I do not consider myself to be a leader by nature, nor a follower. Perhaps I identify most with the term “observer,” far preferring to sit at the proverbial corner bistro table and watch the world unfold as it does with little interference from me. If you asked, I’d tell you I’m an empath. I
One of the greatest shifts in my marriage, possibly in my adulthood as a whole, has also been one of the smallest shifts. It has slipped by unnoticed in the mundane tasks of laundry cycles and dish duty, a simple phrase that has ever so slightly changed the energy in our home: I’m doing this
A text message from a girlfriend this weekend: I’m so heavy today. I didn’t sleep. All I could think about were the people being turned away. — I imagine you’re heavy today, too. I imagine you’re doing your best to decipher the news. I imagine you’re doing your best to put on a happy face
We turned on the Christmas music early this year. Just-after-the-election-early. By Thanksgiving, we’d already rotated through our favorite albums oh, two or three times? Dean Martin’s on round seven, currently. It just seemed we could all use a bit of soul salve. — My ears were tired, that’s all. In my inbox last weekend: Did
Mom? Can God turn himself into a wall? The question arrives from a backseat littered with cashew crumbs and flashcards atop CDs and board books. We’re on our way to a family reunion in southern Indiana, and I know we’re getting close because the hills make our bellies jump. What do you mean? I ask
“You have almost three dollars!” I tell her. We are sprawled on her bedroom floor amidst blocks and books, stuffed animals and blankets. Loose change is stacked into tidy piles at our feet – quarters, nickels, dimes, pennies – mountainous treasures to my 4-year- old daughter, Bee. “I am ready to spend it, Mom,” she
So, if you were to come to my house for a cup of tea, I’d apologize and say I don’t carry the stuff, not at the moment. Coffee? I’d offer, and pull out a cold brew from the fridge. You’d find me wearing an old pair of men’s boxer briefs, no bra, yesterday’s hair. I’d
“I am what I am. To look for reasons is besides the point.” Joan Didion wrote this. — Still, we find ourselves continually looking for reasons. We search and peer and squint, pointing our finger at just one more circumstance, one more habit, one more practice that we could – should? – change in order