I started writing again. Hello, world. A cliché. I am guilty. Guilty of not writing, producing, ideating in public. Mea culpa, open admissions, words worthy of an eye-roll emoji. After all, here I am writing. Why, when I didn’t write, did I feel so empty? Why didn’t I fill the emptiness with writing? Here’s a […]
New York City, the great compressor of time and space, can also become a compressor of memory. Today I start on a mission to decompress mine.