Over the past year, I have lived in several homes. Some were house sits, some were borrowed guest rooms. Each had a different layout, a different style of couch, and a different set of rules about how to care for pots and pans, fancier than I could ever afford. But as the doors revolved, I found myself drawn to rectangles that reassembled my emotional...
Read MorePublic Islands
I’m partial to snails and envy them in times of stressful decision-making. Desert snails can aestivate (a kind of hibernation) for years, sealing themselves in their shells with a layer of mucus until rain returns. It is a radical decision to pause life, guided only by tiny environmental cues like humidity. Sounds kinda nice. This was a week when science...
Read MoreStrange Enough to Hold Me
I write from Taos, where I swear there is both a yard sale and fresh eggs on every corner. It’s a yearly tradition we call an inverse family reunion: instead of gathering with extended family, we split into our own orbit. A family of two learning how to be two separate ones. So Taos becomes a place where I can go to be alone for multi-day stretches, with...
Read MoreWhere the Wind Blows
It’s been a windy May, like it’s springtime in the Southwest, or something. The kind of wind that rearranges things. It doesn’t knock anything over, but it moves through you. It unsettles. I notice an internal wind in the way a thought is interrupted by some louder thought I didn’t even ask for. It’s as if some part of me is gusting in another direction...
Read MorePupusas, Puzzles, and Other Soft Returns
No music today—just a sigh and a lime mead that tasted like summer’s tail was flickering. I hiked in Sandy’s Canyon last week and had nothing profound to say about it. The person walking with me says that a lot. Sometimes, there is just nothing to say. I think there is wisdom in that—and also complacency, depending on the moment. As usual, I find myself...
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