I always used to say that it didn’t matter that I was better suited to a go-kart than a real car because I’d live in a city.
One of my idealized markers of maturity is the ability to give meaningful, interesting presents to people I love. Right now, I’m not really there.
As you may or may not have already heard, the Oxford Dictionaries Word of the Year is “selfie.”
It seems that, especially on a college campus, reading for pleasure has become a rare activity.
I used to dislike the commercialization, the overeagerness surrounding the “Most Wonderful Time of the Year.” But now I see that maybe it’s not such a bad thing.
There’s more of a symbiotic relationship between the highs and lows of temperament than most people recognize. It’s not so much a dichotomy as a continuum.
I’m smart, but I still like to read mindless things every once in a while.
Lately, I’ve come to think that one of the most valuable things you can give someone is your undivided attention.
We spend a lot of time with the figments of writers’ imaginations, sometimes forgetting that that’s what they are.
One of the rules I used to have for myself was that I’d never see a therapist. I thought that therapy was self-indulgent, excessive, the stuff of Woody Allen movies and not something you do in real life. But that changed two weeks ago.
Solutions by The State News
