"How universal homesickness is, even for those who didn’t come from the best homes; these salmon came from Concrete, Washington, and they still fight like hell to come back every single year."
"I write at length about my experiences surviving rape and abuse as a Western woman in Japan. I was lucky to get out alive."
"I had no idea what the repercussions would be should I disclose my identity to my students. Would I be fired? Would I be questioned? Would I be told not to talk of such things? This reticence is a sad reflection on my internalized homophobia, my being still uncomfortable enough with my identity such that I had to worry about keeping it secret."
"My Old Kentucky Homo," highlights my failure to assimilate into the community in which I still live, fourteen years later.
"Barriers melt like grilled cheese at the table when you're dancing for your supper like the old vaudevillians."
I wrote a study of my own faith, bankrupt as it may be, using story of my father, through the lens of Jewishness as I define it for myself.
This lighthearted essay illustrates an experience I had in Singapore while doing research for a book I was writing about spirituality.
"Horse, Therapy is a story of my own experience and is a commentary on trauma, both in animals and humans."
"Sookie was never meant to be my support dog. The subject of this autoethnographic literary nonfiction, I rescued her when I was 17 years old and it was by far the best decision I have ever made."
"My parents drank wine with dinner every night. There’s nothing remarkable about that, but to a kid growing up in Mid-Missouri it was weird."
The process of seeking pregnancy alone (by necessity, not choice) showed me how limited reproductive rights in the U.S. truly are—even before the recent loss of Roe vs. Wade, that policy that had so shaped my generation’s belief in our bodily autonomy.
This autoethnography is the first-hand experience and exposure of imposter syndrome from a new adjunct instructor's point of view.
