It reminds me of writing and how I wake up week after week and get stuck on the blank page again and again. How I always despair that I have no more good ideas and, even if I did, not enough eloquence to convey said ideas. But I love it still. I love how writing brings everything to the surface, how it generates and absorbs my attention. How it

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I do like the rush of rushing. And to an extent, I am quite good at rushing—at doing things in a high-intensity, high-pressure way. But my sense is that I am much better off when I enjoy the pause, slow down, be where I am, and build strength patiently. I’m better off when I remember to take my time, to realize that the journey is long and it... See more

Lately time has been moving too fast. The places I used to frequent are all closed, my brother grows a head taller every time I see him, all my friends are moving away, doors and empty apartments spinning in their wake. The map of my life is getting larger, choices feel weightier. All the things I vowed to love forever have changed, and I’m

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