The Feed

Something I wrote in college: “Hurt people hurt people.” I want to live in a world where hurt people heal people instead. Artists and hyperactive overthinkers do it best. Give us time and space and we will bleed ink across your scars. Give a writer your sorrows and she will poison the tip of her pen just to protect you. Give an artist your pain and he will start painting. Give it all to them. Because anyone can stare at a sunset and call it beautiful. But creators, inventors,

When I say I want all of the luxuries in life, I am saying I want to be covered in dirt and dipped in a lake. All I want is a few extra seconds in the rain, a few extra seconds of watching the sky drain, a few extra seconds of standing on a mountain, watching my past life close up behind me and the new one unfolding at the highest peak in front of me. I am okay with a few more seconds standing in a hurricane. My wealth is not measured in coins or change. It’s a piggy bank sha

something about new zealand's oceans reminded me that it’s okay to appear peaceful and tame, yet be capable of carrying unmeasurable depth. to carry mysteries so big, yet only offer the quick flash of a whale tail on the surface. to show that beneath a shiny exterior exists answers waiting for discovery. something about the downpours of the rainforest, only a few miles from drought stricken hills, reminded me that even the earth sobs and because it does, everything beneath i

Yesterday I met Peter, an older gentleman from my neighborhood. He patted my pup on the head and told me his wife goes to the pound to find the most troubled dog she can—because she believes she can fix them.“And she does,” he said with a smile. Today I met his wife. I waved from across the road, and she hurried over like an old friend. My usually shy pup melted under her touch, tail thumping with joy. “I like to go to the pound and pick the dogs with the most problems,” she