Over the past six months, I've committed to spin classes. Which led to other classes that then turned into a sort of ménage à trois among Thai boxing and Pilates. At the time I had found myself needing to combat the solitude of constantly working alone. Ordinarily most of my days are spent alone. Which is to say that I must motivate and encourage myself alone. There is an abundance of freedom in working alone, enough for me to procrastinate or lose clarity to what I'm trying to do, build. So I decided to invest in a space of support that required no planning on my part. The classes physically required me to leave my house and helped expel energy, thoughts that usually echoed in my head and bounced off the walls of the apartment.
Read MoreThe shambles of American politics, the layoff notifications from LinkedIn, and the rising price of pistachio milk are all on the rise. As is my anxiety around work.
Read MoreA trail of a tear falls into the crater of a brown cheek - separating, and filling up the pockmarks like a small basin. A young woman looks out the window. The sun begins to leave shadows against the windows. Her eyes evert the group. Sitting in front of her is a circle of foreigners watching. Her hands clasp the paper below her with tension.
Read MoreFriends. A last-minute arrival in Paris. A text confirming a time and location. Early afternoon. The conversation lightens while the smoked BBQ wings are placed centered on the table. We sip our drinks, re-familiarizing ourselves after years. Time will make a stranger of someone. This version is steady and knowing. The main course arrives. The laughs begin to flow with ease as the fizz from Prosecco loosens our tongues. The excitement of old stories told anew. Laughs of the absurd. Revelations brought on by time and distance. New philosophy. Life is coming into focus. The depth of a person, I realized, I knew so little about. We pay our bill. Our feet are carrying us through the park. People stroll. Laughter penetrates our ears. A backdrop of clear blue skies.
Read MorePeople were vandalizing property. The property of ideas, thoughts, and the imagination of the authors. Their carelessness, indifference, or arrogance scrawled away the beauty of the author's words. I would discard the books immediately. As if touching those battered books would trace curses through my fingertips up my arms.
Read MoreI have my mother’s face. Sure. Many people echo this statement, but I HAVE MY MOTHER’S FACE. It's as if this woman popped herself out on a cold, windy day in January. An inconvenience for the doctor with the Super Bowl kick-off to start in less than 15 minutes.
Read MoreI’ve come to love the bitter taste of coffee. A shift I've only recognized today, living through the early afternoon of Paris. I confess I used to be a milk with a little "coffee" connoisseur.
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