The bread that cannot be rushed

Thursday evening I start the dough process. Not because I have to. Because something in me needs to. There is a particular ritual to sourdough that I have come to understand is about far more than bread. You begin with a living starter. Genuinely alive. Fed and tended...

What are you afraid of

I want to tell you something that took me an embarrassingly long time to understand. The Monday dread we talked about on Day 1 is not really about Monday. The hollow feeling on the audit from Day 2 [what fills you]is not really about the job. The drift from Africa...

The smell of Africa

There is a smell that belongs distinctly to Africa. It arrives before dawn. Red earth after rain. The dry warmth of acacia and dust. Something ancient and alive that no other place on earth replicates. If you have experienced it, you never fully leave it behind. It...

What fills you

I have a very reliable test for whether I am living well. My dogs know it before I do. When I come home present, unhurried, unburdened, they feel it immediately. We end up on the floor together. There is laughing. There is chaos. There is nothing I would rather be...

Monday morning dread

I hated Mondays once. Not just the alarm. The whole weight of it. The knowledge that the next five days were something to survive rather than live. Sunday evenings carried a particular darkness, a slow creeping dread that stole the weekend before it was even over. I...

What the phone reveals

We tell ourselves we are measured, rational, composed. Then we pick up our phones. On a train recently, watching a stranger scroll, something became clear. Within minutes, her face moved through joy, concern, hurt, and quiet approval. She didn’t notice. No one...