Calypso

Remember The New Yorker . You subscribed because you liked it. Then it taunted you with its endless words, pages and pages demanding to be read. It reminded you of all the time you didn’t have to spend reading The New Yorker . Whenever you glimpsed the growing pile, you felt mild panic. Every time you recycled an unread issue, you felt like a waste... See more

this isn't how I planned for my life to look like," I whispered under my breath as I walked to my car "tell me about it," an eavesdropping cloud replied to me from above I looked up and watched the cloud billow between looking like a dove and an open hand the cloud continued: "I used to be a snowfield in Montana. I used to be a dewdrop kiss o... See more

“No he did not,” Dunham retorts. “He did,” Karr assures her. She reflects on the experience: “I was so glad that I had turned it off. I got to help him to feel a little better or whatever, feel like he had some agency in the world. What did that cost me? Do you know what I mean? For me, a lot of times I walk into Mass and I look at people and I thi

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Calling him a saint is just a way of letting ourselves off the hook. After riding around with Charlie, I find it shocking to realize how simple it would be to see myself as a worthless servant, to find joy in the service of others, to open my heart and let it remain open to everyone, everyone, all the time. The trick is in the decision to wake up e

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