Monthly Archives: May 2017
Abby said I could write “500-800 words about anything under the sun,” so I wrote a computer game in which you play Rock, Paper, Scissors against a computer, but you always win.
The work culture is gruff, rough, and no nonsense. Most of my coworkers at these jobs would not be considered nice by any standard.
Lens #1: Meet sympathy. Sympathy looks at another person’s situation and feels bad.
The freedom to be kids and learn via mistakes is one of the greatest gifts a parent can give, and my father gave it in abundance.
Still, there is not much better than holding a new record in your hands and getting lost in the art.
This is where I ultimately decide I could not be Amish; I simply love travel and experiences too much.
I love talking, which, incidentally, was my very first full sentence. “Any excuse to speak” has long been listed among my favorite hobbies.
In opera we spend time on what matters in life: the big emotional peaks and abysses.
I had plenty of time to think about suffering.
Sometimes, though, I wonder where my personality ends and my OCD begins. Or if they’re distinct at all.
She’d never finish hers, but the smell of the chicken was enough to remind her we loved her.
Toward the end of the graduate bible study my wife and I led this past academic year, two things were almost always certain: cheesecakes and IRB forms.
As it turns out, bad habits don’t evaporate just because there’s nobody around to witness them.
This month, I’d like to highlight a few things I’ve enjoyed reading online over the last couple of months, starting of course, with a piece on the perils of reading and writing online.
Sadness drives me toward community in a way joy never has. Sadness bids for honesty, serves as my greatest ally in empathy, checks my anger, and encourages me to look at another side of the story.
I was once told the way that my eyebrows slope down symbolizes wisdom, but it looks like sadness, which might be the same thing.
But regardless of his insistence that I follow his exact instructions or else something might go Terribly Wrong, I’d come too far to go back now.
Here’s today’s morning devotion for the senior class.
When I got home one day and saw him pathetically trying to work, I summoned up the vision of the ideal wife and did what she would do.
This is a theme with guys: if you’re going to be vulnerable, you do it right as you are walking away.
One of our neighbors is a nosy elderly lady named Linda. I love Linda.
First, this is a poem to say thank you
for taking me back to Budapest.
Will Montei made me feel infinitely better about moving to college and leaving everyone behind, simply because no matter how sad and alone I felt, at least I wasn’t him.
When I hear someone say they don’t really pray, or that prayer is boring—both lines I have used—my first instinct is to question how they pray.
We think the world is going to hell. Every single generation has in some respect thought their world was going to hell. Right now, it’s not.
I’d like your advice on this, because I’m not sure if I’ve done the right thing.
Oh, Lordy, those morels. In my estimation, they are the pinnacle of umami, of savory taste, with all of the satisfaction of a Sunday roast in a single bite.
“I’ve always heard birdsong,” my father told me in the car once. “But now I listen.”