ankle?

My senior year of college I randomly woke up one morning with a swollen ankle. I am sure I am not the only college student to have this story. I seriously don’t remember falling, and neither does my partner in crime that night. So, it stands a mystery. Anywho, for about a year my ankle would swell every time I drank alcohol. My friends teased me that I had the gout and would end up like Benjamin Franklin, being carried around in a wheelbarrow.

So, just for the record, I don’t really have the gout. But, this year, I did start having trouble with my ankle again. Not so much swelling, but random immense pain, where it feels like it is going to break in half and I almost fall to ground. While cooking one day and talking to my fiance, I narrowly avoided dropping a whole mess of food while writhing in pain. He suggested I get it looked at. FINE!

Podiatrist. MRI. Podiatrist. Orthopedic Surgeon.

I really have trouble paying attention when doctors are talking to me. It’s like I know I am not going to understand, so I have a mental block from even attempting to understand. The best I can explain it is that in my MRI there is this big dot of white where there should be no white and they want to break my bones and clean it out.

Are you still with me? Is this getting too gross/personal?

Okay, cutting to the chase. Sort of. So, during all of this doctor visiting I went on a 10 day Master Cleanse. During this time I realized I wasn’t sneezing anymore. Seriously. My whole adult life I just thought I was allergic to life, but turns out, the food you eat can make you sneeze and make you all stuffed up!

Enter my second opinion: Jeanne Kennedy Crosby. I went to her because my awesomely crazy roommate works for her and is also one of her clients. I went into it totally skeptical, and, now after just two weeks of change in diet, supplements, and a bit of chiropractic work, my ankle is much better. It is definitely not perfect, but I can tell such a difference. The sad thing is, Jeanne wants me to avoid wheat, dairy, sugar, soy, and corn. Yes, all things fun. I have been mostly good, just a beer or a piece of chocolate here and there, but mostly, it’s been surprisingly easy. Plus, I am sneezing way less. Which is good for all. My sneeze is like a hatchet chopping off a chickens head (as PTH describes). It sounds painful.

Plus, I still get to make amazing dishes like this: Curry Salmon dish

About Me…

I am really horribly bad at describing myself. My cover letters are probably the most mundane prose anyone has ever read. I get hives thinking about having to write a blurb about myself for my upcoming graduation (!) program.

First, let me just preface this with: I am not pregnant! but I was looking at this blog and found myself inspired to try and describe myself. I can be honest and witty right?


My name is Amy Wheeler. I was born before Jesus on December 20th to two passionate entrepreneurs and two loving and insane siblings. I grew up in the suburbs of Atlanta, in a town mainly consisting of a big mall and big trucks. With a grocery store-owning former mayor grandfather, we learned the value of hard work, good food, and giving to one’s community.


  • I hate glitter. Wonder why? Put some glitter on and then tell me you don’t find some in a very strange place on your body two months later
  • I am allergic to most things cute (horses, bunnies, cats, dogs, ponies)
  • My mom went to high school with Dolly Parton
  • If I am being quiet it probably means I am judging
  • I never learned how to dive into water
  • I really hate it when people pronounce the word Crayon “crown”
  • I know its wrong, but I often raise my voice when speaking to someone whose first language is not English. I know it doesn’t make it any more clear
  • If you look at a picture of my grandmother at my age now, we look like twins
  • I have major personal space issues (sorry Liz!) except for with PTH
  • Joni Mitchell speaks to the core of my soul
  • The only movie I cry watching every time is A League of Their Own
  •  I’ve been wearing my favorite hoodie since the 6th grade
  • I really like to say fuck (sorry mom) It just has a nice ring to it
  • I would rather eat an entire pizza than cake
  • I can do really dumb things, like when I was in my brother’s car and thought it was a 2-door (it’s a 4-door and I didn’t need to get out to help in his friend)
  • I almost went to culinary school, but instead I decided to get my MBA
  • I really love toast

Brothers and Big Dreams

The phone rings. I joyfully answer “Hi Brother” with a big grin. I can hear him smiling on the other end. It’s been a few months since we’ve talked, which is unusual for us. Both growing into our own as people, we continue to share a bond that started before I can remember. I see him coming into his own, falling in love, truly enjoying life. He seems happy. I feel lucky.

I laugh a lot in my life. A LOT. It is loud, boisterous, surprising, and often out of my control. With Brother, I laugh even more. We laugh with each other over nothing, and giggle throughout our conversations. We’ve been warned this can feel to others like “they are missing something.” We often didn’t realize there was something to be in on. We share a pretty strong affinity for sarcasm and not taking ourselves too seriously. I complain about my job and express my fears of never finding a job I like. He gives me his perspective, which is refreshing: find a job you can tolerate and build a great life outside of work. I welcome this comment, although my heart sinks at the possibility of giving up. But, since I am constantly surrounded by people encouraging me to find my right livelihood (through work), it’s nice to hear there are options. Maybe my right livelihood involves something small, but powerful to myself and those around me.

For operations class at BGI, we just read “The Idea of a Local Economy” by Wendell Berry. Berry brings great intelligence and intensity to conversations around the environment and the economy. In this article he expresses his belief that this industrial economy, or as he calls it a total economy, prevents people from utilizing their specific unique talents to contribute to their community. Instead, we are all just cogs in the system, placed where ever the system demands in order to the keep the machine running.

This total economy inherently destroys the idea of dependence on those around you. Berry argues for a more local based economy, stating, “Of course, everything needed locally cannot be produced locally. But a viable neighborhood is a community; and a viable community is made up of neighbors who cherish and protect what they have in common. This is the principle of subsistence.” With this type of economy, citizens begin to ask themselves, “What is here, what is in me, that can lead to something better.?


Today I started my day off right when I opened my email and saw three people commented on my last post. It doesn’t sound like a lot, but it meant a lot to me. Yesterday was the first post I intentionally published and to which I pointed people. Other times I have just put it up there but hoped no one would actually read it. Just hearing that someone else feels the same way, that I am not insane, that it is okay to feel the way I feel.

Affirmation is a powerful thing. It was lovely to hear from people I know and don’t know related and appreciated my writing. This reminds me to continue to do things that scare me. When I first moved to Portland OR, I said it was the last time I could pick up and leave everything I knew with no one to meet me at the other side. It is too hard to say goodbye and too hard to start over. But that’s where the good stuff bubbles up.

I started BGI to scare myself. I knew BGI would make me do two things that I don’t like doing but want to improve on: working in teams and giving presentations. Since 2009, it’s truly amazing how much things have changed. Presentations get easier each time (even though I still have trouble eating the day of) and I find myself really enjoying the teamwork.

I also find myself over stimulated and over exposed. Through the intense social-ness and self-reflection at school, sometimes I actually feel numb. I say to myself, I seriously can’t fucking talk about this anymore. I cannot reveal anything else and I cannot meet one new person that I know is fabulous, but I just don’t have the ability to give and receive anymore. This is not a bad problem to have: too much love and too much opportunity to take hold of.

40 Days of Writing

So happy to be here and to have a wonderful prompt to write. Thank you Kate Graham. I’ve had the winter blues recently, and am hopeful that a little writing and a little bike riding each day will pull me out of it. But, don’t get me wrong, it’s kind of nice to have an excuse to curl up with a tall glass of wine and relax while its cold and rainy outside.

Lot’s of stuff coming up this year. Graduation: June. Wedding: August. Lots of endings that create big beginnings. I feel like am extensive chapter of my life is about to come to a close, but that closure opens up a whole new can of awesome worms. It’s exciting and terrifying.

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about the future. I am unhappy at my job. Why am I unhappy? What job would I actually enjoy? Why don’t I feel motivated?

So this is what I know. I know that I love being with friends and family. I know that I physically miss my family back East while I cannot pull myself away from the West coast. I know I am inspired by my peers, itching to put that inspiration to work, and clueless and scared where to start. I know that I am frustrated by the system in which we live, where women’s health is a tool for political gain and I feel uncomfortable talking to my neighbor. I know I am more satisfied by hard work than laziness, even when laziness is so much more appealing than anything else. I know I want the world to be better. I know that it can be better.

As graduation approaches I am getting more and more questions of, “so, what do you want to do? I thought it would be more clear after BGI, but somehow it’s more cloudy. Maybe the more I study and learn, the more confused I become. Somehow the more skills and tools I acquire the more daunting the task before me appears.