Cliffhanger

Last month my friend Jess announced, “I’m going to a festival in Barcelona and I’ll be doing MDMA for five days straight.” I pictured her covered in henna tattoos, lit on Molly, dancing on a moon-kissed beach. The romancing of her life and drug use was jarring—in part, because I’m sober and also because, it’sContinue reading “Cliffhanger”

Can You Love Her Too?

A few months ago, a string of events and circumstances left me broken, in one of the lowest points I can remember. When telling stories about ourselves, our minds will locate us in time and space. As we search for meaning, we identify that day when everything turned around, or the moment it all beganContinue reading “Can You Love Her Too?”

Motherhood Can’t Fix You

Mothers are archetypes in lore and mythology for good reason. It’s not just the power to give birth that sets them on an imagined pedestal; it’s the array of supporting qualities—edgeless compassion, unwavering kindness, the glorified selflessness. The role of mother was both captivating and terrifying, because it simply wasn’t me. What metamorphosis would IContinue reading “Motherhood Can’t Fix You”

Bad Influence

Ted wore square hipster glasses and slicked back his thinning hair. We met when I was 23 and he was 30, which seemed really, really old, like Dad old, which is probably why I trusted him more than I should have. The night we met he drunk drove me home from a dive bar, pulledContinue reading “Bad Influence”

Suburban Girl

The crimes that would be perpetrated against me were clear. The kidnappers would ascend to the second floor of our suburban home, slice past the screen, pry open the window and find me, the victim, lying innocently in my bed. There would be two men: one fat, and one skinny; one stupid one smart. TheyContinue reading “Suburban Girl”

Fly-Over States

In January of 2002, while George Bush II was alleging Iraq’s stockpiling weapons of mass destruction and drumming up reasons to spearhead a war, I was living in Boston with five guys who were at various stages of obtaining adanced degrees from Harvard. Every morning, I ate breakfast with my housemates: a French physicist, a German professor,Continue reading “Fly-Over States”

Muse

In love, despite any efforts to stray—my “type” has always remained—the artist. As artist-lovers know, the path can be colorfully romantic, but, often unrewarding. Male artists are sensitive, but selfish, they are passionate, but mercurial, they are full of hope, but also self-doubt. For the women in their lives, it is a constant battle betweenContinue reading “Muse”

Talking to Dogs

When I was 19 years old, I bought a pit bull from two shamans on 4th Avenue in Tucson. “What’s a shaman?” I asked the women, who sat cross-legged on the corner, wearing patchwork strips of buckskins, suede, and varying leather textures, selling rare gems and puppies, as if they were in the same product line.Continue reading “Talking to Dogs”