This summer I joined a large group of broken people. After a torqued misstep and a hard fall onto a broken sidewalk, I ripped my meniscus and watched my knee swell into what looked like a head of angry cauliflower. Inside, it felt like a batter of hot lava spiked with razor blades. As I awaited orthoscopic surgery in July, I hobbled around the house, ice...
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I used to write occasionally for the Miami Herald, my local daily newspaper. One day some years back I visited the newsroom to make changes to a story I’d submitted. I sat amidst the din, my head bent over a computer keyboard in pronounced concentration. “May I have your attention?” I looked up to see a knot of people. One woman carried a...
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About 20 years ago, I was awarded a Fulbright grant to teach journalism in Tirana, Albania, the capital city of what was then Europe’s poorest country. At that time, Albania lurched and sputtered in its rebranding from a mysterious Communist outpost to a capitalism-fueled democracy. When I arrived there, the country had no ATMs, no constitution and...
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About a decade ago I was invited by Dan, a jazz pianist, to be a participant at an artist’s retreat. I met Dan at a Nevada Arts Council meeting held in the conference room of a swanky Vegas mega-hotel. We were panelists awarding grants to arts organizations around the state. I could hear the faint musical encouragement of casino slot machines as we sat...
Read MoreMy father’s death in my mid-20s introduced me to grief. The sorrow I felt had a language and texture all its own. So I did what my journalism training taught me to do: drink more and dive into research. I learned about the stages of grieving, the physical symptoms, the scientific blah blah blah of it. Armed with all that information, I felt soothed and...
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