This past week I received two newsletters. The first, from writer Maria Popova in her exceptional weekly offering, Brain Pickings, shared an excerpt from author Katherine May’s book, Wintering, about the quiet, difficult seasons of life and how to allow them. The second, from Eileen at our local, fabulous bookstore, Rebel Heart Books, described the loss of her husband’s parents to COVID-19 in February.

When I was giving birth to my daughter, there came a point—about twelve hours into my unmedicated, at-home, every-90-seconds-a-contraction back-labor odyssey—where I was done. I looked up at my midwife, bleary and exhausted, and said, “I don’t want to do this anymore.” She smiled, beatifically, and said, “Okay. Let’s do something else.”

We’re almost there my friends. We’re at the finish line of 2020: the craziest, weirdest, most tumultuous, contentious, painful, scary, exhausting year that most of us have ever seen.

A famous lyric from Gilbert and Sullivan says, “Things are seldom what they seem.” I’m going to bump that up that a notch and say that things are never what they seem. There’s always more to the story. 

I’ve been having a week filled with messages: Message after message, all on the same topic. It’s as if someone up there is trying to deal with a lousy cell phone connection. Can you hear me now? Can you hear me NOW??

I am an incredible parent. I know this because there are moments in my parenting life where I stop and think, “Man, these kids are darned lucky.” One of these moments happened this week. During a meeting at my children’s school my son was reminded of the school’s philosophy regarding course selection

One of the (few) perks of getting older is having a longer view of life. Being a newly-minted mother of two teens, I’m remembering just how inwardly awkward and stressful adolescence is. Figuring out who you are and how to navigate life is rough on rats. And parents.

“It is what it is.” My husband introduced me to this phrase. He uses it all the time and to be honest, it used to annoy the bejesus out of me. I’d get all snarky and retort, “What does that mean? It means nothing! And then what often happens, happened.

I recently went through some old letters and belongings of my parents saved over many years. In them, I found an airmail letter, typed on thin, onion skin paper and dated March 20, 1973, from one Rafael Icaza.

The following is an excellent and most helpful list, perfect for cutting out and sending to your children or taping to the fridge. It’s the eight best pieces of advice, ever.

For being so cold and bleak, February is a pretty darned happy month. There’s the lunar new year — with its joyful celebration of new beginnings and opportunities for success — and Valentine’s Day, stirring thoughts of the heart. It all has me thinking about the heart of success.

The solstice is almost here! I always count the days to Solstice because at that point, the light will begin to grow again. Even though it won’t be obvious that the light is returning for many weeks, I know it in my heart, and that makes all the difference.

There's a country song with the catchy little phrase: "When was the last time you did something for the first time?" Those words have (annoyingly) stuck with me because, well, I haven't done very much at all for the first time in a long time. This is not good.

There are a lot of ugly ducklings around, a lot of people who feel flawed and different and who long to fit in but just … don’t: People who prefer one-on-one conversations to large groups. People who like solitude.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I’m just not that into Christmas this year. I don’t want a tree, I’m not interested in buying presents; I just want to curl up with a book and be quiet.” My client looked at me half expectantly, half sheepishly.

Here’s a holiday pop quiz: Do you remember what you received for Christmas last year? Do you remember what you gave? Me either.

What do Donald Trump, a trip to Costco, and my dog have in common? More than you might imagine. A strange confluence of events culminated this morning in a surprising, personal revelation.

As I look back over all the essays and blogs I’ve written, I’ve never once addressed the subject of loneliness, which is really rather strange since loneliness is epidemic in our culture, and since I’m on very familiar terms with it myself.

I seldom do what I’m about to do, which, I hope, will make what follows jump out at you and grab your bathrobe.

I’ve been thinking a lot about love lately. Not the When Harry Met Sally sort, or the infatuation/lust/heartbreak/revenge tedium on the radio that makes my 10-year-old daughter ask, with a look of pure nausea and disgust on her face, “Why are all the songs about love?”