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Hope

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Where The Shadows Play

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Journal 12.18.20 I’ve always enjoyed Anne Lamott—ever since that summer day when I discovered her in a tiny, gay bookstore in Cape May, New Jersey and then sat in the park, on a bench, and read these little stories, and laughed and cried and wondered at life, while waiting for my girlfriend to get off work. She was sitting on a shelf, Anne not my girlfriend, just a trade paperback of the sort I used to read a lot of at that time, and I picked it up, read the back and maybe a few pages before...

Hope Is The Thing With Feathers

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There is a downside to allowing your world to grow small, but it’s not what you think it is. You can maintain a limited existence even while searching far and wide. You can explore the world while living inside a prison cell that measures eight inches across from ear to ear. You can find yourself alone, surrounded by people, or overwhelmed by stimuli, sitting still in the dark. I myself am a romantic. But not a hopeless one, and it is hope that has turned out to be the problem for me...

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