On Choosing Your Future
Anyone who has watched Harry Potter knows that the wizard doesn’t choose the wand. The wand chooses the wizard. And this is obviously the same for colleges.
Anyone who has watched Harry Potter knows that the wizard doesn’t choose the wand. The wand chooses the wizard. And this is obviously the same for colleges.
I lived in a little southern Illinois town with my nose pressed against a window. I hated second grade, with its D’Nealian script, phonics dittos, and dodgeball.
“The Lord bless you and keep you.” “Honor the Sabbath day by keeping it holy.” “If you love me you will keep my commandments.”
I’ve adopted an excellent form of escapism. I’ve been reading a lot, and I’m going to tell you about a few of my recent favorites.
I have had a lot of coaches in my life, and each of them has taught me something (most have taught me more than I can remember).
And what greater grocery store is there in this universe, I ask you? Its hours of operation: endless. Its selection of salty snacks: both wide and economical.
Bob moved into our assisted living facility about five months ago. I can’t believe it was that long ago. It feels like much longer. He has scared me from the day I met him.
What good is all this technology—our GPS satellites, our naval cruisers, our sonar arrays and passport checks and aerial photographs—if it can’t produce real answers?
there’s nothing central about Zentralfriedhof (Central Cemetery). Situated in Vienna’s southeast outskirts, the cemetery is nearly a full nine kilometers from the city’s first district.
Almost on a weekly basis, students ask me how old I am. I tell myself that it’s not appropriate to talk to students about personal matters like age, so I tell them I’m forty-three.