About

For a long time I lived at the volume of the world — busy, capable, certain of the map I was following. Then the map stopped matching the ground under my feet, and the life I'd built came apart in my hands.

What I found on the other side of that coming-apart wasn't a better strategy. It was quiet. A slower, older way of listening — to my own life, to other people, to the living world. I've spent the years since learning to trust it.

I don't think the cost of that kind of change should be hidden. It asks something real of us. But I've come to believe that what waits on the far side is worth the crossing, and that no one should have to make it entirely alone.

These days I write, and I sit and walk with people who are somewhere in the middle of their own threshold. That is most of what I do now. It is enough.