Life can be crappy and expensive and heartbreaking, and there is no way out of that. That story feels more like the truth.
Men around me speak about cancel culture with such hyperbole and terror, you’d think it was a supernatural force.
I fear it and I dream of it: total honesty with my family, opening the door of my personhood and letting them see all of me.
Regret, I was once told, means to weep again. My first thought, when I heard this: That’s what it is to tell a story.
A Le Creuset Dutch oven telegraphs contentment and cheer—but for me, mine is a token of complicated bitterness and longing.
I love new wave music for the way it makes me feel—like the cups of my interior and exterior worlds are overflowing. Turns out I’m not the only one.