Last summer, I received a letter from the Miss Teen Beauty Pageant. The letter informed me that I was recommended for the pageant by someone anonymous. When I first received it, I threw it aside and didn’t look at it for a few days. I wasn’t interested in being in a beauty pageant. Still, the more I thought about it, the more I thought I should give it a try.
For the average person, engaging in some light conversion is enjoyable. For me, it’s akin to torture. That might seem like a gross exaggeration, but it’s the truth. I know that it will not get easier if I simply avoid it, so I force myself into conversation several times each day. Whether I’m asking a question in class or making small talk at work, I can’t speak to someone without
My visit to the Great Stupa of Dharmakaya in the Colorado mountains was, by design, an unresearched event. I wanted to experience the visit with no preconceived notions. So, on the way from Walden to Ft. Collins, I turned left at a little roadside community called Rustic and drove up a steep, windy washboard road for five miles until I reached the parking lot for the Shambhala Mountain Center. A
Here’s a thing about me: I hate getting out of bed in the morning. When I was young, my mother warned me to always be careful about using the word “hate.” It was a powerful thing, she told me. It could hurt others’ feelings and eventually turn me into a bitter person. It couldn’t be taken back, either. Once I spoke it into being, it was there to stay. So trust
Greg (not his real name) appeared at my door hurting and shattered. I ushered him inside and gave him a hug, perhaps the first he’d had in months that wasn’t from his kids. “How are you?” I asked. “I’ve been better,” he said, tearing up. I took him into the kitchen and poured two cups of coffee. “Who knows you’re here?” I asked, sitting down across from him. “My wife
It was four years ago when, for the first time, wildflowers stepped into my world. My husband Sevan and I took our boys fishing at Eleven Mile Reservoir. My mind and heart were burdened with anxiety on the drive. Staring blankly out of the car’s window, I was questioning whether my husband and I were being responsible parents in allowing honesty and compassion to influence our business decisions, sometimes to
