Read fantasy. Not much else. Mostly Tolkien.

For a long time, my reading habits resembled a Michael Pollan polemic, if Michael Pollan had been trying to cure the Western diet with genre fiction instead of carrots: Read fantasy. Not much else. Mostly Tolkien.

What Love Looks Like

I’m not always good at saying what I mean to say, so here: Mom likes to tell me how you could soothe my crying as a baby by carrying me around the house, pointing out people in picture frames, and telling me stories about them.


As if knowing he was a caricature of a human, Grandpa Jack did most if not all of these things with a pipe in his mouth.

Spend It Now

This was not a lesson I knew as a kid. I wanted to save everything good for later. I ate all the cereal bits out of Lucky Charms and the raisins out of trail mix, leaving huge mouthfuls of marshmallows and M&Ms behind.

Mary, A Story about Freedom

We worked side-by-side for two hours, me snatching glances to see how a septuagenarian was keeping up with me and her admitting I was “quite a worker!”

Meal With Five Strangers

I am the fifth stranger here, and perhaps the strangest of them all. I am passing through this place. This will be my only night in the city, and then I will be gone.

Next Chapter

This was where I came of age. I was born in Boston, grew up in Lexington, and came of age in Grand Rapids, Michigan.

Goodnight, Goodbye

I’m hopeful about the future. I’ve been trying to learn from my mistakes and grow as a person. To be more dependable. To be more forgiving. To love more.