Carrying Home on Our Backs
A few months ago, I found myself at a weekend-long turtle monitoring session on Honduras’ southern coast.
A few months ago, I found myself at a weekend-long turtle monitoring session on Honduras’ southern coast.
It’s like merging onto a highway when you’re not sure you remember how to drive.
And I’ve realized I like wading into expansive subcultures very shyly.
A robin pulls a fat worm from the ground in the middle of a traffic circle and life suddenly feels too grand, too expansive, too beautiful to possibly come to an end.
We decided to put this extra day of the year to creative use by checking in with some of our former writers.
There is only one antidote to party segregation that I know of, only one thing powerful enough to cause us to bridge the divide.
“His name is Blue,” we answered.
Six years later and I’m still using that toolkit at least once a month, but something has changed.
I feel like I was sold a story of America, and a story of my people and who we were, and it turns out that it was mostly a lie,
I get restless at night.