Abortion providers aren’t criminals, bodyguards, saviors, or travel agents — Twenty years ago, I was granted an intimate privilege at an incredibly difficult moment in the life of a stranger. Early one morning I stood, masked and gowned, in the corner of an operating room and watched a physician perform an abortion on a woman I’d never seen before and…

My mother is a new person now — My mother is gone, except really she’s not. That’s her now, shuffling down the hall toward where I sit at a pace I can’t fairly call slow. It’s more like hyperslow — each step doesn’t quite trust the one that came before. When she grins, I recognize her. Except when…

Waiting in line with stories at the vaccine clinic — I stood in line for science today. Most lines are no fun. But when you’re queuing up to reap the benefit of life-saving innovation, vote down the bad guy, or inject meaning into your world (fill in the blank here: one fellow’s latest pair of Jordans is another’s immersive Van…

A note to myself from the side of the highway — Last week, my car needed service. I typically manage such days of privileged inconvenience by dropping my car at the dealer and grabbing a ride home with a friend or taking advantage of Toyota’s free shuttle service. …

Our complicated relationship with booze — I wonder if anything we put in our bodies (on purpose) gets as black-or-white a rap as alcohol seems to, particularly in America. Depending on the hour, the company, and the circumstance, booze is either the elixir of delight or a scary poison. I fall prey to that same dualistic…

A college essay question worthy of daily answers — A friend of mine is currently midstep on that graceful line parents walk so awkwardly and so often: supporting a kid to reach for what’s next without doing it for them. In his case, the kid is a high school senior and what’s next is college. …

Three ingredients to valuable relationships — I’ve been thinking about my relationships lately, the crown jewels in particular. …

A closer look at what it means to be a writer — How delightful it was to read all the thoughts that emerged in response to our most recent open thread, “Do You Call Yourself a Writer?” …

It’s easy to label ourselves the obvious stuff: I’m a sister, a teacher, nearsighted, Canadian. We do this in our heads all the time of course, as well as in response to questions the world lobs us via small talk, paperwork, or inquiry. But when it comes to descriptors we’re not so sure we deserve, labels can feel tricky — even loaded. You’re here (most likely) because you write. Maybe you write a lot. But do you call yourself a writer? Is doing so a struggle or do you feel at home in that identity? Medium is a place where millions of us write. I’m curious how many see ourselves as writers. Do you?