Stop me if you’ve heard this one before.
My wife and I are celebrating ten years together. But we chose to push off having kids.
Elizabeth revisits the literary thinkers she encountered at age sixteen. And aren't we all searching for wisdom?
Potash Feldspar woke up and looked at the time. There, glowing brighter as the day progressed, the information projected on the closed drapes read 8:01AM. 58 degrees Fahrenheit. Hanetz at 8:45AM. His tired old eyes widened slowly and he rolled over to see his wife lying next to him, still sound asleep. Mr. Feldspar got dressed and put on his watch, which synced effortlessly to the drapes and his vitals came on screen. “Modeh Ani L’fanechah” he began to recite to himself.
I worked hard, eschewed fun, focused my soul on my book... and got a publishing nightmare. And the sense that maybe, sometimes, the present transcends the future.
I've long bought into the idea of artists inspired by pain. But this myth is both dangerous and inaccurate. Honest, authentic creation must stem from a peaceful mind.
Elizabeth learns to "bridge worlds", and to reject the idea of different worlds being separate in the first place.
From Hasidic questioners to rebellious nuns and priests, limit-pushers within tight-knit groups have a special camaraderie. I'm jealous.
