A book about presence, written by someone who seems barely present with or tolerant of the reader's actual experience of reading it: that's the central irony I kept returning to, and I was never quite able to shake it.

There is a very specific thing the vast majority of the world wants, and the sophisticated word for it is reconciliation.

I don't so much mind the overstimulation leaking onto other areas of my life, but lashing out at the person I love most is the saddening, sobering consequence of a pattern continuing for far too long. Not only are the tasks not handled, but I come home irritable and no fun to be around. It's a lose-lose.

It's really no woman's fault that she feels the need to diet, obsessively work out, or take a drug to lose weight. It is what is not-so-subtly asked of all of us. Especially now, in the most conservative era we've lived through in quite a while. But this is where everyone's got it backwards.

When the sleep schedule gets fixed, maybe then, it will go quiet.

As you breathe into your body, notice. Scanning from the crown of your head, slowly down into the neck, your shoulders, your limbs, your torso, down your legs and into your feet...notice. Is there a small tickle in your throat? An impending headache behind your eyes? Does your spine ache from shoveling snow? Do you remember how to feel the backs of your knees? Pay attention to your emotional body, too. Where does the nervousness reside? If you could pinpoint the constant thru

It's interesting when signs and signals show up again and again. I often seek them out, but I'm realizing lately that when we actually...

Truly, I don't. I'd rather discuss just about anything else, even the pettiest points of small talk or the most insufferably boring...