Consumerism thrives on emotional voids.

All dogs can be guide dogs of a sort, leading us to places we didn't even know we needed or wanted to go.

The key, I suppose, has less to do with insight than with willingness, the former being relatively useless without the latter.

Our culture thrives on black-and-white narratives, clearly defined emotions, easy endings, and so, this thrust into complexity exhausts.

It happened this way: I fell in love and then, because the love was ruining everything I cared about, I had to fall out.

I've always been drawn to solitude, felt a kind of luxurious relief in its self-generated pace and rhythms.

What is this drive to be thinner, prettier, better dressed, other? Who exactly is this other and what does she look like beyond the jacket she's wearing or the food she's not eating? What might we be doing, thinking, feeling about if we didn't think about body image, ever?