reader-essay

By Amelia Morris This essay has been lightly adapted from its original, which was published on Amelia’s blog.  “She’s just trying to be relevant,” a friend said forgivingly about a person we both know, a person whom I thought was being too loud and assertive with their opinion.

By Kaitlin Jarema When I tell people at parties I was an archaeologist, they look at me in shock and interest, and immediately ask about where I’ve worked overseas. I expect disbelief, and occasional disappointment, when I tell them I worked primarily in Pennsylvania. “Archaeology? On the east coast?

The fire that took my home — and restored my faith in how society works

By Joe Szwaja When I first heard about the October 7 attacks, I contacted my son Engel, who follows the region closely. He was horrified by the violence against Israeli civilians and predicted a huge response that would be devastating for Palestinians and likely include a full-on ground invasion of

By Zoe Clarke Earlier this year, my grandfather almost died. Not from an accident or a terminal disease. He almost died because he wanted to.  My grandfather is a very tough, and very loving, person. He spent many years bossing around cattle on his farm with his wooden cane, but

By Anonymous in Washington, DC The first time I remember wanting to die was in early childhood. I grew up in a rural area of the Appalachian foothills where I was encouraged to explore and ask questions about nature. One autumn day when I was playing outdoors, I noticed the

By Karen Hill Anton “Karen! Hey! How’re you doing?” “Fine, fine. And you? It’s been a long time.” “You’re telling me. It’s been about fifteen years. But I’ve heard all about you.” “Oh, really  —  what’ve you heard?” “That you married a millionaire, have seven

By Andrew Kolczynski  I’m standing there with a mic threaded up the back of my shirt and two cameras pointed at me while I can’t get through the outro of a fashion documentary we’re shooting. Tears keep welling up my eyes for a few reasons — one being

By Chelsea Butters Wooding For the first 24 years of my life, I wanted what I thought was the “American Dream” — a spouse, 2.5 kids, and a home with a white picket fence. At 24 years old, a six-year relationship I was in ended, and I started asking myself

By Stephen Cohen This essay has been edited from Stephen’s LinkedIn post. Younger folks call me “pops” when they see me in road races, in the weight room, or on a basketball court — and “sir” everywhere else. I appreciate getting noticed and not being invisible. I left 65 behind