beth​woolsey.

We begin to enter an era when even the light grows weary. It heads to bed sooner, and it lingers there longer, and yet I don’t berate the sun for its laziness. For its lack of productivity. For its languid pace, rising less high in the sky, burning a softer yellow, sharing less heat. I…

I am feeling hidey right now. A little quiet and a little uncertain. I am, I suppose, feeling very human. Fragile. Vulnerable. Like I’m shedding a skin, leaving behind a husk that served me well but is past its time, like I’m wriggling incrementally forward, new and soft. It’s October now, suddenly and inevitably, an…

I don’t know what age it is–maybe 34 or 47 or somewhere in between–that we begin to understand on a visceral, urgent level that we have just this one life to live, but there is such a point which is precisely when we find ourselves wanting very badly to quibble with the idea. Where is…

Dread and melancholy aren’t the usual words you see when folks are sharing their vacation pics, but they’re the two words that come to mind today as I sit here living my most ridiculous, best life on a beach in a Greece. It is a vulnerable thing to admit to less than 100% gratitude, as…