Rest

I am not good at relaxing. While I'm militant about getting eight hours of sleep, I am terrible about allowing myself to rest. Unless I'm on vacation, my hyperactive work ethic insists I am continually thinking, doing, accomplishing—whether that's writing, juggling a broad smattering of freelance projects, or just fixing meals and keeping my apartment … Continue reading Rest

Home

I've been in love with German ever since I learned the word weltschmerz. Its literal translation is "world-pain," the depression that arises when the realities of existence don't line up with the ideals in your head. I talk about this word in the opening chapter of my memoir, how when I discovered it, some gear … Continue reading Home

Contradictions

I hate putting things away. When I was a toddler, my mother let me entertain myself by emptying the kitchen cupboard where she stored canned goods. I'd pull everything out onto the floor, crawl inside the cupboard, and lose interest (I'm guessing) in approximately seven seconds. As I walked away, my mom would ask, "Can … Continue reading Contradictions