A cool thing about being in contact with so many other adopted people is that it helps keep me honest.

I tried reading a section of Belonging, Remembering Ourselves Home without a pen in hand. I lasted one sentence.

I think my body after 50 is redefining intimacy.

I think about Thoreau a lot as I stay here. My daughter came to visit last night and she also brought up Thoreau. She said we could pretend I was him and she could pretend to be his mother and do my laundry and it could be Walden all over again.

Living in comfort can be so dangerous for the soul. We were meant to be pierced.

I miss you, Mom. I have missed you forever.

I have been trying to figure out why I and so many other adopted people have gut issues.

What does it mean to be connected these days? To whom are we, are you, am I, connected? And why?

The gun first came out in a Los Gatos coffee shop.

The Zen master and teacher Thich Nhat Hanh asked, “What would it be like to awaken each morning in gratitude, aware of the precious gift that the new day has to offer us?”

Last night I had dinner with another adopted person. We both struggle with depression, and we talked about wanting love, wanting a partner who felt like an equal. We talked about our hearts, the tightness of them, and the fear that we will die without having bloomed.

I had this idea when I was working with my memoir-writing group because I didn’t want these writers, at the end of the year when they are done with their project, to feel the way I did when I finished You Don’t Look Adopted.