I won’t say we can’t be fit and healthy, but I can say we aren’t exactly known for those characteristics. We are stereotyped as pasty, tortured, intellectual, deeply troubled people with a penchant for alcohol.
I’d been a Twitter-hater up until then. I was all over Facebook, but I didn’t get … how anyone would find wisdom in a 140-character distillation of Justin Bieber’s deepest thoughts.
I realized calling myself a professional writer didn’t matter as much as I had thought, and that was actually a good thing. It knocked the pedestal out from under this career choice.
When my son, Charley, first asked me what my job was, I turned away from my dual-screen iMac and told him I was a graphic designer. He stood silent, face blank.
What could a pair of Disney princesses and the COO of Facebook have in common? In a Venn diagram of girls and words, of rebellion and equality, there’s more overlap than you’d imagine.
Last month, I broke a promise to my husband. It was a vow we’d made together, many years ago, when we swore we’d never pass our bad habits to our kids.
As a writer and a reader, I’m a scavenger of words, their roots sunk deep in time. I dig through layered meanings, brush the ragged edges of long-forgotten definitions, frilled and feathered connotations.