Category Archives: Massachusetts
As Smith, Buber, and Gerwig remind me, we cannot be fully actualized people to everyone we meet
The first time I took communion with wine, I was at a church in Boston and wearing hiking boots. And Yo-Yo Ma was there.
Perhaps my first mistake was expecting that I would ever entirely grow out of it.
“I’m actually on a connecting flight, traveling to a corn hole tournament. It’s a pretty big deal,” the man in the seat behind me announced.
I was suddenly aware of everything: the squelch of the slider door’s rubber seal releasing as my brother came in from the yard. The creak and crash of the screen door to the garage behind my dad.
Could my parents have admitted they were too busy or uncomfortable to teach me? Yes.
Am I mad, bro? No.
I didn’t know how to write about a rain jacket on Palm Sunday after forty-four people died in their churches.
When you start to recognize people and places, and you start to be recognized, you start to feel home. Re-cognize—from the Latin cognoscere, “to know.” To re-know, or to know again.
Stories of travel compel us, she says, because “more reliably than anything else on earth, the road will force you to live in the present.”