The whole world’s in the label business. Every time we turn around, somebody’s jamming a label on us. Not those “Hi, My name is” stick-ums, Not any sort of tangible, visible label, in fact, but psychological Post-It® notes. Read more »

She was standing in line at Costco. Next to two people I took to be her parents. Perhaps in her thirties. Pretty. But obviously feeling very awkward. Shifting from foot to foot. Taking her hands out of her pockets, then putting them back in. She had burn scars everywhere–her face, her arms, her neck. Some kind of shiny salve ringed her lovely blue eyes. The fingers on her right hand, I noticed on one trip out of her pocket, were stubs, burned off down to the middle joint. Read more »

You’re not perfect. I’m not perfect. Nobody’s perfect. Give it up. Read more »