Piano Hands
My hands are social. They will say “I love you” before my mouth is ready.
Teaching Myself to Read
I’m discovering that if one is to read aloud, one should pick up a murder mystery.
Settling for Less
We can understand being present by distinguishing between two types of activities we engage in on a day-to-day basis: telic and atelic activities.
I Am Not the Funny One
It’s not that I don’t have a sense of humor—with close friends and family I joke, laugh, and make others laugh. But there’s an unshakeable earnestness to it.
The Funny One
Making friends, it turns out, meant finding people I didn’t have to be funny around—those I could trust liked me even when I wasn’t confident or cracking jokes
Sunday Mornings for Apostates
“Why weren’t you in church this morning?”
I still haven’t told her.
Bootleg Baby
We’ve since come to realize that there’s no perfect way to feel while pregnant. There’s not an emotional experience you’re supposed to have.
In Search Of Our DNA
The rupture between God and humanity is crystal clear in this one, and as the play careened toward its tragic ending, no one in the theatre was surprised.
On Tattoos
During the hour it took to fill in the shapes of Michigan, Huron, Superior, Erie, and Ontario, I learned a lot about tattoos. Apparently, no design is off-limits, so long as you can find an artist willing to draw it.
Or So I Thought
I thought that I would feel more in touch with nature after. Like I had somehow participated in an older way of living, or taken on some inherited, but forgotten role in the forest. But instead I felt sick.
