cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
I always thought I was going to die young. My death was probably going to be the result of something dramatic and tragic, like a major car accident or a freak plane crash. I simply could not (or would not) imagine myself getting old. I turn 40 this month. Four decades of living. How did…
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My past birthdays have not always been the most memorable days for me to look back on with fondness. Each year creates space for my heart to sit in ambivalence. My deepest longings and timid expectations jumble into a complicated pinata-sized package waiting for my colorful bat of fears and insecurities to start swinging. I…
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