For too long, and despite what people told me, I had fallen for what the culture said about beauty, youth, features, heights, weights, hair textures, upper arms.

I devoured books like a person taking vitamins, afraid that otherwise I would remain this gelatinous narcissist, with no possibility of ever becoming thoughtful, of ever being taken seriously.

There is ecstasy in paying attention.

Good writing is about telling the truth.

These days cry out, as never before, for us to pay attention, so we can move through them and get our joy and pride back.

I sat down in the sand, breathless with shame and failure. God, I thought, some defender of the weak. Some freedom fighter: Joan of Arc in sunscreen.

Forgiveness means it finally becomes unimportant that you hit back.