To graduate from the University of Oregon, I took a “victory lap” to finish my honors thesis. During the winter quarter of that final year, I gazed at a print of Edvard Munch’s 1893 painting The Scream and knew that its character must have been a fifth-year senior—the vibrant existential dread of an orange and … More A Walk Around Campus
The funny thing about stories, about big, culminating moments, is that it’s hard to pinpoint their actual beginnings—the pivot in a chain of events that led to one particular outcome occurring over an infinite number of others. Years ago, I was snuggled up in a cabin surrounded by snow in Yosemite National Park, reading Gregory … More 900 Smoky Mountain Miles
“That morning, my understanding of listening expanded and I was reshaped yet again. It sounds simple and obvious but it takes time to listen; time for the deeper things to show themselves. Just as we can’t see all the phases of the moon on any one night, we can’t hear the phases of truth or … More An Everglades Return
I sat on my new balcony patio, still in pajamas, sipping coffee in the warmth of the rising sun. I read a book by a woman who had set out to write a scholarly account of two Wyoming botanists. As she followed the research, her writing morphed into a memoir of plants and place. This is how it goes, it seems, when we allow our thinking minds to slowly cede back to our open hearts. Who knows where we’ll end up, where we’ll return, what wisdom we’ll find in the flora. … More Fresh Starts to Fresh Starts
We weren’t the same people when we finally met again. The distance, the stillness had changed us. It was good to see you calm and coming back to life. I knew you needed a break from the constant social pressure, regardless of how much I ached to say. When we met again, it was indeed … More Dear Smoky Mountains—
I walked up to the front door of the little country house, breathing in the calm of the surrounding farmland and mountains. Thirty minutes prior I’d been in the bustling little city of Asheville, my latest hometown, cars zipping down Merrimon Avenue with little respect for life. Arriving here felt like home. I knocked on … More Stories Around the Table
Writing is a practice that requires presence. Presence is something that has felt exceedingly fragile to me in the past year. During this time, I’ve ached to write. Story ideas have swum around in my head. Yet, I’ve lacked the presence to sit with them and turn them into words. Everywhere I travel, I carry … More Writing about Not Writing
I stood anxiously with the others. We all waited, silently, many staring down at bright little screens, to board the long elevator down to the metro. None of us looked at each other, and the man with the sign didn’t look at us either. He didn’t call out, forcing us to acknowledge his existence, pushing … More Angels in “The Swamp”
I began to miss her before she was ever gone. In my early twenties, I stood on a hand-built, wooden bridge one hot and humid summer night in rural Georgia, cheeks seared by salt-filled tears, drunkenly swapping sad dog stories and contemplating my owns aging—contemplating the elephant in the room toward which each of her … More My Old Friend
During our junior year of college, my roommate, Tiffany, made a short film for her digital arts class as a first attempt at video editing. Knowing my penchant for acting foolish, she asked me to be in it. The film was titled, “…It Was Okay,” and chronicled two women’s very different days—one terrible and one … More The Secrets of Returning
ROUGH OUTLINES 