I was at lunch with a friend. The fire rated drywall was painted to look like crumbling brick. The air smelled of frying fish and salted fries and butter sauce. I poured myself an old fashioned root beer from a shining metal tap and sat across from a woman filled with the
My mind is twisted in on itself. Pretzeled with worry. I feel I have become frivolous. My problems, my fears, for so long a great heaviness on my sensitive heart, cheapened by the agonies of my countrymen. From every angle, I feel only hurt. This is a thing I do
I am searching for strength. For the immovable center. Deeper even than the heart, further down the shadowed core. Truth. There are those who would deny the blood of your wounds to protect their poorly bandaged egos. Let them. This work can be done only for the self. The study
What’s to be done with hard days? Perhaps you, like me, long to return to a time before. A time when we did not know so much and when the world was smaller, safer. But there is no going back. Knowledge, once hard won, stays. The body itself is changed.
Gray morning today. The kind of gray that can only be achieved by constant, biting sheets of drizzle. A world cast in television snow. It feels apt for December. Just over a week from Christmas. A good time for reflection and solitude. I had an anxiety relapse in July. Six
Handcrafting a Life 