January 2017 — I broke up with a girl, moved to a new town, and started a new job. All in the span of 12 hours. It was the kind of wild, all-at-once change that most of life brought up to that point. A few months prior I packed my car and left Florida without… Continue reading be satisfied in the wait
My favorite authors are dead. I don’t love the fact that they’re dead. I didn’t mean for them to be dead. And it’s definitely not my fault they’re dead. But—just like T.I. and Justin Timberlake once taught us—that’s exactly what they are. Dead and gone. (Sorry.) I didn’t realize how much I loved dead writers… Continue reading Read Dead Authors
The popular idea of balance generally follows that you should fit every good thing into every single day. Right? You need to exercise and read books and maintain a social life and do hot yoga and work on a side hustle and eat healthy and learn to code and keep up your Instagram brand and… Continue reading I have a problem with balance.
I was a lanky 13-year-old boy with hair past my shoulders. You would have thought I hung around skate parks and played old Metallica covers on my electric guitar. Except I couldn’t skate or play an instrument, and didn’t have any friends who would watch if I could. All my life I heard Dad… Continue reading Real Jesus is better than Camp Jesus.
A few years ago I first heard about the Enneagram from an author I follow and wondered if he had turned to devil worship when the pentagram-esque logo popped up in my Google search. And—after learning that my first glance was incorrect—the system has since reshaped a number of the ways I look at the… Continue reading The Enneagram is good until it’s not.
With just 11 words my friend Mark crushed a label I accepted for 20 years. “I used to think I wasn’t creative because I couldn’t draw.” He said. He was speaking to a room of 150, but it felt like intimate therapy. Mark continued to explain how his typecast as the athletic kid had automatically… Continue reading You can be creative without being an artist.
“There goes Raggedy Anne!” My pole vault coach screamed as I scrambled back towards Earth, a nickname he gave me because I bore a striking resemblance to a ragdoll thrown through the air when I jumped. He wasn't wrong. My 15-year-old, 6' 2" frame had outgrown my brain's ability to coordinate everything as my limbs flailed… Continue reading Your story will never compare.