Sunday began not unlike any other day I’ve flown from here to there. My phone was charged, my mid-flight book was readily accessible in my backpack, and my bottle of water was filled. I’d spent the previous three days in Los Angeles with my friends and my other half, having the best time doing nothing …
I don’t handle death well. Not that I have too much experience with it, but the few times I’ve been forced to face it, I don’t feel like I’ve processed it all that well. I was never clued in on how I was supposed to grieve. This whole “human experience” thing should really come with …
Do I unfollow someone who has died? It’s an odd question but it’s something I’ve been thinking about. Among the byproducts of this digital age where social media is as ubiquitous as air or water are the dormant accounts left behind by those who’ve passed. They serve as epitaphs of sorts; logs of lives wherein …
When I was 19 years old, I floated down the middle of Bourbon Street on Fat Tuesday. Ten months earlier, I wasn’t succeeding in class, wasn’t succeeding outside of class, felt disoriented in regards to my future and needed a structured incubator where I could find the pieces of myself that seemed scattered and in …
In eighth grade, something in me broke that would affect me for years. Two somethings actually: my tibia and my spirit. A weekend before Thanksgiving, I was running an obstacle course on the primary-colored playground of the local elementary school with my dad and my brother. We’d wandered there together with the intention of spending …
Ryan Brinson 