A couple of New Years ago, I declared I was changing my stars. I was no longer a “pastry person.” I made up my mind to steer clear of sugar and become more of a chips, pickles, and humus person. It’s difficult to recall what stirred this proposed metamorphosis, only that I wanted to change…
This business about “If you write, you’re a writer” is off-putting. No one ever says, “If you nurse someone back from a cold, you’re a nurse,” or “If you can spout the law, you’re a lawyer.” I get that the phrase is meant to encourage aspiring writers or maybe even seasoned ones who missed a word count or are…
If I were a man, I wouldn’t lie. I might let little ones slip here and there, but not the big ones. The big lies change everything; they cause irreparable damage. I’d know that. As a man, I would take responsibility for my actions, even if, along the way, I had become someone who mocked…
There is something about Sunday that justifies the rest of the week. It’s like a reconciliation of emotion, a washing away of frustrations. Sundays soften slights, and things that ran so deep and urgent on Monday become whispers on the last day of the week. There are no regrets on a Sunday; no mess-ups or…
When I was sixteen, I went to Tower Records and asked if I could have this giant promo poster for the new Smiths album once the store took it down to make way for the next new releases. That was a thing back then. They gave them away on a first-ask basis. Anyway, I got…
The fruit in my kitchen looks nothing like a Cézanne. It’s different. Bruised a bit, with a couple of rogue produce stickers and a suspicious soft spot on the bottom lemon. My avocados are too ripe or hard as rocks, but the apples and bananas are delicious. It’s just fruit. Cézanne’s peaches are always stunning.…
How much more life will I live before it’s time to change the head on my electric toothbrush again? Time is visceral these days. I’m parsing out my life in an effort to make a day, a month, a year meaningful. Life-affirming. I like to think things are not just slipping by for me. No.…
I am 1985 Allison Reynolds lost on the set of Mean Girls. Let’s preface this rant with the truth that I love my apartment. It houses my favorite office and is located in a gorgeous spot. I have no complaints. But if, as my kids like to say, someone grabbed me by the throat and…
My mom moved us from New York to Arizona the summer I turned eleven. When the plane landed, and 105 degrees of hell hit my face, I vowed to leave the state as soon as I was an adult and could make my own life. I left for college at eighteen and lived in Arizona…
