I Wish I Were Doing What You Are Doing
But while I travel around working gigs and having experiences that many people feel they desire, something gnaws deep inside me.
Faded Memories
I technically shouldn’t have graduated—you were only allowed a total of twenty excused absences in a year, and I had something like thirty-five my senior year.
Above and Below
My mom refers to Cedar as a “thin place.” She means that whatever barrier keeps humans at a distance from the Spirit is measurably smaller.
Plain
I was not just leaving behind a friend, but someone who loves the parts of me I don’t. Sometimes adulthood just feels like a dawn of frequent partings.
Unwilling
My sister owned a copy of Hanson’s first album, “Middle of Nowhere,” that I loved to steal, along with her cream-colored boom box, and play on repeat while I circled the garage in rollerblades and sang along to words I didn’t really understand.
Reflections on Water (Five Memories)
I couldn’t see where the lake ended and land began. The white/grey of the snow and ice blended perfectly with the grey of the sky making it impossible to tell where the sky began.
The End of Solitude
Strange how things happen. You can put all your effort into living well only to find that you were living just fine the whole time.
Doubt
For the first time in my life, I walk out of a church service, driving in silence back to my parent’s apartment. The next day, when I get home from work, I collapse wordlessly in my mom’s arms and sob into her shoulder.
Making Sense of the Senseless
Hearing about a shooting that took place ten minutes from where I grew up. Learning sketchy details as they came in. Worrying if I knew anyone involved.
Photo Booth
The video-photo-flipbook booth was a hit. Even my 91-year-old grandfather got in on the action—twice. Milling guests flaunted their flipbooks, the brief sequences looping like analog Vines.
