Monthly Archives: May 2018
While at home, I went on a walk, remembering how, after a long rain, the air would smell like cupcakes or Cheerios as the fumes from General Mills wafted over the trees and rooftops.
Maybe the idea of just anyone traipsing into their precious little neighborhood and enjoying the benefits that they enjoy is too much to cope with. But the reasons ultimately don’t matter.
Never before in my life have I been physically stopped in my tracks by the scent of flowers. Never until I moved to Seattle.
I think you’ll come to appreciate the vibrancy of the human spirit that started living there because someone had to.
I spent a good chunk of my prewriting time for this blog post keeping Satan at bay.
People go nuts over the fact that most people think they’re above average.
While I may have left the country a little more informed, I was mostly confused and overwhelmed about how to live life in a broken world with eight billion people who all needed food, clean water, shelter, education, and community.
Christianity did not remain relevant in the events of the world at large for two thousand years because of strict adherence to dogma.
In the movie, a skipping CD results in a boom box getting kicked in someone’s face. In the Broadway production, the song stops because of a wardrobe-malfunction-turned-social-media-scandal.
Because literature really is the better part of life.
The musty smell of those stairwells matters to me in a way that the bare truth of Evangelical forms of craziness never could.
Still, I’ve never felt the same level of attachment in any of these places that I’ve felt in Romania. When I step off of the plane in that country, it feels like I’ve come home.
I don’t know a lot about war, but I know that you can’t jump into a battle if you are unprepared to finish. It’s the same with writing and working and everything that matter—if it matters, you finish.
I didn’t out and out start crying, but I teared up as I lifted her to my shoulder. And I held her so close. And I had never been happier as a dad.
We believe in the solstice spirit
the holy Prospect Park
the fellowship of friends
the prayers of all people
the rotation of the earth
and the light everlasting.
Blackberry ice cream is as holy as library reading logs or PVC swordfights.
One Monday morning a couple weeks ago, a man did something I should have been prepared for.
Dirty Computer is more than a sixty-minute summer sex jam: it’s a celebration, a “fuck you,” and a challenge.
Now we’re nearing the end of year three, and I’m happy to say that while we haven’t quite stopped having conflicts about the small things, we’ve at least stopped feeling ashamed about them.
Riding the bus requires a release of control. The person using a wheelchair has the priority now; whatever my plans were, they can wait. We’re both riding the same bus, and we’ll get there when we get there.
I have a sinking suspicion that most issues work this way—they deeper we go, the more tangled we find ourselves, looking in vain for an exit.