Pro inimicus sapientem an, ad cibo velit mollis mei, ne vim adhuc gubergren. Vis no intellegebat voluptatibus, vim an partem admodum copiosae.

620 Eighth Avenue, New York, 10018.


+(1) 212-556-3622

Little Life Snapshots

HomeLittle Life Snapshots

Two years ago, I wrote this and it's been sitting, unfinished, in my drafts folder - Somewhere in my dreams, I have a place I go to where you're always small. Of course, this morning, you informed me you're a "little fella." You aren't even three yet, so you are still small, but each day I'm watching you change and grow. When I let myself get caught up in the days, I think I may rush you to grow up a little faster. I may push you to hurry up, and come along, and stop that and use your manners. Luckily, you don't always listen. I wrote that January 25, 2015 at 10:07pm. Here I am, two years and one

I've missed writing. Over the last several months, so many things have happened, but above all what happened was I lost sight of myself. I feel like that's something I have often said over the years. And maybe it is? But this time was different. This time, there was a deep ripple effect and it opened my eyes to many things but mostly to how surrounded I am by people who care about me. It was like a vortex of time that now, when I think about it, is wrapped up in this little package and seems to exist all by itself. But it did happen, and as 2016 drew to a close, and I became more and

Your best friend. Your closest friend. Whatever you call her, and perhaps there are more than one of "her", she is as dear to you as someone can be. You could pick her out of a crowd of ten million. To you, she is the most beautiful woman not only because it's a fact, but because she knows you and still loves you. You can call her at any time of day or night, and with just that connection of the line your worries seem a little less worrisome and a little more conquerable. She is your reserve of strength when you're plumb out. Somehow, she helps you go on. She has the words. All the words you

This is the year I turned 30. It's the year that I thought things would come together. Turning 30 is one of those monumental life changes that you see in the movies and hear about from your friends. It's when life is supposed to make sense. I've only been 30 for about six and a half months, and I would say this has not been the year I thought was in store for me, but isn't that the way it goes? I have questioned more things - about myself, about the world - in these last six months than I have ever in my previous 29 years. I haven't come up with many answers. I found myself in the