Sudden Journeys is about travel as a practice of attention... where place, memory, solitude, and desire reshape how we live, belong, and become.
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On the questions I never thought to ask and difference between loving your parents and knowing them. This essay on what I learned about being curiosity and the questions we forget to ask the people who raised us, and what it actually means to know someone, not just love them.
Nine years after my family crossed an ocean for a fresh start.. on what it cost, what it gave, and why I'd still choose it.
Originally I wrote this essay as a submission to The New York Times' Modern Love column. Their submission guidelines ask that the piece not be published elsewhere while under consideration. It wasn't accepted, but I still believe in it, so I'm sharing it here. All about the morning I stood at the stove making biscuits and gravy and realized I was still performing love for someone who had already…
A 17th-century orphan, the descendants he never met, and the ordinary people who built a country before it was America. Writing from England on July 4th, thinking about my country today, and what it actually means to be American, I trace it back to the first English migrants, ordinary people who risked everything on a rumor of survival across the sea. Their overlooked exodus, not the story we're…
What stayed with me | June 2026 - Inside this month's list: A new Instagram project documenting my last year in the farmhouse, what I'm dreaming about once Fefe leaves for school, the word faeloria, three meals I can't choose between, go-to summer recipes, my summer can’t-live-without product and the question I've been asking everyone at dinner.
On enchantment and the inner life we keep interrupting
What an algorithm can plan, what it never will, and the human work that remains when the logistics are solved.
The research is clear: what we write by hand we keep, what we type slides through us. The hand is slow, and the slowness is where the thinking happens. I've built a life on that slowness. A new essay on handwriting, strangers, and being the only visible interior in the room.
a European rail journey for people who understood
Florence, twenty-something, and the long obedience since. On holding the loss and the hope in the same hand
