I may never see you again, never know your name, but this day, I take you home with me, and you, the stranger, becomes a part of me embedded into the life I paint.
I know a worthiness now that fills my world with hope, love, laughter and a light that I did not know existed. Still, after all that work, there is a whisper inside of me: What if you become too powerful to connect?
I see a shadow of regret, a heaviness in the way you carry your body, the weight of all the things you’ve left unsaid, the hearts you were too afraid to touch, the hugs and human connection you have turned away.
What it comes down to is, my biggest problems are going on inside of me. If that’s not privilege, I don’t know what is. I am safe, healthy, sheltered, fed, supported, and loved. It doesn’t mean I should stop complaining (although I could do less of it) and be grateful all the time (although I ...
How much of our regard hides contempt for their radius because of their recrudescence? How often do we seek surrogates to support our need to connect with something more humane? How ably do artists embrace this task, however restricted their role?
Sometimes life presents strange contrasts, like last year when I found myself simultaneously watching The Passion of the Christ (no fan of Mel Gibson here, but the film is an art form) and hearing background radio coverage of the aftermath of Brexit and ongoing presidential race between Trump ...
Mental toughness is one of the hardest characteristics to develop. Navy SEALs have a 40% rule which they live by. It says that when your mind is telling you you’re done, you’re really only 40 percent done. That’s why 99% of runners who start a marathon finish even though most people hit a wall ...
You choose to be an asshole, you choose to waste your hard-earned money and God-given organs in an alcoholic blur, you choose to compare your story to everyone else’s, burning the brightest fire for victimhood there is, you choose to dismiss anyone else’s experience.