Life’s a joyride.

Sometimes it’s the feeling of flying down a dusty California road, wind in your hair, hair in your eyes, in a ‘78 powder-blue Mercedes that only turns off if you stall the transmission because there’s a problem with the ignition. Other times you’re speeding down a Tennessee highway, fat raindrops coming down so torrentially you can barely see out the windshield.

I’m writing about finding my way while riding the undercurrent of joy. Essays, book reviews, cultural dissections, and more as a way to search for the elusive feeling of barreling into the unknown, free and maybe a little afraid.

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