Why does the past feel so euphoric? How does it let me so easily overlook its abundance of misery? I don’t know if I feel this more than most — I might, because I feel everything more than most — but nostalgia rips through my chest and touches my heart with the intensity of a…
It turns out the day after sort of just feels like the day before. Or the day before that. There’s nothing profound or life altering about it. Not really anyway. I got up, read, worked out, and went to work like any other Monday. It was quiet. It was pedestrian. Knowing my book is out…
I went to bed a writer and woke up an author. How surreal. From a very young age, I knew I had a gift to give the world. It just took me 45 years to figure out the best vehicle to deliver it in. Now, only history will tell me if it was the right…
I thought today would feel different. In some ways it does… I guess. My anxiety is ratcheted up a notch, even from its usual “stuck on high” setting. I feel uncertain about what I should be doing more of to promote it, but I’ve done that every day since I finished my first draft, so…
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