In Human Parts. More on Medium.
My dead roommate broke a dish the other day, so we had to have a talk. I’ll call her Annie, since she’s a ghost and can’t consent to being included in this essay. I like to ask permission for things like that. But I will tell you about our chat.
Annie decorated this home, when she was alive. She was the original owner and purchased the place about 30 years ago when this suburban New Jersey development was built. It’s a very nice apartment with a soaring three-story great room, two bedrooms, two full bathrooms, and one half-bath. It’s got…
A thing they don’t tell you about starting a relationship — of any caliber — in quarantine is that there is absolutely nowhere to put your feelings. They stay contained, like yourself, in a 500-square-foot studio apartment, until you reach a breaking point and decide it’s worth the risk to set them free. And putting your heart on the line during a pandemic? Well, that’s like taking a thousand risks at once. You ought to be prepared to protect all the vulnerable parts.
I met J in the most iconic of destinations: my Instagram DMs. I knew he existed long…
I remember where I was the night my friend texted me to tell me that “this coronavirus thing” was serious. They said I should have two weeks’ worth of nonperishable groceries on hand. I was in Brooklyn, and I scheduled a food delivery on Amazon Prime from my phone — mostly beans, rice, and pasta — as I walked to a bar to watch one of the Democratic primary debates. That was back in late February—approximately 4,000 years ago.
In the beginning, it felt novel. Yes, trips to get essentials were harrowing affairs, but for a while, nights hunkered down…
I never knew what I’d walk into when I went to a death.
When Danny and I found ourselves at Mr. Richardson’s death, for example, we never would have imagined we’d be 1) coerced into a photo session with Mr. Richardson’s dead body and 2) chastised into joining a prayer circle surrounding the dead man.
Danny was my intern. I had several during my years as a hospice social worker, and he was my favorite: an ambitious young man, with a good sense of humor. …
Even when school existed, it felt impossible. As a principal, I was expected to ensure all students tested well in English and math; to produce winning sports teams and an applause-worthy play, with a role for every kid who wanted one; to prevent drug use, sexual harassment, and scientific illiteracy; to add more time for world languages but not take away time from recess.
On Facebook, a viral post asked high schools to teach how to “balance a checkbook, sew on a button, hem pants, change a car tire, change your oil, drive a stick shift, do your taxes, basic…
We opened the bookstore to the public a week ago last Thursday. We’re asking a few things of customers, including that they wear masks. It feels like a lot to ask my employees to expose themselves to aerosol droplets from people who come to our town from all over, especially when they’re also summoning grace and patience to handle a somewhat grouchy and unusually demanding public. (We are all a little grouchy, aren’t we?)
I have had one person actually yell at me (“Oh, it’s FINE, I’m LEAVING YOUR STORE ANYWAY!”) and a surprising number of others just walk right…
Sometimes, I am not a good person—even when our world demands we trot out our most noble selves for display. In this window dressing that is our public fiction, our hearts are tremendous and our actions infallible. We never scheme, connive, or leave. Oh, no. We’re nightingales, dressing collective wounds, stitching the maimed together again. We’re expert hand-holders, hair-smoothers, advice-givers. Our wants are pure and gleaming. Even when we feel as if we’re spring lambs writhing on the slab.
But life isn’t that simple or clean. We’re neither wholly compassionate or cruel. Patron saints or Ted Bundys. We’re not the…
I’ve been pretty hard on climate change deniers over the past several years, ever since I woke up to the real danger it poses to our way of life and maybe our very existence. Since then, I have come to believe that a collapse of industrial civilization — whether prolonged or sudden — is inevitable.
And yet, I have to admit that, just a few months ago, I was a denier. I didn’t deny the reality of climate change. I denied the reality of the coronavirus.
I had heard about the coronavirus, of course. But it was in China—far away…
Author’s Note: This post touches on a range of sensitive topics, including mental health, suicide, and domestic violence.
I know better than most what it’s like to isolate yourself from the outside world, to live inside your own head for days, weeks, and even months at a time. I spent the better part of a decade living the life that millions of Americans are now anxiously trying to escape after just a few short months. I suffered, and still do, from a severe form of obsessive-compulsive disorder. Folks like me often refer to it as “contamination OCD,” a type of…
Not long ago, while the sun was shining, I realized I hadn’t gone for a “socially distanced” run in at least two weeks, so I changed out of my sweatpants and into some jogging shorts, threw on a mask, grabbed a winter glove for opening doors, and stepped out into the refreshing spring air.
For about a mile, things felt good. As I neared the National Mall, I felt a small tinge of regret. No, there wasn’t an airshow luring groups of bystanders onto America’s front lawn, but there were certainly enough families, runners, and riders of all sorts, which…