Living in this space makes me ponder purpose anew. There will always, always be the next level, street crossing or conquest ahead. And for a few moments, I’ll feel I’ve arrived - as if I have purpose in my cross-hairs. But I’m starting to realize that in this game, purpose is ever-elusive.
The views from here are breathtaking, but also a bit terrifying . . .
"I long for a mobility of obedience that moves forward, even in darkness."
Grateful for this space at the Mudroom today: http://mudroomblog.com/when-narrow-bends-wide/
I sort of don’t fit in here. That doesn’t mean I haven’t tried. But at 5’10” with frizzy, auburn hair and pale, white skin I haven’t got a chance. Walking Taipei’s narrow alleyways, riding the subway or cramming into an elevator, I feel a strange kinship to this: Though acutely aware of my high-level … Continue reading A Beautiful Melon’s Unofficial Guide to Cultural Literacy
By Nichole Woo This post originally appeared at Leslie Verner's http://www.scrapingraisins.com. In it, I shared some of my thoughts on the "Strong Girl" movement. My best friend’s daughter hates her middle name. As a parent, how do you not take that one personally? After all, most of us spend about nine months contemplating, debating, and … Continue reading Weak is the “New” Strong
Mary used to underwhelm me, but not anymore. There's Something About Mary *This piece was originally posted posted at Scraping Raisins (Leslie Verner).
A few reflections on making spirits bright, from my corner of the world . . .
Pithy wine labels always catch my eye. I appreciate the whimsy of names like “Middle Sister,” “Mommy’s Time Out,” “7 Deadly Zins” and “Goats do Roam.” Recently, I met the weirdest one yet: I was curious to discover the bottle my husband had paired with dinner. It was the exclamation point to the meal he … Continue reading From Across the Room
He Loves Me, He Loves me Not. It was the tenth time he called. Him again, urgently trying to win me with his deep, passionate voice. His desperation knew no bounds. There were letters, Facebook messages, and notes stuck in my door. But the phone stalking had to stop. I sighed, resisting Pavlovian tendencies to … Continue reading The Elected
