Not on the surface but somewhere beneath, in the quiet seams where metal meets metal, where memory is stored as tension.
Read MoreField Note: On Going it Alone (and Swimming Together)
There was a running joke within the company that everyone was afraid of me. Either terrified to tell me of a mistake that would cause more work for me or too afraid to disrupt me and waste my time, everyone approached with caution.
Read MoreMargin Note: America's Slow-Motion Collapse
A short entry from my reading life—a few notes, thoughts, and feelings stirred up by recent books.
Read MoreField Note: On Circling Back (and Making it Count)
It’s funny how the smallest things signal a shift. Lartia burrowing beneath blankets. A breeze creeping through the windows before sunrise because we haven’t taken the air conditioner out yet. The way we’ve both started talking about “the apartment” like it’s something we’re building, not just living in.
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