If you are struggling to write your story, here’s an idea: take a piece of paper and draw a line down the middle. Scribble on the right hand side. That chaos is your story in embryo form. The problem is you think it’s your story.

For a long time, I had confused the deep urge to expresss myself and live with anger or depression or trouble.

I had a friend who would sometimes call me “Poor thing” when I’d tell him a story where I was suffering in my life.

“Our podcast dropped today,” Amy texted me. “When you have time, I’d love to hear your thoughts.” I put Bird’s collar and leash back on, opened the car door, and headed out to do more walking.

I’m always surprised when I get a book from the library and find someone had written notes all over the pages.

In You Don’t Look Adopted, I wrote that in my life I felt as if I had one foot on the gas and one foot on the brake.

This is a strange thing, to go from a body that has to move vigorously to a body that’s only willing to walk.

I had a familiar feeling today when I was out in the woods with Bird: I gotta get out of here.

I have been reading a new book by David Lauterstein and Jeff Rockwell called The Memory Palace of Bones, and it has me thinking about my skeleton and the stories that it holds.

I wrote the blog post yesterday about frozen dreams because I felt like I wasn’t going to be able to write the post I really wanted to write: this one.

Maybe when a baby is adopted, they should come to their new family wearing a t-shirt that says I’M GOING TO CAUSE TROUBLE so everything would be out in the open from day one.

I’m inviting you to join me in these groups because I believe in myself; I believe in Dr. Joyce, and I believe in you. I believe we can make good things happen if, together, we put our shoulders to the wheel of what we believe is true and push.