One white blossom finally appeared on my evening glories, planted the same week I made my dating profile. Divorce taught me to stop networking and vying for promotion. Now I'm English department head without ever learning the district leaders' names. Maybe love blooms the same way—when you stop expecting it.
Personal Growth
The Oak Tree Fell in February, but I’m the One Who Got Replanted
For months, the hollow oak lay in my backyard—an eyesore, then a barrier, then a mirror. Like that tree, I'd stood tall in Nashville while rotting inside. But somewhere between Syracuse's disposal and Hampton's soil, a seed found new ground.
Burying Dead Roses: How My Garden Taught Me About Betrayal
He confessed to cheating just as my first garden taught me about variables you can't anticipate. Sometimes the best thing you can do with dead flowers is bury them and let them feed new growth.
The Magnolia Trees Bloomed While I Was Waiting for Perfect
I planned to photograph the magnolias when the light was right and the trash cans weren't there. By the time I returned, they were bare. I've spent my whole life waiting for the perfect moment that never comes.
I Used to Be
Thirty-two and sitting on my Virginia porch with red wine and a laptop, I hadn't written in two years. Not since Nashville. Not since the divorce. Tonight, the first writing tingle returned—would it be enough to reclaim what I used to be?
Writer's Growth 