Note: I wrote this piece two years ago, and reprint it every February. Sending love to all those who feel alone; I have been there too. I used to dread Valentine’s Day, the holiday of the loved and desired. My friend Hannah would dress confidently in her fuzzy red sweater, brown curls bobbing around her oval face and perky figure. She smiled with anticipation. There would be a pink card and teddy bear from her boyfriend. She would get a cookie from her co-worker who eyed her

One night I was 17, my friends Joe, Peter, and I watched Monty Python’s The Life of Brian. (As with all Monty Python, this is not a film to watch if you are easily offended or if you take your bible quite seriously.) We lay on the floor in front of the T.V, ate popcorn, and giggled ourselves silly. In fact, we heaved with laughter, tears streaming down our faces, clutching at each other and holding our aching bellies. At the climax of the film, Brian, who is decidedly “not th

(Reprinted from February 11, 2019) I used to dread Valentine’s Day, the holiday of the loved and desired. My friend Hannah would dress confidently in her fuzzy red sweater, brown curls bobbing around her oval face and perky figure. She smiled with anticipation. There would be a pink card and teddy bear from her boyfriend. She would get a cookie from her co-worker who eyed her longingly, and a late-night breathy phone call from her ex. Hannah’s only concern was what to wear fo

I used to love P.D. Eastman’s book, Are You My Mother? The story was about a baby bird whose mother was nowhere to be found when he hatched. The baby bird wandered about, lost and alone, in search of his mommy. He hopped everywhere, asking all the animals, “Are you my mother?” The dog answered “No”. The cow answered “No”. The baby bird kept on, asking every creature if they were his mother, until he finally found his mother again. I identified with that baby bird. In the begi