This is an excerpt from the first piece of creative nonfiction writing I've ever submitted for publication. I'm still waiting to hear whether it made the cut BUT today is the tenth anniversary of the start of the climactic weekend of the piece, which seemed like a decent reason to put this part of it out into the world.

On this first anniversary of my “great resignation,” here are some of the most important lessons I've learned about changing careers and striking out on your own.  

Spring is the perfect time to lay the groundwork for compelling storytelling in your nonprofit's year-end solicitation and stewardship plans.

Where is the line between what's an acceptable flaw and what's not? How do we, as individuals, normalize objectively terrible things in the interest of personal comfort, entertainment, or even love?

I went deep and far more emotional on the name change a year and a half ago when the wheels on this jalopy started turning. As for today's news, I'll be much briefer—and more cynical.

Take your small child out in the snow, they said! It'll be fun, they said! (They neglect to tell you about the getting them dressed, part.)

Many of us, especially those of us with small children, could use something to help us endure this cold, dark, and depressing chapter of the pandemic. Here are a few podcasts that may fit that bill.

We *can* tell better fundraising stories, and it doesn't have to hurt. I share lessons learned from the trenches in this post for Donor Relations Guru.

We *can* tell better fundraising stories, and it doesn't have to hurt. I share lessons learned from the trenches in this post for Donor Relations Guru.

Saturday is the 10th anniversary of one of my greatest life achievements. Why, then, do I feel less than thrilled about it?

I can’t in good faith defend Nate’s actions throughout Season 2. But I will defend his humanity and argue that he’s more realistic and relatable than just about any other Ted Lasso character.

That’s the way I thought sports was supposed to be. It’s like marriage. Once you choose your team, they’re yours, for better or for worse, for sicker or for poorer, til death do you part. What I didn’t realize was: That didn’t have to be the case.

How much better would I face things now if I knew that, all along, things weren’t actually OK? That my parents really didn’t know how anything was going to play out? That we just had to deal with uncertainty as it breathes?

These days, as the parent of a toddler, getting up early is par for the course. Being late April, the sun was a bit of a later riser than it was on those summer vacations. I could simply set an alarm for 6:15 a.m., roll out of bed, pull on a sweater and take my balcony seat for the day’s show.

It’s terrifying to realize that the “dream job” you’d been working toward for a long time isn’t. Especially when you have a child. Especially when you’re staring down your 38th birthday.

When I look back on this lost year, I’ll of course remember the headlines — but also the mishmash of simple, sometimes unexpected things that have held me together.

There’s a fascinating story about the days before my grandmother passed that I won’t go into, partly because I don’t trust my memory about it. But I *do* remember vividly the limo ride to New York.

Six months ago, I grudgingly took my son to pediatric physical therapy. Now, I’m devastated it’s over.

Sitting here more than five hours after the insurrection, things haven’t all burned down — yet. But it’s hard to feel like they haven’t. The “peaceful transfer of power,” gone — up in proverbial smoke.

Men in Blazers was something dependable in a world gone unmoored, providing an escape from our anxiety-ridden existence and even helping prod our stubborn toddler into walking.