On a private rooftop at 86th and Columbus with a gorgeous view of Manhattan, a long table was set with pink plates, fresh flowers, cloth napkins, and wine glasses that would be refilled so many times that we’d lose count.
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One minute, I was walking into the Columbus Circle station at 57th and 8th and the next minute, my Birkenstocks slipped on the wet landing and everything I own, including my entire body, went down hard.
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Doubt and faith are not opposites. I think they go hand in hand.
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All attention was focused on the art, and we beheld it for the living thing that it was.
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Looking back, I couldn’t have picked more random smattering of books—new releases, obscure back-list, classics, challenging essays, and numbing novels.
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I guess I just didn’t expect that chasing your dreams would come with panic attacks.
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I want to get off a village bus stop at dusk and hear sheep bleating and maybe nothing else but the bus rumbling away.
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