It made me so grateful to be born in an era where I could make my own way without such intense, unforgiving physical labor and struggle.
I planned to have a few days off in Dublin and everyone at the office asked me what I’d like to do. All I could say was "nothing”.
What can be said after three weeks bouncing around parts of Europe?
Henry Miller probably said it best, some years ago: "One's destination is never a place, but a new way of seeing things."
Sometimes you just need space to step back. I found it in a book about a Holocaust survivor and a business trip to Ireland.
It's easy to dream that a new career or apartment or significant other might change everything. And it could. Habits form around even the smallest of changes. But sometimes you need to reset, take a step back, and break all your patterns.
My roommates, Rob and Rachel, went to Japan for ten days. Score! Free apartment. But then everyone else left at the same time too.
We're breaking Rule #1.
We're talking about the fight club.
For the ladies.
"The way to be okay, we all believe, is to have a specific plan — except may it’s not…"
The best strategy to win big is to not die.
Trying to be cool is cool, right, guys?
I am who I think you think I am.
I'm broke. Not in a cute, quiet weekend, waiting-for-my-paycheck broke. Like zero dollars broke.
Writing my obituary in journalism class, tears were welling in my eyes. The assignment was meant to teach us the form. I took it to existential depths.
I'm done denying. Admitting I'm afraid revealed the defense mechanism in front of me.
I need you to do yourself a favor. Close your eyes for a few minutes and imagine this brand new year.
If you do it right, Ikea can be a form of meditation. Legos too. Or even crafting a delicious peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
Even my four-year-old cousin, Jade, knew two hundred bucks was too much to ask for admission into a carnival.
I didn't even realize I was smiling like a madman.
There must be some pioneer in my blood.
I traveled West for work in the 21st Century. The irony does not escape me.
What's age besides a number? Mine is now twenty-nine, and so much more. One year gone, one year closer to 30.
The number is not as interesting to me as what you do with the years.
The future is tough to swallow.
The echo of the question infects him. He can't think. He can't speak.
How am I not myself?