there are moments after a particularly good night’s sleep or a conversation with a friend or a therapy session, where the clouds in my mind part enough for me to think, Wait, I’m fine! I don’t need to explore the deeper recesses of my being in search of a cure for who I am! With

What nobody wants to say about grieving people is this: they are the worst. I believe a kinder aphorism is that hurt people hurt people.

My children are growing up spoiled and unappreciative of a world where the grown-ups in their lives appreciate and respect their feelings and mental health. They don’t know that just a few decades ago, even adults dropped the r-word casually, and that words “mental” and “health” had yet to be paired together within the public consciousness.

would like to propose a radical old idea that many people have been practicing for thousands of years: nearly everything on this earth and in it is good and bad.

I lie in bed anxious that the many jobs I hold in this gig economy will all disappear, or burning with indigestion after accidentally letting a raw onion pass my lips.

Everything in our house will someday be a piece of garbage poisoning the earth.

Had I known, I wouldn’t have cared or changed my behavior even a smidgen. I’d have carried on being a degenerate goofball because I was having fun, and part of that fun was partaking in nights I couldn’t remember, with friends I would eventually forget about entirely.

Because the promise of marriage is that we will stay beside each other, grow together, hold each other up when things are hard. And I swear I will, as long as I can also stay home.

because without the dopamine reward of likes, the stimulus has lost its magnetism. When I do take photos, I’m reminded not only what a crappy photographer I am but that I’m also just like my mother; these photos won’t sit in envelopes inside boxes in a basement for decades, they’ll sit in the cloud until they’re randomly deleted.