If I could distill everything that I have learnt about love and attraction and lust and life and persistence and bravery and marriage and children and facing your fears and growing up? If I could do that, it would be this slim book. I stumbled across Cheryl Strayed, in (as usual) a Farnam Street post. And then promptly bought all her books and forgot about reading them. Better late than never though. ...
This was the best collection of short stories, I’ve read since O’Henry. No O’Henriesque twists, but fate and life and love deal the characters and us readers, enough drama that none are needed. A couple of lines, that struck me … Raymond didn’t like to talk back to his sister, but this time he thought she was wrong to say what she did. ...
This little book, had me yelling, “YEA! HELL, YEA!” at every page. The book’s evolved from this really beautiful lament, which is available online and has a newer section titled Exultation. The article has the main thrust of the book and is worth your time. (as is the book, specially if you have kids, or you teach kids, or if you want to shape someone’s thinking about Mathematics) Highlights from the book follow … ...
I kept reading books and articles about solitude and discomfort and boredom. This Michael Easter book covers all of it, succinctly in the frame of a journey to the Alaskan wilderness. Worth a read. Highlights from the book follow … “When our ancestors weren’t searching for food or getting pummeled by mastodons, they had long moments of downtime, lounging around for hours a day. They had to make something out of their boredom. ...
This post was first sent to my newsletter on July 4th, 2021. You really ought to subscribe :) Abby calls it Chinese Gulab, while I, in honour of all the hard work Abby puts in (and the natural pot she’s made for it), call it my coconut flower. It’s a Moss Rose, (Portulaca grandiflora.) ...
This post was first sent to my newsletter on May 2nd, 2021. You really ought to subscribe :) Snow clouds rolling down a mountain peak, near Se La. Click to embiggen I don’t know the name of this bird, I only imagine his glittering beak tucked in a white wing while the clouds— which he has summoned from the north— which he has taught to be mild, and silent— thicken, and begin to fall into the world below like stars, or the feathers of some unimaginable bird ...