Tag Archives: existentialism

Existential work theme | Field notes from the Pacific coast

This is a series of posts I started in late May and plan to continue for 40 days, with a goal of hitting 50,000 words by July 5. It’s inspired by a three-day solo trek on the Washington coast, with … Continue reading

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River Theme | Field notes from the Pacific Coast

This is a series of posts I started in late May and plan to continue for 40 days, with a goal of hitting 50,000 words by July 5. It’s inspired by a three-day solo trek on the Washington coast, with … Continue reading

Posted in death, identity, Memoir, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 12 Comments

Love songs, prose, for the Pacific coast

How the clouds hung on the horizon off the water and made two lines, I thought they were grinding their teeth. All the mountains ground down from the pressure of the sky pushing on them and the earth, where they … Continue reading

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“In the midst of life we are in debt, et cetera”

Wednesday, that day time slows every week, with Lily on a late-start for school, the possibility we could all sleep in until 7:30 but never do, a day I work from home with Charlotte on early release, meaning she gets … Continue reading

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‘Blood stain from a rabbit carcass on the front doorstep’

It took me 55 minutes to walk from my mother-in-law Beth’s back to our house after dinner. It was dusk but I didn’t get rained on, I got home before dark. There’s a part of the walk that goes up … Continue reading

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First there is a mountain then there is no mountain, then there is

There was the outfit I’d worn the day before and probably the day before that, in a pile on the floor by the bed. I sat up and got into it like I was going in reverse, stood up, slapped … Continue reading

Posted in Memoir, travel, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 23 Comments

‘Reentry Burns,’ coming back to America

When I got back from Germany Dawn met me at the airport and we went for lunch at the brewhouse. The bathroom smelled the same as it always did and I think the bartender recognized me, even though we’d been … Continue reading

Posted in identity, Memoir, travel | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 12 Comments