A return to old habits post divorce.

What it’s like to be too big in America.

“We are beginning to understand what ails us, and it’s not something an oxygen facial or a treadmill desk can fix.”

In the wings of this great drama were the unseen. Hidden in the rainforest where the violence was staged, in the eerie aftermath of the tragedy, were three people whose stories cue political contexts in both the US and Guyana crucial to understanding how and why Jonestown may have happened.

A glimpse of life on the suburban road, featuring Russian mobsters, Fox News rage addicts, a caged man in a sex dungeon, and Dick Cheney.

“Neither of my parents was exactly who I thought they were.”

On the ethics of putting the internet’s spotlight on a neighborhood restaurant.

How chronic fatigue syndrome changed the author’s life.

On parenting a sick child.

On Bob Woodward’s “rather eerie aversion to engaging the ramifications of what people say to him.”

On the nature of violence.

When my brother was twelve, I found six mice nailed to the wall of the abandoned tree house in the woods near our apartment. He spent a lot of time there. It seemed to me the little mouse faces were frozen in agony. As though they’d been alive when he’d hammered the nails through them.

“For him, I was a blot on a spectacular ascent. For me, it was the opposite.”

Life as Steve Jobs's daughter when he denied being your dad.

The story of pianist Bill Evans and his lifelong obsession with a single song.

The former NHL tough guy tells his story of head trauma, depression, and his search for peace.

I don’t want to die. But, you know, nothing is for certain. And I’m tired of keeping quiet.

“They think of us as pests, so they are trying to drive us out of our homes, for what is the Republican drive for our self-deportation if not a plan of fumigation?”

The author on his reverence for water.

The journey of a river from source to mouth resembles our own journey from birth to death, an analogy oft remarked, and yet the beginnings and endings of rivers are as fictional as those we impose on stories. There are headwaters to headwaters and no river ever really ends.

When the author’s wife was dying, his best friend moved in.

Coming to terms with eating disorders.

On creativity in the age of Trump.

“I never got any help, any kind of therapy. I never told anyone.”

On William Eggleston’s The Red Ceiling and an unsolved murder.

The author faces this question as she emerges from alcoholism.

An essay about the weeks after the author’s brother nearly died.

Twenty years later, the author looks back.

An essay on the power of keeping a journal.