On necessary atrophy (or 8 days to Step One)

I want to move. I want to spend the day outside with the glorious Florida spring soaking up the rays of sun before I leave for Pennsylvania. I want to lift the heavy things with my partner. I want to set up my slackline next to my hammock and casually move between the two as I watch the sun trace a path across the sky.

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On cut hair (or a meditation on identity)

For a while, I told myself that I would cut my hair to express mourning. I liked the idea of physically showing inner turmoil after the death of a family member, an outside change to reflect the inside like the ancient Greeks or Prince Zuko. Removing choice from the equation felt simpler: if someone dies, then I cut my hair. No decision to be made and no discussion or feedback to elicit.

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