Journal Entries
Notes from the Road
Let’s just get this out of the way. I have COVID. Seoul is a city of 9.9 million people, so yes, I wore masks like it was 2020. Not those flimsy blue ones you get at the doctor’s office. Not the cloth Everlane ones I wore throughout the pandemic. I
Chapter 50
Today at 12:35 pm, I turned 50 and began my fifty-first rotation around the sun. I am writing from Korea, inside a 400-year-old hanok, a traditional stick-frame house with a clay-tiled roof. It’s the perfect place to start our adventure in Seoul. I feel emotional being here in the motherland.
Mount Hallasan
I am headed to South Korea in a few short days, and all I can think about is hiking. I plan to do about six trails in Seoul, Daegu, and Jeju Island, the last of which is Mount Hallasan, a dormant volcano and the highest peak in the country. The
Chapter 49: Epilogue
I am officially two weeks away from turning fifty, and I feel the weight of it—not in a bad way, but in a way that makes you feel like you are headed into the third act of your life. Mortality has planted a seed in my brain, and it’s beginning
Fifty
In a few short months, I turn fifty. Fifty! What kind of sorcery is this? I remember when I got my first office job in 2001, my boss, Chuck, had just turned fifty. He seemed like such a grown-up! I remember thinking I would never be that grown up. Of
Highway 50 is closed.
Taking time off from work is delightful and also a little disorienting. I’ve been publishing consistently on Sundays for the better part of a year, but now I have all the time in the world to write. Every day is like Sunday. Except it’s not. Today is Wednesday. In 2021,
She built the creative house I live in
I have spent the last few days trying to understand why I feel such grief about Heather Armstrong’s passing. I knew her, but not well. We worked together in 2008 on one of the first parenting web series on the Internet, Momversation. There are not enough words to explain my feelings
The Saint Johns
I am home under Portland’s gray skies, sitting outside in a neighborhood coffee shop, and writing this letter to you. It feels like it’s 2019! There are kids and dogs and grown-ups and conversations all around me. This cafe is teeming with life, and I feel the energy of it.
If we don’t have it, you don’t need it.
I’ve been stationed in Norwich, Vermont, and the time has been spent with people I adore being around. I am visiting my friend AP, one of the brightest, most successful, and funniest people I know. She is fiercely loving and honest, constantly screaming at me to have better boundaries and
Wingman
Sixteen years ago, my friend Garth Hoblitzell passed away on September 26th from an overdose. Our lives intersected ever so briefly, but he left such an indelible mark on my heart. So many people from that period in my life made me laugh uncontrollably, and he was at the top
