I was twenty-seven, and I could hardly walk. As I limped around D.C., I thought, I’ve aged fifty years. How quickly ten minutes of running on your toes can wilt you.
The art is in picking a worthy thing to want. We’re not designed for endings. Two years ago, I desperately wanted a job. I had one that paid $13 an hour as seasonal customer service for a startup. I answered phones, troubleshot problems, stared out the window onto a brick wall when I had nothingContinue reading “the art of getting what you want”
There is nothing worse than to be alone; there is nothing better. In the United States, women are socialized to speak, to pour out their happinesses and sadnesses and anger to a willing ear. Lacking that, untold things fold inward, blooms recurling into buds. When I have got something to say and no one toContinue reading “on solitude and wanting”
I’d never met him before, and he’d made me cry. What was it like to be Kazuo Ishiguro, I wondered, and to know that, at any moment, you could encounter a stranger whom you’d made cry? I guess, as with anything: strange at first, and then gradually less strange. He was reading at a synagogueContinue reading “What happens when our relationships drive our art”
It was my second year of an M.F.A. program in creative writing. I was enrolled in a creative nonfiction course. “Think of the ‘I’ of now,” we were told, “and the ‘I’ of then.” Most people likely haven’t heard of this concept. I had not either. In short: the ‘I’ (or eye) of now—your presentContinue reading “What no one tells you about writing…about yourself”
I’m a little embarrassed that a muffin and coffee can bring me bliss. I’m passionate about food, but is my life that small? Shouldn’t I have something better? On the other hand: why not a muffin and coffee? Why should I need a better reason to feel bliss? And while that’s the word I’ve chosen, here’sContinue reading “Why bliss is different (and arguably more important) in adulthood”