P.S.

It’s perhaps an understatement to say that my favorite pair of shoes—a black toe-loop pair of Birkenstocks sandals—is well-loved. Their rubbery bottoms, once textured with prominent zig zags, now glide precariously under each step. Plus, thanks to the wonky gait I inherited from my dad, the outer edge of each heel is ground down an inch or two below the rest of the sole. Black crumbles line the synapse between cork and leather, neighbored by creases that could put the Utah salt flats to

There is an urban legend that, as a boy, George Washington damaged his father’s prized cherry tree with a hatchet. Upset, George’s father confronted him directly. As the story goes, young George replied, “I cannot tell a lie.” He confessed to chopping the tree. 

Each time I hear that story, I picture the cherry tree in the front yard of my childhood home. Situated in the corner of a busy garden, the tree grew with me through the years. And, as they fell, its dainty petals graced the

Sometimes, life ebbs and flows. The “yay”s have their time, and the “uh oh”s steadily creep in uninvited. Other times, though, life flies out of nowhere, lands on your windshield, and cracks it down the center.

Last week, I left home for Charlottesville. It was a misty morning, but with a synchronous class on the horizon, I put my trust in fog lights and the warmth of daybreak, then went on my way. I moved steadily through a thick haze, past blurry creek beds speckled with reds and

When someone asks, “How are you?” what do you say? Maybe you bare your soul, laying out your triumphs and trials to a perfect stranger. Maybe you brush past every mishap, replying with only the highlight of your day. Or, if you’re like me, perhaps you rely on an old standby. If “How are you?” is Pavlov, I am its dog. Over many years, my people-pleaser brain has trained me to err on the side of politeness, and avoid at all costs any action that might be overbearing. So, my response is simple