Quarter-life Confessions
21. Sometimes my life seems to spark like a live wire, and I feel intoxicated by its opportunity and potential.
A Metro to the Moon
As the train and your pulse both speed up, something happens. In the middle of a step, between the time when your back foot leaves the ground and lands in front of the other, you seem to be weightless.
I Sing the Body Collective
At some level, isn’t that what individualism is all about? Being the hero. Saving the day. Who watches Han Solo blow up TIE fighters, and then decides he’d rather be the air traffic controller who directs X-wings to Yavin IV?
Sidewalk Buskers
We’re nodding our heads, ready to keep walking, and then he opens his mouth to sing.
This Land Is My Land
Two weeks ago, I revisited the City of Magnificent Intentions.
Cellos and Controversy
imagine my dismay when I discovered on Monday that The Piano Guys, one of my favorite musical groups, had accepted Trump’s toxic invitation.
The Late Twenties
Self-exploration and discovery don’t stop at the end of the twenties or upon graduation or after getting married or ever.
PunchTrump Love
I don’t know about Saudi Arabia. I’m not rich, either. I don’t lead an empire. I don’t have Kurt Cobain’s talent or Robin Williams’ fame or Donald Trump’s confidence. I’m just another guy. Another unexceptional guy. Every morning I shower with second-guesses. I brush my teeth with self-doubt. Half of my personality comes from insecurity. Maybe more. I’m not sure.
How To Move To A New City In 7 (Not-So-Easy) Steps
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.
A Toast to Hope
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?”
