Cady Rombach

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 browns in the leaves of thirsty sycamores and the manes of nearby horses.

Then, after miles of...

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, tried, and true: “good.”

“Good” gets me through sidewalk encounters with flying colors, not...

In hindsight, it probably smelled like burnt rubber early on. We were jet-lagged, though, and wet from splashing in the Irish Atlantic, so our senses were dulled. I leaned my head against the cool window of the van, focusing my eyes in and out on the water droplets that clung to its surface. The sky was, like usual, cloudy, and the air was chilled with the misty remnants of that afternoon’s rain shower. In the blur behind the window droplets, kelly green painted every grassy space from sidewalk cracks to the pastoral hills beyond. The color was concentrated beyond belief, like a streak of...

I’ve never really felt ashamed to sing. My mom sang to me as a kid, and I remember quietly humming along to her rendition of "She’ll Be Comin’ ‘Round the Mountain” nightly. Alongside her soothing voice, I lullabied myself to sleep. I have the same habit as my mom, singing mindlessly while doing various tasks. Even after my siblings and I have all grown up and passed the nursery rhyme phase, it’s never a surprise to hear my mom singing while she’s washing dishes, grading papers, driving, cleaning, or walking the dogs. Loud and proud or through a gentle hum, I’ve never known my mother to...