After months of anticipation and goodbyes to my friends, school, and neighborhood the five of us got on the plane, me, my brother, my sister, Mom and Dad. I felt more like a family unit than ever as we entered the unknown together. When we arrived at the Brussels airport after connections, a sleepless night, and a massive time change to a foreign country where we would now live, my siblings and I were excited to see the signs we couldn’t read, the food we didn’t usually eat

Mo, our pet turtle, ambles along the edge of my bedroom while I write this. His shell, which is actually a part of his body, not separate from him, hits the sideboards, the potted plant, almost knocks over a glass of water, until I hear him underneath my chair. When I peak over the edge of my notebook he stretches his purpley-blue neck far out of his shell and looks up at me with a sideways facing eyeball. He blinks once. I reach for him and place him into the blanket on my

Last week I visited my ninety-eight-year-old Grandmother. Born in 1915, raised on a farm, and then working as a teacher, Grandma Guinther spent her whole life being schooled, or schooling others in what was “right.” Correct behavior, table manners, pronunciation, spelling. Now she has dementia and lives in a memory care facility with others who no longer have the capacity to care for themselves. When I visit her I often struggle with what to do while I am there. She’s wheel

The work of letting go has been to discover what life is like when I’m not spending it in offense or defense (protection or grasping). These offensive and defensive moments often happen during interactions with others, of course, but the most profound offensive and defensive behavior was what I discovered inside of myself. I woke up every morning and noticed that there was a part of me, that was already chattering away about the day ahead—what will I do, where will I go, what

The journey is not to find Truth but to discover what is not truth. Truth cannot be found, it is always and always here. I read these kinds of koans for years thinking of them as puzzles to chew on, until an answer arrived, like working a Rubik's Cube until all the colors aligned. But really there is nothing to think about, thinking muddles the truth further rather than clarifying anything. And so it sometimes feels futile to attempt to write about all of this, and yet I feel

I set out to write what arises, to follow this flow of words from the heart, wherever they lead. Somedays I’ve thought to write something different, or to try to control what comes. “Maybe,” I think, “I can tell that funny story about that time when I lived in Australia and went to the beach to watch the kite surfers…” But then I catch myself planning and recall that I’ve vowed not to plan this. I’ve promised myself not to think out any of these entries, but rather to write

It’s a dream, yet there’s worse happening in reality. Along with empathy, guilt moves through for my privileged life, for my lack of suffering. It’s moments like these when the power of believing thoughts is transparent. I find myself in a state of sad loneliness because of a dream my mind created. Yet, this alone is not a bad thing. The empathy and love I feel as a result connects me to the whole of the human experience. The part that is useless is the guilt, helplessness, d

One of the most difficult cultural messages to unravel in my own inner life has been the message of “the doer.” I, and most people I know, was taught — you are what you do. This wasn’t overtly state of course, rather it was subtle programming that seeped in through watching the world around me: Be productive Cross things off your list Have a good time Don’t forget to smile. We’re taught from an early age to seek external recognition and praise for all these things that we