{Probably a disrespectful response to one of my favorite poems.} Before you know joy as the deepest thing inside, you must know a YMCA Zumba class as the other deepest thing. You must march the maze of hallways alone, guided only by a screechy teenage chorus of basketball shoes, until you find the right gym. … Continue reading With apologies to Naomi Shihab Nye
OPTIONAL: Always keep a huge Rice Krispy treat in your car’s second cup holder. This says, “I am alone, but living my dreams.” Marvel. Be amazed at every good thing: the illogical tininess of a baby’s ear, the satisfying snap of a bell pepper, a perfectly-timed poem discovery, the messy privilege of being alive. Don’t … Continue reading How to begin again
Suddenly losing a train of thought, mid-sentence, in front of expectant students. An ambiguous public restroom lock, toilet facing the out-of-reach door. Clapping or singing a beat after everyone else has stopped. Public banana eating. Being a panicky flyer, trying to listen with empathy while a seat mate describes her son’s death in a plane crash. … Continue reading Ordinary and not-so-ordinary vulnerabilities
An extra in the background of an intense breakup scene set in a bright, popular L.A. brunch spot. All she has to do is mouth fake conversation and eat chia seed-constellated yogurt, but she keeps dropping her spoon and ruining the take. A confident, even arrogant, jaywalker who feeds bits of cheese danish to pigeons. … Continue reading Film roles I was born to play
— the ones that keep us paying attention, chipping away at hard hearts and busy brains: An abandoned gelato shop, its doors smudged and locked, lush pink chairs overturned on tables still visible through the windows. Small dead things that turn out to be trash pinned to the median: a rumpled pillowcase, a knotted plastic … Continue reading Sing songs for the small sadnesses —
I didn’t know, before, that it is possible to be addicted to chlorine. Or maybe that’s why anyone swims: forget the health benefits, the animal joy of cutting through water by force of your own skeleton and skin. The smell is the thing, that timeless sharp tang. Suddenly you are in every pool you’ve ever … Continue reading The Michael Phelps of Feelings
Though not technically a retirement home, where I live is mostly a club for the Friendly Elderly. The paprika-colored brick houses stories of nearly a hundred retirees, some of whom have trudged the same carpet in their condos for over 20 years. The building is a quiet secret, nestled into forest off a main road … Continue reading Coming home
