We cannot help it: life seems meaningful. Maybe that's because it is.

We are drawn to water, whether oceans, lakes or rivers. They cajole us in waves to their beaches, shores and banks. It hardly matters— s...

rain runs along street curbscatching clusters of dead leavesdrifting away. Now soppingand heavy, their snappy fragrancefades to a deep, w...

For a moment the weight of things leaves us. Maybe it’s only a chuckle and a glance, our squinted eyes connecting for a flash. Or maybe ...

How does the idea of victimhood respond to the call of personal responsibility?

Putting Jordan Peterson and David Brooks in conversation.

When it cries at sundown  I imagine a tired old conductor.  He’s wearing his tired blue uniform, blue suit, blue hat and tie,  chugging u...

At the far end of the trail I pedaled past a field of grass dusted in flaxen dandelions where four teenage girls sat relaxing cross-legge...

Waiting in line for coffee, a little girl, maybe three or four, walked up to me with a stack of papers in both hands. Long sandy hair...

A brief existential "defense" of this blog.