I am thinking. I am writing about my thinking. I am remembering that for all of the many scrapbook albums I’ve personally filled with photographs of a life I lived, there aren’t very many pictures of me. I turn the laden pages, heavy with photographs of my own staging. …

I have a collection of Russian nesting dolls. At least I did. I sought out local artists, selected and bought each set myself. . . in Rostov-na-Donu, Russia, and in Moscow, Russia, over the course of the two separate times I lived there. …

With every sigh she makes, I shake off the energy coming at me, knowing it’s not mine. …

Have it. Get sorted. Define your path leading to your purpose. Heal yourself. Help others. Don’t think about yourself. It’s not about you. Get on track. Meditate more. Read more. Journal more. Open your channel. Burn some shit. Dance. Write it all out. Breathe. Have you tried god? You definitely…

“Tell me about love,” he called with a backwards glance Our bicycles’ separation growing with each downward force of my foot Of left Then right We held hands once, twice No three times While riding our two bikes Separately Together My right hand held the selfie stick His left hand…

Pita chips. The Stacy’s brand is legitimately the best — and I’m coming strictly from a user-standpoint on this one. Always in the cupboard. Salads, sandwiches, scoops, hummus. They’re indispensable. But mostly salads, for sure. Mmmmmm Fattoush. Not only fun to say, but filling, and deliciously-so. Get you some Stacy’s…

As of this writing I am 83 days into my 49th year, only 282 days shy of the 50th anniversary of my arrival on planet Earth. And if I live to dance at 100 — which I fully expect I will because have you seen me dance? …

I. There’s a thunderstorm happening right now and I am smack in the middle of it, suspended weightless by my wings. I love the weight of each raindrop knocking into me, surrounding my body as I absorb its delicious moisture underneath my wing cases. Like Popeye’s spinach, each drop makes…

I didn’t wake up this morning thinking about living my life bravely today. There has never, in fact, ever been a morning of my approximate 17,658 (give or take some leap years not accounted for in my quick calculation) mornings, in which I’ve considered or thought about myself as brave. …