I recently watched “The Four Seasons” and found myself unexpectedly identifying with the woman who had become, perhaps, a little fixated on a toddler. Which led me to an uncomfortable question: Am I baby crazy?

My friend, who is more than a friend, is my chosen neighbor. My chosen family. A driveway and a small hill sit between us. An easy ninety-second walk. She was supposed to turn a large shed into an office for her counseling practice. That was the plan. We had it placed on my land during a time when plans still felt like something you could count on. But life moved faster than that. The pandemic shifted everything. She skipped right past the office and built herself a home. Jus

Every morning, my early-rising friend texts me. Or I text her. We don’t plan it. We just both know one of us is awake before most normal people. If I had to be up at 4 a.m. to catch an early flight, I’d think that was so incredibly early—like most people do. I remember a seventh-grade history teacher—hauntingly tall, with overapplied makeup that made her look like a clown, the unsettling kind. She told us she got up at 4 a.m.—that just made her seem even weirder And now— My p

Rocky Boat There are days when my insides just feel unsettled. Ungrounded. If I were a boat, it would be on a day when the waves were choppy. The sky, gray. No rhyme or reason for this kind of weather. It catches me off guard. So my footing is off. It’s scary. My throat is tight because I am acutely aware I am weathering a storm without my right-hand person. I am acutely aware I am weathering it alone. There are no tools in my grief-repairing toolbox to fix this. I just have