Anything about Everything

We’re always waiting for something… Friday . Vacation . The weekend. The next paycheck . The next promotion . The next relationship milestone . The next chapter . The next version of ourselves . We’re constantly looking ahead. And sometimes I wonder how much of our actual lives we’re missing because we’re so busy waiting for the next thing to happen. Fall has a funny way of making me think about that. The world slows down. The days get quieter. The trees put on their ridiculous little fashion show and then drop everything they’ve been holding onto. No rushing. No panic. No five-year plan. Just change. And maybe we could use a little more of that. Maybe this season doesn’t need to be about accomplishing everything. Maybe it can be about noticing something. The way the morning air feels different. The smell of coffee. A favorite sweatshirt. A good book. A conversation that makes you laugh until your stomach hurts. The first really cold night when you realize yo...

There is something about October that makes me want to slow the eff down. The air gets cooler. The days get shorter. The leaves start changing. Everyone collectively decides that candles are suddenly a personality trait. And honestly? I’m here for it. But there’s something else I love about fall. It reminds me that change doesn’t always have to be loud. The leaves don’t wake up one morning and announce, “GUYS, I’VE DECIDED TO BECOME A DIFFERENT VERSION OF MYSELF.” They just change . Quietly. Naturally. One day they’re green . Then they’re yellow . Then orange . Then red . And eventually, they let go. I’ve been thinking a lot about that lately. About how often we treat change like something that needs a dramatic announcement. A new job. A new relationship. A new year. A new haircut. A new version of ourselves that we proudly introduce to the world. But maybe some of the most important changes happen quietly. Maybe growing doesn’t always look like becoming someone ...

Twenty-five years. Twenty-five years since a Tuesday morning changed countless lives, our country, and the world forever. Seven years ago, I wrote a post about the way we remember September 11th. I wrote it from a place of frustration—frustration with the performative ways tragedy can sometimes be shared, with the endless circulation of horrific images, and with people inserting themselves into stories that were never theirs to tell. At the heart of it, though, I was trying to say something that still matters deeply to me: Remember the people. Respect the grief. Don’t make someone else’s pain about you. As we mark the 25th anniversary, I found myself returning to that post and wondering how I would write it now. The truth? I don’t think I need to rewrite it. I think I just need to sit beside it for a minute. You can read the original post here: [ Hallowed Ground ] . I’m sharing it again because the questions I was wrestling with in 2019 still matter. But I’m also sharing it ...