I had the experience the other day, yet again, of catching my reflection in the window of my car and having the startling stomach-drop feeling of wrong wrong wrong.

By the way, The Passenger is rife with really bad, crude jokes. I was so shocked at the first one I read it three time. Brilliance AND bathroom humor?? What more could I ask for?

I think for some people, maybe everyone in my class, writing badly means sounding like yourself.

She picked out stationary cards with a black horse on the front because she knew black horses were my favorite.

Hunger is full of clues. How amazing to make space for this language! To listen to it. To give it room to exist.

Being in community with other adopted people is amazing, and I want as much amazing in my life as possible.

Go dig a hole in your backyard.

If writing or creating were easy, it would be called eating ice cream.

What gets in the way of adoptees (human beings!) feeling free to talk about their feelings and experiences and beliefs?

I have been thinking a lot recently about why so many adopted people struggle with feeling free enough to tell/write their story. I wrote these sections with that question in mind.

I’ve often fantasized and written about wishing I could clear the Etch-A-Sketch of me, like I was a blackboard covered in chalk marks.

I was going to put this in the trash, and then I thought—but I put so much work into it.