Embarrassed. Selfish. Fake. Disgusted. Afraid. Indignant. Lonely. Ashamed. These are the emotions of success. These are the first feelings that sweep through my crab-trap of a mind and then land squarely in my gut anytime I do something that everyone else perceives as good or right, interesting or special. This is what success feels like … More My Own F#*king Trampoline
Here’s what I know, today. Leaving a job I hated–after trying so very hard to love it–was something I should have done sooner. For five years, I worked my heart out in the middle of a little island, doing work that felt important at the time. For over two of those years, I had been … More Don’t think. Just do.
His voice from across the tavern table, drew sounds upward from a windworn notebook, low, sure, and gravelled on every few consonants. It pulled in a page of etched words, dark ink, about an ocean and long days of quiet at sea. When he finished, his worked and bitten fingers folded the pages back over … More Toby
There is a man who lives in his truck behind the church near our house. He’s been there since springtime. It didn’t take us long to give the dark-haired man a name: “Walter.” We felt unsettled that he was around, stuck, with seemingly no where to go. This is our neighborhood, our space. We walk the dog in the late evenings, and … More Not Walter
Walter White. If you know this name, you know Heisenberg. It’s been weeks since the series finale of “Breaking Bad.” In this house, we are veiled in lethargic mourning. Evening television is flat, faulty, unsatisfying now that we have finished a month-long Netflix marathon of watching the life of Walter White evolve and dissolve. I miss … More My Inner Heisenberg
It was a deal I’d made with myself months before and the only thing that allowed me to hike alone. I knew that if I allowed fear to overtake me, my journey was doomed. Fear, to a great extent, is born of a story we tell ourselves, and so I chose to tell myself a … More It was a deal I…
It’s six and September so the sky is gilded at the edges in small leaves and slivers on the water when the boat moves off the dock. I have a book of poems in my palm and a man runs a polisher over the coffee-colored floor in gentle whirs along the window seats. Tonight the … More Cords