Letters, autobiographical stories, essays, fiction and other writings.

Adriatic & Croatia

These scenes were old, it seemed to me then; as single pages taken from an old Roman farmer's paper journal. I tried to think of such humble humans, think how I might be here on my own doing. We were shortly called to apertif on the front deck.

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Venice fireworks

The bay swayed us as we watched the sky bloom red and pink and purple. I pointed the camera at it all, hiding my face behind the lens, so they might not see me and know: I was not one of them.

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Monaco

This was a place outside my perception, a life I'd never suspected, and so my insecurities snuck up on me, baffled my senses and, ultimately, doomed my potential pleasure.

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What am I responsible for today?

It is about immersing myself in the necessary motions towards my goals and seeing the fog lift. This is about progress, not perfection. This isn't about excuses. This is about gratitude for how much i have lived, how much I have, but realizing how much farther I want to go.

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On a train to Switzerland

I'm thinking ahead to the snows of Switzerland. The pitched pine roofs steep against the cliffs and the Valley Rhone so far below; and the Alps, the high mountains and on the edge of it all the tall crystalline skies and unknown corners of the world I have yet to pass into.

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My grandma and our rain puddle

Grandma was there beside me, standing in the water, laughing, inspiring my make-believe. She played with me, she hugged me, and she was my friend. She was my storyteller. She was the softness of my childhood.

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My grandpa’s eulogy

I wonder if the Oil Patch will miss Grandpa – the smell of oil and the black on his hands. The brush-covered pipes where rabbits ran.

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