In the midst moments
I’m writing this post because I’m procrastinating on my current copywriting assignment. This is the current state of my affairs: I do productive things to put off other productive things. That isn’t a humble brag—I’m not that disciplined. I’m just that busy. And sleep is a necessary thing, apparently. (I keep trying to pretend it
Despite many vocal doubters, the gender pay gap is real. Women make less money than their male counterparts for the same work. There are decades and centuries of social conventions and constructions, sexist legislation and policies, self doubt, and oppression wrapped up in that truth—too many emotions, too much pain to attempt to fairly and
I am sitting on the beach in Barcelona. I am sitting on the beach, and for the first time in the three years since I outgrew my last one, I regret that I do not own a bathing suit. The day is warm, the water is clear, and I am surrounded by locals and tourists
You know when everything in your life inexplicably revolves around one thing? Like, WHAM! POW! Pay attention to this! For me, lately it’s been the kind of life I want to live. And death. I’m reading They Both Die at the End, a YA book set in a world in which people get a phone
I’ve been thinking about vocation a lot lately. Like many other people my age, I want my job to matter in some way. It’s not essential, but it would be the icing on the cake. It’d make waking up and coming in to work that much easier. From what I’ve read and heard and seen,
True confessions: I never outlined a single one of my essays in high school or college before I wrote them. Okay, that’s not strictly factual, but when I was required to turn in an outline prior to the completion of the essay, I wrote only the bare bones and didn’t look at it again until
“I must confess that over the last few years I have been gravely disappointed with the white moderate. I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro’s great stumbling block in the stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen’s Council-er or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate who is more devoted
The last time I was confident, I was eight years old, wearing a yellow leotard, and belting out “I Just Can’t Wait to Be King” onstage at our local theatre. I was about as un-self-conscious as a person could possibly be. And I was happy. For much of my childhood, I was LOUD. I demanded