nonfiction

Handlebars

The next time you find yourself stuck, paralyzed by the fear of writing and dreading the task of wrestling your thoughts onto the page, go outside and ride a bike.

Don’t ask me where I’m from

By your 40s you should have an answer to “where are you from?”, but every time you’re asked you curl inwards on yourself, imploding like a star that will never go supernova.

Beep Pray Roar

Roar. I fell in love with the car in 2017, and two years later have saved enough to bring it home.