Dear Home, I miss you. I miss what you used to give me: shelter, warmth, and security. I miss running up and down your steps — taking the stairs two at a time and always jumping down from three up (much to the chagrin of Grandma C.). I miss those warm days when we left your door to the backyard open like an invitation. That backyard was my clubhouse, playground, and treasure hunt. It’s where I learned to ride my bike and where we buried our dogs.
If you are the night’s sky, I am the distant star.
If you are the mighty mountain, I am the chiseled rock.
If you are the long winter, I am the flake of snow.
If you are the raging river, I am the flooded shore.
If you are the lush forest, I am the seed of faith.
If you are the promise, I am she who waits.
If you’re the vibrant sunset, I’m the breath that is held.
If you’re the destination, I’m the tentative step.
If you are the orchard at harvest, I am the ripening plum.
I’m a person who prefers to be hot than cold. I’d like things to be temperate and not uncomfortable, but if I have to choose an extreme, I’d rather sweat than shiver.
I find something very satisfying about sweating. It is almost soothing. When I’m exercising and the sweat starts to pour out of me, it’s like I’m earning my breath — working for my pace, another point, or one more rep.
Now, not all sweat is created equal in my eyes. Sometimes it’s very inconvenient. I hate to sweat when I’m dressed up. If I’m trying to look formal…
I’m never going to love soccer. I love my friends who love soccer, but I just can’t share their passion for the sport. I can appreciate a cleverly crafted shot or exceptional goal tending. I have a tremendous amount of respect for the athleticism required to play. (How many people can run a 10K while kicking a ball around in a spirited, high-speed game of keep-away?)
I love soccer fans. Some of them scare me a bit, but I love them. The pageantry of their commitment is impressive — the costumes, the face paint, the emotional investment, the team loyalty.
“There is only one way to avoid criticism: Do nothing, say nothing, be nothing.” ~Aristotle
What if critics didn’t exist? Not just those who make it their profession — the ones who tell us which books we should read, which movies to see, where to eat, or which artistic endeavors have value. What if all the critical tongues fell silent and only the encouragers and teachers spoke out?
What if the nature of criticism changed? What if it didn’t have the power to embarrass or deflate? What if criticism didn’t press at the cracks, exploit weaknesses, or tear things down…
Summer is here! Time to bare arms, don flowing skirts, and gird our eyes with sunglasses. Time to trade shoes and boots for sandals and flip-flops. Time for the sun to get about the business of heating things up — shining well into the night so that young children begrudgingly go to bed before the sky is tucked into darkness.
Summer is here! Windows open, air conditioners hum. Pale bodies lay supine and prone hoping to be colored in by the sun. People emerge to sit on their front steps and talk late into the thick warm night. …
This is Dick C. O’Neary reporting to you live from Lexi-Con — America’s largest linguistic convention. Wordsmiths, word enthusiasts, and terminologists from all over the country have gathered here to immerse themselves in all manner of vocabulary-focused activities and language competitions, to witness the latest advancements in neologism, and to hopefully get a glimpse of their favorite buzzwords.
Just a few moments ago I spoke to pop icons Hashtag, Trending, and Selfie. They were refreshingly humble. Hashtag and Trending told me that they are hoping to use their fame to shine a light on important issues, spark debate, and promote…
Many miles make for many memories, and so it was with great sadness (and some regret) that I bid farewell to my faithful ’96 Honda Civic a few years ago. I had planned to drive it until it died — until the metal of it became dust and blew away on a breeze, dissipating like a cloud. Unfortunately, a careless truck driver denied me that opportunity. His negligence left my beloved car totaled.
It’s amazing how we can become emotionally attached to something that is itself incapable of emotions. And yet it is simply its steady presence in my life…
We label a lot of things “love” that are really something else entirely. Lust is not love. Sex is not love. Sex can be an expression of love, but it can also be very far removed from it — its antithesis. Sex can be transactional, selfish, an abuse of power, or violent. Love is none of those things. Love is love, but when we say “love” let’s make sure we’re talking about real love and not any of its counterfeits.
Not all loves are created equal. Love can be good. It can be a muse. The love of a mother…