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A few seconds of intense quiet before a man shouts in the distance. A woman screams. Then, that popping sound again, farther away, an eerie echo of something foreign but familiar. My mind races, desperate to normalize the sound—but a sick feeling slams my gut when I realize I don’t recognize it from real life, only action movies and TV dramas. Gunshots.
It’s not fair. Some people live long, healthy lives, and others face the possibility of an unpredictable, incurable illness.
“It’ll go a lot faster with two people.” We’re locked in an epic battle of Midwestern politeness, and the match goes to him because I can’t argue with his logic.
There’s a certain melancholy in the days after Christmas, all the anticipation and promise leading up to the holiday now gone.
it’s not easy being a short person crossing a crowded room, staring at backs and breathing recycled air.
Backyards on a summer evening are a glorious thing. The citronella candles and bonfire keep the mosquitoes at bay, the scent of grilled meats lingers in the air, the soft breeze carries laughter and chatter and the cracking of beer-can tabs.
One moment can change everything. A shooter. A devastating diagnosis. A handsome stranger. The terrifying truth about life is that you never know which one you’re going to get. What a terrifying, beautiful truth. We are all living on the edge of a cliff without even knowing it, and one fragile movement can push us over the edge or pull us to safety.
My fears, my doubts, swarm upward with the snowflakes, joining in their frenzied pattern of beautiful chaos, not knowing where they will land but grateful for every thrilling moment of existence.
