Finding Hope

T here’s an old saying... “You never see a U-Haul behind a hearse.” Which is true.  Mostly because that would be deeply alarming. Imagine driving to a funeral and seeing a tiny orange trailer bouncing behind the hearse like somebody still had a few last-minute errands to run.  “Sorry for your loss. Also… we need to stop at Storage King.” And yet, if we’re being honest, most of us live like that tiny trailer is absolutely making the trip.  We spend decades collecting things. Protecting things.  Organizing things.  Moving things from one garage to another slightly larger garage.  We buy storage bins to hold the things that no longer fit in the first storage bins. At this point, every American household contains... three dead batteries,  seven mystery charging cords,  and at least one key nobody recognizes but nobody has the emotional strength to throw away. I know this because a woman three houses over died last winter.  I didn’t know her deepl...

    M y favorite sound in the entire universe is geese honking. Yes. Geese. Honking. Like rusty bicycle horns. Like a trumpet played by someone with a head cold. Like a clown car had a baby with a foghorn. It's not soothing. It's not spa music. It's not what calm people listen to while lying on yoga bolsters made of ethically sourced buckwheat. But still… I love it. Most people hear geese and think: Chaos. Poop. Lawsuits waiting to happen. And honestly? Fair. A goose will chase a grown adult across a public park with the confidence of someone who has never paid taxes and never will. But when I hear geese? I think one thing… Magic. When I'm out walking and I hear them overhead, I freeze. Every time. Like a five-year-old who just spotted Santa in the wild. I tilt my head back like a confused meerkat and watch the little flying V make its way across the sky. And I stay there- absolutely still…until the whole flock passe...

  I t was barely morning. The kind of early where the sun is still deciding if it wants the job. I was out walking the dogs...who, for the record, have never once felt the need to “slow down.” Rosie was sniffing like he was working a crime scene. Benji was pulling like we had somewhere important to be. (We didn’t. We were headed… in a circle.) The air had that quiet to it. That holy kind of quiet. No traffic. No expectations. Just the sound of paws, leashes clicking, and my own thoughts trying to wake up. And then I saw it. A sign. Nailed into a telephone pole like it had something urgent to say. Big. Bold. Impossible to miss. PLEASE SLOW DOWN. Now, I know what it’s for. It’s for the car that comes whipping down the street like it’s late for a meeting that could’ve been an email. For the driver who forgets that neighborhoods aren’t highways- they’re places where kids exist. Where basketballs roll into the street without checking both ways. Where a little girl m...

    I  used to rank the seasons like a man who believed he was in charge of things. Fall was number one. Obviously. Because fall understands drama. Fall arrives like it has a soundtrack. Crisp air. Leaves turning colors that feel almost inappropriate for nature…like trees are showing off before they leave the party. There’s something deeply comforting about watching the world wind down with dignity. And, of course, fall also brings the annual tradition of watching the New York Jets gently and consistently ruin my emotional stability in new and creative ways. It’s ritual. It’s community. It’s character development. Spring, on the other hand, used to feel… suspicious. Too optimistic. Too eager. Like a motivational speaker that hadn’t lived enough life yet. Winter was at least honest. Winter doesn’t pretend. Winter says, “Everything is dead. Let’s sit with that.” I respected that. But spring? Spring felt like it was trying to sell me someth...