Two years ago, on a brightly lit stage in West L.A., Maria Shriver asks me this: But how? How do you do it? What would you tell someone who wants to slow their life, but can’t? Who feels totally buried already? I pause, blink at the lights. I say something about how there’s no easy
First, something: I’m wary of assigning sanctimonious yarns to everyday behaviors. In truth, what makes for a good habit today doesn’t always carry the years. Related – For months, in college, I subsisted solely on free dinner rolls from the restaurant I waitressed at in a valiant attempt to save enough money for my first
On a walk in the woods, it’s not uncommon to transform. Who do you want to be today? I ask.
Everything, is all. This month alone: A casket kissed. A baby lost. Hot stage lights and a Gruffalo mouse. Sprinkles on a sundae. Smoke in our hair, fevered cheeks. Buttercream licked from the whisk. Last week, a blonde six-year-old tapes paper elephant ears to a headband and tosses herself down a set of stairs. The
I want you to give you back to me, he yells from his crib. The toddler is fighting an afternoon nap; I’m trying hard not to lose. I want you back, he whimpers. In my bedroom, Bee and I listen with our ears pressed to the monitor, waiting quietly for Scout to settle so we
The hustle, the bustle. I can accurately claim neither, having just emerged from a fireside nap on the hard floor. In our home, we keep a tradition of letting the kids open a shared gift on a day where it feels like Christmas, be it November, December or beyond. This year, the day fell upon
This week, the bulk of my daily conversations with friends, family, neighbors have been swollen with current events. We circle around kitchen tables and stretch our own small theories, thin solutions, blistered understanding. We clash. We talk ourselves tired. After a long while, everyone agrees to one thing and one thing alone: It’s complicated, but
Ken, out of town. In the evenings, I survey the sink and realize every dish accounted for is my own, or one prepared by me. No smoothie blenders on the drying rack, no spatulas dyed turmeric neon from late-night curry. I spend the week cooking recipes he hates or has grown tired of. Tuna for