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I am … every day …becoming the woman who is learning to love him … without him. This is an unnerving place to land. Does it mean I am caring less? Loving less? Or does grief shift, morph, grow into something else? Of course, it does. And yet … What has become of that other…

I am, every day, astounded at how the work on the Abu Dhabi memoir goes on… and on. It has become an unintended inner pilgrimage, a project of becoming. Naively (or foolishly), I thought I had a ready-made book that simply required typing up handwritten letters I’d written from Abu Dhabi between 2009 and 2012;…

Four+ years into working and reworking a book that’s changed its name, its purpose, and its structure more times than I like to count, I’ve recently been startled to find the same words showing up in the two different and ostensibly dissimilar life events that have survived the manuscript’s constant dismantling and reconstruction. Besieged by…

 “This is the secret of life: to be non-serious but absolutely involved.” ~Sadhguru These words continue to remind me of the line from T.S. Eliot’s poem, “Ash Wednesday: To care and not to care. This line lives in me. I found it in letters I wrote between 2009 and 2012 when I was struggling to…

Remembering Philip eight years on, childlike joy still comes first to mind. Still scaling trees (in his 60s) in search of fruit. Recklessly befriending a teenage alligator. Running sideways and backward because it was more creative than running forward. Singing in bathtubs and tunnels where the acoustics were best. Reciting and writing poetry, playing guitar,…