An archive of all of the personal essays we’ve published at Hippocampus Magazine over the years.
The narrative of my own musical lineage … still grows in intricate, intertwining branches and swelling crescendos in bold, arpeggiated chords toward what I hope will someday be a magnificent finale.
On a cold, dull Sunday in January I began studying charts, getting to get to know my patients before making rounds as part of my geriatrics fellowship in inpatient internal medicine.
I was the kind of nine year old who proudly invited my best friend over to Dad’s place without taking into consideration that most kids my age did not have fathers like mine.
My three children, whom I birthed, look nothing like me, thank goodness. I am a six footer, WASP-y, with a long face, a crooked nose, and histrionic hair…
Obsessive-compulsive disorder is sometimes described as a hiccup, or loop, in the brain. Instead of thoughts moving smoothly one to the next, a person with OCD gets stuck on a “bad,” or threatening thought…
As a six foot, four inch man who weighs two-hundred and thirty-five pounds and used to be able to bench two-hundred and fifty, I’ve got this.
I don’t know why I thought the drive from Indiana to California with my boyfriend, Matt, and his sister’s cats would be fun.
There are about ten days each year that the Tripp family spends all together. This, generally agreed upon by the Trapp family, is enough to last us the other 355.
I saw my dead sister sipping coffee early in the morning at Grand Central Station. I was scrambling for the train that would take me to Lexington and 52nd when I saw her leaning on the granite newel of the East Balcony staircase…
There is an earthquake in Japan, and I hold my hands on my belly that seizes with the rumble of patting feet. The news warns of tsunami waves as close as California or Hawaii and as far as Japan.
