First Memory
What I used to call my first memory was the time my sister and I (ages five and two) walked up the road to a gas station and bought a bottle of pop. I know it was a real memory,…
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What I used to call my first memory was the time my sister and I (ages five and two) walked up the road to a gas station and bought a bottle of pop. I know it was a real memory,…
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In your interview with David Schiffman [Issue 138], I found myself again and again troubled by his responses to your questions. Why? Was I envious? Here was a man exactly my own age, who, by his own self-portrait, had evolved…
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What I do best is remember I’m going to die someday. Especially when my life seems to be sailing smoothly, this sense that I’ll end in nothing, that I’ll simply fall off the edge of the world, is the strongest…
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Thoreau observes that “we sit more risks than we run,” meaning that what we don’t do is also a risk. Indeed, playing life safe is the biggest risk of all, because life returns the least to those who play it…
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My biggest disappointment in myself, at age forty-three, is how little I’ve been able to get into the roots of my poor self-concept. Self-acceptance, let alone self-love, is so difficult, so tricky. Yet since acceptance and love of another is…
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