Monthly Archives: August 2015
As I finished one lady said, “Me too.” The room felt warmer, somehow, after we had all spoken. Our teacher explained more about mindfulness, how it could help with stress.
“Do you recognize this man?” One of the officers held out a picture of Jack. His toothy smile was unmistakable, although I noticed, even in the low-quality mug shot, an unfamiliar wildfire in his eyes. I nodded.
It is that stillness I search for in the transcendental north. The quiet amidst the buzz of living that I haven’t discovered in the nooks and crannies of my own hum of days.
A friend confessed that she could easily pour all her money into eating at GR restaurants. Another, smiling wryly, said quickly: “I couldn’t. I’m not sure I have the wardrobe for it.”
I don’t drink coffee, I’ve taken ibuprofen exactly six times, and I believe that a healthy dose of germs is good for your immune system.
Mumbling “what have I done” to myself in my closet-sized Queens apartment with my suitcase only half-unpacked on the floor is not exactly my proudest life moment.
Never mind the over-caffeinated flight attendants, the screaming babies, the person in front of me reclining their chair into my lap—it’s really the air that gets me.
I have an operating theory that boredom proceeds greatness almost as often as the phrase “hold my beer.” I think in a culture of convenience we never challenge ourselves to wait.
He just may be the most interesting candidate in either party because the Lessig campaign is based on one thing and one thing only: leveling the voting playing field.
We lazed like turtles on a sagging log, eating a mystery soup with our 3-in-1 backpacking cutlery, while Kara described her mother’s habit of reminding Kara and her siblings to “remember who you represent.” “She says that to us every time we leave the house. It’s kind...
If you’ve got $157 to blow in a movie theater this month and a rom-com that passes the Bechdel Test is something that catches your fancy, I’d suggest Trainwreck.
Things like sex or empathy work better the less you engage with them analytically, the less you step back and watch yourself doing them.
But imagine what would happen to Los Angeles if an earthquake knocked out the electrical grid for a month. Plenty of hell can break loose in thirty desperate days.
My colleagues included an Australian, an Austrian, an Irishman, and a Scot. Each time we walked into a pub, the room buzzed like the beginning of the world’s most-told joke.
And so I have to wonder if life is less about walking a road and more about building one. I wonder if it matters less how far we’ve been and how much we’ve seen.
Sometimes I Google search Emma Watson, just to, you know, stay in touch. She’s this contemplative introvert who values privacy, thrust into a world of celebrity.
Like I said, I worry a lot. My husband tells me that about 50 percent of the time that I feel bad about something, I shouldn’t. Our honeymoon was no exception.
I went to Paris and sat on the grass in a park outside the Tuileries. I ate cold salty ham and creamy brie on a baguette that tasted like bread is supposed to taste.
I fill the silence with keyboard tapping, clicking on links that ask me to write a new cover letter, tweak my resume, and fill in my name, my education, my credentials.
I thought of Cairo, of the refugee kids I met, the illiterate mothers, the desperately poor. And I stopped her to ask earnestly, “Where do you find hope?”
They’re as excited about America as we are about Europe. We want to see the Alps; they want to see the Rocky Mountains. We want to take a train; they want to road trip.
I already am super weird about being on time, and a lot of my friends seem to view a deadline as more of a suggestion, rather than a hard fact.
It’s natural to want to fill your life. But in a life-long attempt to fill my soul with the “right” things, I have recently become fond of silence and stillness.
I got naked with a bunch of old men and tried to figure out how to wash my booty without insulting anyone, and that pretty much sums up my trip to Japan.
I think that is because our true home is with God, and we will never feel completely at home until we are with God. This is “heaven” to me—the ultimate homecoming.
By the end, I had to get out, or I was going to keel over from Uno-induced asphyxiation. I said my goodnights and stumbled off down the corridor.
In light of the current tensions and tragedies that have ripped through our country, Go Set a Watchman is startlingly relevant and “comes to us at exactly the right moment.”
When we started the post calvin, we weren’t exactly sure how it would turn out. Now, with two years in the bag, we couldn’t be happier.
As I flipped through a hundred faces, ground rules quickly emerged. I wouldn’t talk to anyone holding a dead animal, no one posing in front of a truck, no shirtless pictures.