Remembering and not remembering.

The third-worst job I ever had involved a lot of dread. Dread and anxiety and pressure and deadness and agonizing wishing it would end. Maybe not as full-of-dread as the Moroccan mafia toy import company, and maybe not as full-of-deadness as the assembly line. But the...

One Hundred Chickens.

I like rituals. This is not a secret. I like the way they can be tiny and silly and mysterious all at the same time. How they cultivate mindfulness but not in some annoying “ooh I’m being mindful” way. How they can be private and communal at the same...

Memories. And maybe a correction.

Selma and I are away in Monterey teaching our Destuckification Retreat, so this post is one I actually wrote several days ago. Correction. It has occurred to me more than once — actually, about twice a week — that I have done something of an injustice to...
The Fluent Self