A park I'm walking, daily.
A place for love, for connection, for free play.
For families, for mothers, for babies, for the retired, for singles.
For dog lovers, for bird lovers, for squirrel lovers, for flowers.
For sun bathing, for jogging, for yoga, for panevrithmia.
For what we love.
You're welcome to walk in too.
I take readers to benches — long-form essays where you can sit and stay with a thought. To lakes — pieces where I see my own life on the surface. To hills — vantage points on AI, voice, the path of least resistance. To squirrels — small observations from the walk. And to small communities of writers and thinkers I learn from.
Recent essays
- The All-ClearSome of us wake already braced. On the watchman a hard childhood posts inside us, why a dysregulated nervous system is intelligence and not a flaw, and the verified science — from neuroception to post-traumatic growth — that says calm, and even depth, can be built from the hardest start.
- The Dry Day Is What the Practice Is ForIt is six in the morning and there is nothing in me. On spiritual aridity, watering the garden when no rain comes, showing up the way Chuck Close and Marcus Aurelius did, and the reframe that freed me — a value is not what you feel, it is what holds when the feeling is gone.
- You Break at the Stall, Not the StormI never lost myself in the hard times. I lost myself in the calm. On acedia and the noonday demon of the desert monks, Pressfield's Resistance, and why the real danger is not pain but a stall — fuel with nowhere to go, looking for a counterfeit to burn.
- The Addict and the Devotee Are the Same PersonI cannot do 'a little' — of anything. On why abstinence is easier than moderation for some of us, what Gabor Maté means by 'why the pain,' and the discovery that the fire which makes an addict is the same fire that makes a devotee. The only question is what it burns.
- One Is Suffering, the Other Is DepthWhen you turn off the screen, something steps forward into the quiet. On the Buddha's two arrows, Rumi's guest house, Rilke's dragons, and the difference between an ache you flee and an ache you can sit beside — one keeps you shallow, the other becomes the water you draw from.