Daniel, Daniel Quite Contrarial, How Does Your Garden Grow?
This struggle to pull order from the chaos is much harder than I expected. It's taking longer than it used to. I'm not as young and strong in the garden.
Tag personal essays
I AM The Writer. I AM The One Who Writes
I sat in the dark the other night, sometime around 2:40. My fridge hummed a low Db, like a bass looking to start a quiet barbershop rendition of Baby Got Back. I sat in the dark because I couldn’t sleep.…
I Broke My Tooth And It Keeps Biting Me
I broke my tooth two weeks ago sitting on my couch while watching a YouTube video and noshing on a bit of dark chocolate. I read somewhere that dark chocolate has flavanols that boost nitric oxide, which relaxes the blood…
Twenty-One Boxes Of Everything And Nothing
Having moved the big tree box and remaining sealed totes, we saw some mouse droppings here and there along the floor. Which left the pile of boxes. Hal looked at me, a hint of doubt along his brow.
I’m Sick Of The Online Performance. I’m Also The One Performing.
"We crave connection. Something real. Words that make us feel something—"
Oh, I was feeling something.
The Man Who Set My Number Doesn’t Exist Anymore. I Keep Failing Him Anyway.
I'm fat. Fat-ish. My wedding band doesn't fit because I got married ninety-five pounds ago...fat.
Six Months Of Working My Ass Off And I Couldn’t See The Progress
I watched my body in the mirror while swinging my kettlebell yesterday. Back between my legs, explode up to face level, back down, and up again. Over and over. Thirty-five pounds of controlled violence. Six months of work to get…
I Chose Better. I Choose Truth. Like, Nobody’s Watching
It was a Tuesday. It’s almost always a Tuesday. Way after midnight and nowhere close to dawn.
I Got My Defining Question Wrong In The Search For “My People”
The part I was almost too embarrassed to write: The people I’m looking for need what I bring. I don’t know why. And this probability, it scares the hell out of me. It also excites me. It's hard to tell the difference.
She Asked To Read My Writing…
I was at my local Starbucks, grabbing my usual breve latte with two pumps sugar-free vanilla. Julie is a barista and, I recently learned, goes to my church. She’s the wife of one of the men in my weekly men’s…