Coming Home to Myself

We cross the Bosphorus Strait via a steamer ferry that has been running nonstop for decades, so we can wander through my old neighborhood. Europe to Asia. Two continents split a city that knows more splits than I can count. On the hill above, the newest and biggest mosque is rivaled in height by the…

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A Bend in the Road

I’d booked a room of my own for a week at a lodge on the outskirts of Cosby, Tennessee—a town too sleepy to care if you call it the middle of nowhere. Set just off a creek where horses grazed freely on miles of green meadow, the lodge I’d chosen had a wraparound deck, a…

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The Long Way Home

The estimated time of arrival on my GPS read 4:12 a.m. That meant my head could hit the pillow by 4:15 a.m., which would give me a solid 2 hours and 45 minutes of sleep before my kids were ready to start the day.  Earlier that day, I decided to make the 5-hour drive to…

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The Surprise Weekend

When life tosses you an unexpected moment, you have a few options. Examine your possibilities, jump ship, or quickly come up with a plan and say yes without dwelling on the potential risks. I tend to live my life aligned with the last one.  My good friend Alyssa and I had talked about getting away…

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Beyond the Boundaries

Although I grew up in a large city (Detroit), I only inhabited one small part of it, what is locally known as the east side. Woodward Avenue divided the east side from the west side of Detroit, and I had no reason to cross Woodward Avenue. Everything I needed was available on the east side,…

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On Writing Myself Alive

First, I wrote Leyla. She was a teen I thought my own teen girls might like. Leyla was for them. A Turkish girl, wandering the old city, who falls into an epic adventure to uncover a secret passed among women for two millennia. As she learns to embrace her own strength, she must also accept…

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Muskegon

It’s been said that a picture is worth a thousand words. As accurate as this aphorism is, the frame often says more than the picture. The picture captures our attention, but without the frame, our eyes would wander over the painting without focus and intentionality. This became exceedingly clear as I looked through an old…

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Light and Dark and the Hope In Between

Mom leaned her head out from the balcony of the InterContinental Paris Le Grand. “You can practically hear the joy out in the streets!” she exclaimed. She was right, of course. Paris is always bright, but at Christmas time, it twinkles, and all of the cars, pedestrians, and little shops seem to twinkle with it.…

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Glad I Tried

I have always wanted to be a camper. (Not a literal camper, but one who camps!) Perhaps it was the imagination I had when friends talked about overnights with Girl Scouts that sounded so luxurious. I also loved Laura Ingalls Wilder books, and her life on the prairie seemed a lot like camping to me.…

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Doorway to a Forgotten Land

My breath came in short, labored bursts, reflecting the intensity of the circuit workout my friend and I were making our way through. I told her I’d begun “hiking” on the treadmill set at a steep incline, practicing for the mountain hikes on the itinerary for an upcoming trip as couples to celebrate our friends’…

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