I first learned about soft fascination last year, from the inside out.
Week after lockdown week, as the pandemic wore me down, I escaped to a nearby state forest to walk and breathe and reflect. Often, a kid or friend accompanied me. …
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?
I’d be hard pressed to name anything in my life that elicits the kind of inconsistent feedback divorce seems to prompt.
I grew up in a household where ‘running errands’ was a circadian behavior. Sleep, work, school, meals, yard work, and errands (by car) were our big 6. Church was a maybe, exercise and socializing happened when they happened, and once in a while we went to the movies. …
My home state of California officially re-opened yesterday and it has me thinking about breath mints.
I am sitting on an airplane, typing.
This behavior is old, this habit familiar — in a good way. I quite like hurtling thought the sky while structuring thoughts on the page.
And yet I’m rusty.
This flight is my umpteenth, but also my first (in 16 months). The plane…
There’s a saying in my house.
Or rather, there’s something Mom (that’s me) says to the teenagers who live in my house: “Please have sex in a field.”
I’ll let the weirdness of that sink in while I brace for impact on this end. My kids are sure to melt…