For the last three months, I’ve found myself consistently returning to topics that have to do with the multitude of complex, confronting emotions that so many of us are doing our best to navigate as the world seems to be coming undone at the seams.

A life without intimacy is a life of survival. One marked by swift movements from one thing to the next, no time to stop and smell the roses, fill our cup to overflowing with the presence of others. Without intimacy …

blank slate [a poem for the New Year]

Every year when December rolls around, I start to engage a set of muscles that I don’t use on a daily basis. Energy anatomy designed to cinch me together when a dozen rubber balls are loose in the room and I’m trying to track them all.