I need to start with a confession, since I'm asking you to trust me with your reading time: I was not a good student in my first year of college. I want to be.
I need to tell you about the night I unfollow, then follow, then unfollow, then follow someone from college. I don't even know her that well anymore. We were.
My neighbor has a cat named Miso, and for six months after my dad sent that letter I couldn't talk about, Miso was the only living thing I had regular contact.
There is a particular kind of tired that sleep doesn't fix. I know this because I have lived inside it for about three years — since the divorce, since the.
I have a problem with the word "worldview." Not the concept — the word itself. It sounds like something you'd find on a motivational poster in a high school.
I don't talk about my father much, which is not the same as not thinking about him. There's a particular way I learned to fold myself small — in chairs, in.
The winter I turned twenty-seven, I spent three months convinced I was losing my ability to concentrate. I would start a paragraph and lose the thread halfway.
Let me tell you something nobody told me when I was twenty-four and found out I'd been passed over for a promotion I'd been told was mine: the problem was not.
I'm going to tell you something that might sound strange coming from a guy who didn't really read until his forties: the best reading I've done in the last few.
I need to tell you something I haven't said in print before: I spent the first five years of my teaching career convinced someone would figure out I didn't.
