frag•ment n. a part broken off or detached, isolated, unfinished, or incomplete part origin: 1530s, from L. fragmentum “ a fragment, remnant.” From the root of frangere “to break” (fraction) ¹ Fractions can be a difficult concept for kids to learn. How can there be less than a whole? …
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This was—is—the hardest of principles for me to grasp. Yet when I, even slightly, welcome this notion, I am somehow nudged to see the situation anew. This is my very least favorite moment of personal growth. In part, I have tried to avoid these moments, but this too …
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Everything. I spent most of my years searching for love. It was those few missing pieces from the 1000 piece puzzle. I army crawled the carpet, sifted the vacuum bag—twice. The puzzle was eventually moved back to the box. I never enjoyed the 997 correctly placed pieces nor …
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What if I had it all wrong, but was confident I had it all right? What if I thought the process of life was to add, but realized later the process was to multiply? I spent my life professing that 5 + 5 was 10, only to discover …
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I have simply been unwilling to do what needs to be done. There is no two ways about it. I have chosen servitude over sovereignty. The choice to get sober is not drudgery. The choice to get sober is the choice to love. Sobriety isn’t about giving up. …
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I do not remember the first time I heard these words. Undoubtedly, my thinking was too muddled to let them resonate. I have grown to like them. They are a tool to indicate my level of confusion. I was a product of the “survival of the fittest” method. …
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I have succeeded simply because I refused to give in to my immediate want. I choose the word want because it masquerades as a need, but it’s really just a want. At this juncture in my life I see, clearly … I have what I need. If I …
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When does one push? When does one coast? … A long time dilemma for me as a person; I was never clear on “the rules” for succeeding at life. I would bolt or cower when it was time to step up. I would detonate when silence could have …
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It spoke to me one thousand times. It patiently awaited my arrival. There was nothing I could do to shut it down. Nothing I could do to kill it. It was forever knocking at the entry way of my mind, my heart. I tried my best to slam …
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We are tethered: the addict and the one-who-loves-the-addict. We don’t experience our life separate from those we love. Just because we aren’t in the same room doesn’t mean our actions aren’t detrimental. We each tug the other through our action—or lack of. What we do matters—for both of …
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