What you fear your whole life comes to pass. You end up living toward it, you spend your life running from it but your foot is nailed to the sidewalk. You circle around it until you wear yourself own.

Who doesn't want to just disappear, at some point in the day, in a year, to just step off the map and float?

On a good day I write, all day.

Everything we do, I'd imagine, influences everything we will do.

Change is one of the only constants in Buddhism; as meditation became the way I breathed in the days, this became apparent.

There is a physics to the world, which non-fiction has a contract to stand in awe of, otherwise it becomes completely self-centered and ego-driven, which is the death of a memoir.

In my experience, whatever happens clings to us like barnacles on the hull of a ship, slowing us slightly, both uglifying and giving us texture. You can scrape all you want, you can, if you have money, hire someone else to scrape, but the barnacles will come back or at least leave a blemish on the steel.