Our baby chick died. That is part of life. Coming back to life is not normally part of life; so what does one do when it is?
There are many things in my life right that I am waiting to watch grow out.
We are on the precipice of a new era of journalism, and it is our responsibility, as people with privilege and/or power, to usher it in gracefully.
A whole post written on a treadmill.
“Those old notebooks (plural because, I guess if we’re being honest, there’s also the dream journal I haven’t really done much with; and then that nature / prose book I was going to do little watercolors in) represented a past self. A WORSE self.”
2018 was fucking crazy.
There is a plover controversy in Chicago. The plovers are a small thing, but they are so purely good, and it should be so easy for us to take care of them. If we do, that will say something about humanity that is so rarely said: we can make kind and gentle choices, and maybe, in fact, we are wired to.