I Want a God Like NASA
I don’t feel comfortable when people talk about God’s perfect plan, probably because I don’t believe in it.
Love Is a Sentence
We promise love between sheets and in delivery rooms and at hospital bedsides. We say “God is love” and “the greatest of these is love.” But when it comes down to it, whenever we talk about love, none of us are really saying the same thing.
I’m scared she gonna die
I write a check to my church. I send twenty bucks to missionary friends in Romania. You got a dollar, buddy?
Tea and Tranquility
I discovered tranquility in that teahouse. I didn’t even recognize it at first, not until after we slipped off our shoes and backpacks and followed the woman inside, and not until after we padded across tatami floors to sit criss-cross in a plain room.
This Is a Lie
Turns out it’s a myth. An urban legend perpetuated because it’s good for you. It gets kids to brush their teeth, reduces sugar intake. Establishes good habits.
PunchTrump Love
I don’t know about Saudi Arabia. I’m not rich, either. I don’t lead an empire. I don’t have Kurt Cobain’s talent or Robin Williams’ fame or Donald Trump’s confidence. I’m just another guy.
The Internet is Cowboy Country
It’s not a pretty place. The hazy opium dens and the tobacco-smoke saloons disappeared from dusty California mining towns long ago, and they’ve since set up shop here. You want opium? You got it. How about Craigslist prostitutes? pirated textbooks? fake I.D.s or stolen credit cards?
Me and My Book
No one believes it. I didn’t believe it, until I grabbed the bumper, tried to lift, and realized I didn’t even know how to grip the thing. I’m writing about an experience I still don’t fully understand, and the sharing of it is even more incomprehensible.
I Am Failing
I know that the muscled, emotionally stable mountain climber who woos intelligent women, writes bestselling memoirs, and dispenses wisdom to a crowd of intimate friends won’t ever materialize.
Same-Day Devilry
Amazon, for all its bullying and undercutting, holds no monopoly. It is, in fact, the opposite: a monopsonist, a beloved monster reversing the grapes of wrath, in a sense, so product flows like honey while the sellers rot.
Lucky
One day of climbing and two nights of camping and an eternity of driving down this endless, evening road when I rounded a turn and my headlights found a hitchhiker.
Homeless
I’m typing this in Shari’s, where I paid seven dollars for late-night wifi, warmth, and a place to charge my phone—plus bonus buffalo wings—after spending the evening in a library and showering at a gym.
A Writer’s Creed
It spoke to Plath the suicidal, Keruouc the drunk, Hemingway the shotgunned, and—Snyder, voice of Buddhist Beats, who did not die of lead or alcohol, but found peace in tin cups and axe handles.
The Gays and the Jewish Media
The car was mostly empty. A few solo riders in the front half, and a family in the back. No security or ticket-takers.
Sitting in the Aisle
You don’t talk to people on the Metro. You don’t talk to coworkers, you don’t talk to friends, and you especially don’t talk to strangers. Talking is the mark of the tourist.