That Time I Stood Up to a Homophobic, Transphobic Bully – Also, a Pastor

A storyteller I follow refers to his growth in the numerical unit of past iterations of himself. “That was eight Robs ago,” he’d say of himself, back when he used to believe one thing or behave a totally different way. I’ve started viewing my own growth in this vein, thinking about all the Toms that have existed in this singular Tom, particularly with regard to this active-passive dynamic. My passivity has run especially true in matters of relational conflict. Given the option to fight a conflict or flight a conflict (please excuse my incorrect usage of a noun as a verb in the name of symmetry), I will flight nine times out of ten. Ah, but then there’s always that one instance…

The Cost of New Creation (2024 Will Hurt)

Sometimes we speak things out, and they become true. Like we’re wizards spinning magic into this world; our wands as our pens and mouths, created by a Creator with the same capacity to write and speak and do. Create. And then other times we declare bold things for our stories that do not come true. These goals, these new stories, these fuller versions of ourselves – well, they don’t form as we hoped, if even they form at all.

Everybody Needs an Uncle Pat

I became an uncle six years ago, and Uncle Pat has always been my template for uncling. Because everyone needs an Uncle Pat. Someone to remember them on their birthdays, buy them Slurpees, ask about their lives, and drive them around on special journeys. If my nieces or future nephews ever have anything positive to say about their Uncle Tom, it will be because Uncle Pat showed me how to uncle well.

The Joys and Challenges of Traveling Solo Across Alaska

Here’s a multi-faceted realization I’ve found in recent years: I absolutely love to travel solo — and most people absolutely do not. Traveling solo doesn’t daunt me; indeed, it ignites something primal and wondrous in me. Comparing myself to how most other people travel, though, is another mountain: Why are they not like me? Why am I not at all like them?

Alaska, At Last

Back in 2020, in that early sliver of what was sure to be a promising year, I started making preliminary plans to visit Alaska. Known widely as “The Last Frontier” and my own final frontier, too. I’d traveled to 49 states since touching down in Hawaii a couple years prior, and it was time, at last, to conquer them all. Well. We all know why that trip didn’t happen. And it’s been plaguing me ever since. Three and a half years of longing for Alaska. Until now. I refuse to long any longer.

Four Seasons of America; Four Seasons of My Soul

Now months removed from this trip, I look back and notice something of a correlation with both the climate of these diverse corners of America and also the climate of my soul as I encountered each one…

Am I a Writer?

At the end of the day – or, rather, at each day’s sacred start – despite all the excuses or hard realities, I must ask myself this question: am I a writer? Do I still self-identify as someone who writes? Because if I’m not doing that regularly – writing – am I, by definition, still a writer?

I Can’t Believe I Came From Her

My grandmother died. These words rattle around my heart like pinballs that won’t settle, even a week beyond her funeral. And yet I wonder if the settling of these pinballs would be any better – the finality of their lodging into the belly of that machine, no longer kept alive by another flap of the paddles. Mayme Alice was the last of my grandparents to leave this earth, and undoubtedly the one with whom I grew closest.

What About Bob’s Son

I don’t know anybody in Ukraine myself. But I do know someone – a few someones – you can be praying for stateside. I’ve been reminded of Bob from my Running To adventure. Remember Bob? Sure you do. He’s the single dad from Maine, a university professor I found on Couchsurfing who asked if I was sure I’d had enough soup for dinner. Oh Bob. So folksy with that thick Maine accent. Bob never married but always wanted to be a dad. So, he adopted two sons: the older from Russia and the younger…from Ukraine.

The Year I Don’t Wanna Look Back On (Again)

I don’t want to look back on this year. Who would? This year was awful. This year made no sense. Much like its evil stepsister year before, this year isn’t one I want to relive. Like, ever. And yet we are doomed to repeat history if we do not learn from it. It’s true of societies, and it’s true of individuals. As much as I want to forget most of 2021, I also want to learn from 2021 – desperately. The missteps. The failures. The doom. The gloom. What a tragedy for me – for you, for all of us – to enter 2022 or 2023 or 2087 and not learn a thing from 2021.

2021: Wasted

I look back on this year and can’t help but feel the wince of apparent wasted time. The lethargy of a lingering pandemic, the apathy of my creative soul, and the heavy, sometimes brutal work of ministry. Of holding less and less tightly to relationships – even if it means letting some go. My 34 years of life feels increasingly like a bell curve. Isolation and worthlessness filling the lowly cracks of my adolescence; a rising wave of optimism for my twenties, filled with new friends and adventures aplenty; and a steady decline of ambition into my mid-thirties.

Our New Alivelihood

In one sense, how convenient for a pandemic to occur in the year 2020-21 and not 1920-21: for many of us to work remotely and stay “connected,” at least in some sense of the word. But I’ve felt the strain of not experiencing a dimension beyond screens on screens on screens. Experiencing the dimensions of humanity and creation interwoven again. Last week, I saw humans with hats and cameras and boots and smiles walking all around me from the blues of Lake Tahoe to the beige of Death Valley. Humans: exploring, basking. Like we were ever ago made to do, like we evermore shall do.

Older Than Jesus

Growing up, Jesus always seemed so much older than me. Not like eighty or ninety or a hundred “old,” but when you’re only eight or nine, thirty years old feels a hundred years away. But now to have lived the ages of 30 to 33, I have a new perspective on the life of Jesus. Turns out he was way younger – and way stronger – than I’d thought. I’ve had a tumultuous three years; perhaps the most shaping three years of my life. Again, as a storyteller, I can’t help drawing parallels with Jesus’ thirties.

Do You See Me?

I did what You asked, I built what You told me to build, and it literally collapsed. So now what? Are You even there anymore? I feel the strain in Nathanael’s voice. The wavering. A desperate pleading to be seen.

Beyond the Rot of This River

I’ve become more justice-minded in this year of isolation – to do something with this faith of mine. To borrow a vivid example from Ronald Rolheiser’s “The Holy Longing”: to not just retrieve dead bodies from the river, but to go upstream and find the source of all this death.

5 Years With a Blue Ridge Home

Come whimsy or mayhem, for five years running the road keeps leading me back here to the Blue Ridge. However many nights I’ve actually slept in a bedroom here, it is indeed starting to feel something like home. I stared at the hills the other day and prayed, “God, please don’t let it ever grow old.”

To Watch the Storms of My Sadness

Gluggavedur, “window-weather,” is the notion of watching a storm from afar. Of being safely indoors, warm and secure, while the storm brews on the horizon. Lightning, swirling clouds, and rain – all seen through a pane of glass. The concept can be taken metaphorically, too, to separate yourself from your swirling emotions within. Of creating a space between you and the storms: sadness, anger, stress, fear, etc. Of not ignoring these hard feelings, but being aware of them, watching them from the other side of the glass…until they eventually pass.

I (Still) Love You, Camp Ridgecrest

I’m only twenty miles away from Camp Ridgecrest, but it might as well be twenty dimensions. A bunch of foggy memories along with a million unformed, never-to-be ones. It’s a fog I can’t shake, follows my footsteps within and beyond the Blue Ridge. Am I crazy? Obsessed? Why does a camp have such a grip on me after all these years? It was one summer. One effing brutal beautiful summer. Why do I feel so much? Why do I hurt with a longing for what was and what wasn’t? And why do a bunch of entitled white southern Gen X Christian moms rake me to the core?

Another Dawn Closer

What a comfort. What an assurance. That no matter how much the last day or last four years have tested us, drained us, broken us . . . the sun rises anew. Gives us a new chance to absorb the light and also a new chance to shine it. Or as poet laureate, Amanda Gorman, perfectly put it at today’s inauguration: “For there is always light if only we’re brave enough to see it, if only we’re brave enough to be it.”

What Will I Have Done This Year?

Instead of saying, “What do I want to do this year?” try saying, “What will I have done this year?” It’s a productivity tip I learned from Donald Miller, and I’ve never been more eager to implement this subtle mental tweak for 2021.

Can You Feel the Fatigue Tonight?

I’m ready for the election to be over. I’m ready for 2020 to be over. I’m ready for the main stage of my disease to be over. I’m ready for my tiredness over it all to be over. I heard something described on a podcast as “fatigue-fatigue,” and boy do I feel that. Do you?

Am I Worthy of Your Giving?

Am I really worth your hard-earned dollars? Am I worth your kindness? You say I am, but am I really? I don’t want to waste my money – your money. I don’t want to buy things I don’t “need.” But I also “need” some amount of pleasure and joy. Can I buy a milkshake with your money? What about a new lamp for my studio? I want to make you proud of my journey, however much you’ve contributed to it. I want to be worthy of every cent.

Change, Leave!

I want to leave my usual ways of changing, leaving. Of always running from things, even if I’m also running to new ones. Of masking my loneliness and shame with adventures and Instagram posts. I want to continue learning to stay for a change, staying for change.

The God Who Won’t Speak Back

Six months into a pandemic, three into an autoimmune disease, my outlook feels more than a little frantic right now. Constantly on my phone or laptop and craving some sense of connection or novelty. A momentary break in the loneliness, the stuckness, and the waiting. Sometimes the break comes. Often it doesn’t. Often I am greeted with silence. Thick, dark. Empty.

This Disease from Up Top

It’s unnerving not knowing where you are. Like I’m on the bottom level of a parking deck (garage) with no idea how long or far or deep or wide or harrowing this thing goes. Was this last month of infusions a definitive leap toward healing or a total wash? Do I move on to the next phase, or do I start over with something else?

Prisoner of Hope

Oh, the freedom to no longer hope in anything far off. To forget the future and, perhaps, attain a greater ability to live in this present. It hurts to hope, I’ve been learning (groaning) through adulthood. It hurts to hope for things, only to see them fall flat – or, worse, fall further.

These Hills Have Me

I’m not getting out much these days. I used to sprawl all over this city and region, but I’ve become more of a homebody than ever before. But I’m living in my favorite dwelling I’ve ever built for myself, a homier, “Tom-ier” place than anywhere else, complete with maps and globes and buffalo art; early mornings with lighted candles and open windows and blanketed fog amidst the canopy. It feels good to be a body in this home.

‘Twas the Night Before Treatment

Tomorrow morning, bright and early, I set out on a new quest. A new quest within an already new journey of the last couple months – this unforeseen journey with an autoimmune disease. Tomorrow begins this new quest for healing and recovery. Remission. Or so I hope.

Teach Me How to Live

Of course, I want to travel again one day, set loose to wander once more. I want it badly. But for now, I do have this strange desire to be settled. To stay home and enjoy safety and solitude. And I don’t necessarily feel relegated to this reality, forced into it against my wandering will. For all this restless angst I’ve had since childhood, perhaps I’m finally stumbling onto the cure?

A Time to Refrain from Embracing

Looking down at my precious niece in my arms, I realized it’s really something, how we need physical touch to survive. Need to be swaddled. Need to be held. Need to feel the warmth of another human emanating against us, if only to affirm to one another we are not alone in this desert. To embrace for my soul or not to embrace for my body? Life with an autoimmune disease during the pandemic of the century: one calculated risk after another.

Not So Wonderfully Made

I don’t feel wonderfully made right now. My autoimmune disease makes me feel newly flawed. Like my Designer forgot to quality-check my body before He sent me to the womb, apparently knit with this broken strand.

I Am Not in Control

I have control issues. I have known this about myself for a little while now. Counseling has helped me see it more clearly, though I feel I’ve known this for many years prior. I don’t like being at the mercy of my circumstances. Especially the mercy of another human.

Jesus Year

In 2017, when I was 30, I quit my full-time job at a boarding school to pursue more of Your Other Brothers. It’s work, certainly, editing blogs and producing regular streams of podcasts and videos, but it’s also a lot of ministry. Responding to emails from new readers. Engaging with supporters at coffee shops. Planning weekly digital gatherings and yearly “real-life” retreats. Am I comparing myself to Jesus, you’re asking? Why, of course I am. But shouldn’t we all?

40 Days of Ashes

Forty days ago, I sought to burn my psalms for Lent. Writing one in the back of my journal before bed each night, then ripping out the page, entering my closet and closing the door behind me, and setting fire to my words in an old toolbox. It was a different sort of Lenten season this year, for many reasons, and I have three main thoughts.

He is Still For You

May we rest in this comfort: that we are cosmically not alone in our loneliness. The One who forged heaven and earth walked a harrowing road with nowhere to lay His head. He is with us. He is for us. All these centuries later. In times of peace. In times of famine. Even still.

Give Us Tomorrow’s Barabbas

Our entire lives we have wanted to be more present. And now that we’ve been given nothing but buckets upon buckets of the present, we are kicking away the pails and saying, “Give us back our precious longings.” The savior we have anticipated through countless yesterdays is finally here in our midst, and we cry for Barabbas.

Thank You for Being Brave

I’m writing this blog from home. And I never blog from home. Like ever. I have no other choice. Nothing is open. No late-night coffee shops and no early-night coffee shops either, for that matter. Coronavirus has violently disrupted every facet of normalcy. Society’s. My own. Normal Monday evenings aren’t normal Monday evenings anymore. And for God only knows how much longer.

Burn Up Your Psalms

I’ve participated sporadically in Lent over the last decade. Some years I think nothing of it; others, I’ve fasted from food or masturbation. I recalled this notion of psalm-writing. Of putting away my Bible and penning my own. As a writer, I feel it hold such an allure; as a human, too. I’d been wanting to connect with my Creator like this for many months. Why hadn’t I? What’s been holding me back?

Debt-Free

Before I knew it, YOB was no longer a hobby. It could no longer be treated that way – that is, if I wanted it to grow further. And I did. I knew I could pay off my Juke and be debt-free if I simply kept working at the boarding school through 2017 and maybe a little into 2018. Paying off a 4-year loan in a little over a year was absolutely doable. But that inner beckoning grew louder and stronger.

Broken Belonging

Looking back on the last 16 years, I see that “takes too much effort” excuse as an easy out. Digging deeper, I see something else blocking my pursuit of church membership: my self-worth. Surprise, surprise; it’s my single biggest struggle. Am I worthy of church membership? What do I even have to offer the church?

Healthy Rest / Unhealthy Rest

I’m realizing healthy rest bleeds into my productivity. “Healthy productivity” – that’s a thing, too. Not just being productive from a sense of duty, distracting-distracting-distracting your heart, but producing from a well-stewarded overflow. Incorporating rest not just after but into my productivity – this is the magic.

To Bleed Unfettered on the Page

A friend recently recommended we shut our Bibles for a second and pen some psalms of our own. I couldn’t stop smiling and feeling convicted over his blunt advice. I want to follow it. So, here’s to 2020. A bright and shiny new year with a bright and shiny new journal.

I’ll Never Reach a Million People

More than ever, I long for my financial needs to be fully met so I can invest even more into creating: more time, more energy, more projects, more equipment. And thus even more connection. How nice it would be right now to have a million supporters. Or at least a few hundred thousand. Heck, a thousand. But here’s the thing I desperately need to keep reminding myself. It’s what I’m still learning from the hundreds of blogs, books, podcasts, and videos put out over the last decade. I’ll never reach a million people if I don’t reach the one.

My Name on a Stone

I traveled to Pennsylvania for Christmas, my first trip there since Ahh died this summer. My grandfather’s gravestone wasn’t chiseled until just recently, so this was my first time visiting it. Seeing it. It was the first time I’d ever seen my name on a stone.

This Chasm of Calling

On the one hand, I’m thrilled. I’ve never been more passionate in my calling as a storyteller. And yet on the other hand, the more I discover my God-given passions, talents, and deep gladness, the more burdened grows my soul; the more hungry, my heart. I feel the strain in the disconnect between what I want and what I believe God wants for me and others in this chasm of the not yet.

This Hurts

Holidays are sneakily hard on me. I have a good family. A great one, even. I am a blessed guy. And yet the holidays attack me from both sides: reminders of a past drifting further away and a future growing more realized.

God I Hate People

For all the headaches other humans have caused me, Lord knows I’ve caused the same (and worse) in others. But we’re different. We come from different families and cultures. We’re all motivated differently. We want and need different things to sustain us, day by day. Okay. I get it now. Now, how can we unite? Around Whom can we follow a common path?

Pen Strokes and Chisels to the Soul

I’ve grown more in the last two years than the previous ten. More than ever, I feel God’s hand guiding mine like pen strokes while chiseling my soul. A mystical also brutal process.

Sexy Changing in the Staying

Traveling changes a man, certainly. It’s what draws me to the road and the skies, again and again. The blaze of colors to my exterior and interior alike. But staying put changes a man, too, I’m better realizing. It’s not as sexy. Not as readily apparent sometimes.

A Safe Place to Vomit My Heart

I returned to counseling last week for the first time in six months. Counseling, therapy — I never know what to call it. How about a safe place to vomit my heart? Above all, I’ve needed two things sorely: Scripture and Jesus. Even after just one session back, I feel enriched: a session bookended with prayer as I shared the overview of my story. I started choking up after just twenty minutes.

I Like Coming Home?

I recently climbed the stairwell to my new apartment with a bag full of groceries and thought this distinct thought: I like coming home. It startled me, and I immediately recognized its significance. Because I couldn’t remember the last time I’d thought this thought. Alas — it’s been years since I truly enjoyed coming home.

The Whispers I Followed Home

After 147 days, I followed the whispers back to Asheville, and I’m thrilled not to be wandering any longer. I found an apartment in town, and a phenomenal one at that. I hesitate with clichés — especially Christian clichés — but y’all: this was a God-thing. I’m living in a phenomenal apartment in a phenomenal neighborhood with a phenomenal landlord, and I follow a phenomenal God of provision.

Good Morning. How Could I Not?

But through it all. Every single day. I have much to be grateful for. Blessings in abundance despite the clouds and gray, here and still coming.

Plot Twisting

My life has featured a lot of plot twists I never saw coming. Especially these last two years. It’s been brutal. It’s also been necessary for the furthering of my story, I now realize. A story that wasn’t going anywhere. Stuck in a sleepy, apathetic comfort.

The Part Where I Get to Have Faith

These last couple years, I’ve fielded more doubts than ever before, not due to any personal tragedy or spiritual apathy, but largely due to public figures and friends alike walking away from Jesus. This same Jesus I follow.

99% of Toms

I wish to be different than 99% of humanity, yes, but lately I’ve pondered a new concept: what about being different than 99% of Toms? If 99 versions of me would choose to do one thing, do I simply follow along, or do I dare counter with the 1%?

Like a Butterfly in an Aquarium

It sounds lovely to be the butterfly, to have the spotted wings and ventures. But oh the process. The waiting and waiting, the changes upon changes one must first endure. There is no zapping to the butterfly stage. I imagine most of us want to be the butterfly but rarely the change required. And not just a singular change but multiple drastic, awkward, even painful changes.

Stranger in a Familiar Land

The road has led me back to the Blue Ridge. Back in these hills rolling like moonlit shadows, just like I remember, just like always. I’ve been gone from this place for 82 days. Traveling as far away as Colorado and Maine and losing a grandfather along the way. And the way is still unfolding before me.

Itch

I’m itching for home. God, I’m itching for regularity again. I’m itching for therapy and CrossFit and training for a marathon and the same coffee shops and writing my third book and building local friendships and taking Your Other Brothers to bold, new frontiers. I’m itching for this road trip to end.

Leave Me Alone

I’m grieving more than just the loss of my grandfather — a hero, a giant, an embodiment of God’s love. I’m grieving all relational brokenness. I’m grieving human death for the first time, yes, but I’m also grieving everything else that separates humanity. Divorce, war, disagreement, misunderstanding, vitriol. Friends who aren’t friends anymore.

A World Without Ahh

“I hope you have a lot of friends one day, Tom.” My grandfather spoke these words to me when I was 15. We were in the car as I joined him on his usual run of errands: the bank, pharmacy, post office. It’s strange referring to him as “my grandfather” — he was always just “Ahh” to me. Even stranger now to think of him in the past tense. My grandfather, Ahh, died this week.

I’m Tired.

I just attended the second Revoice conference in St. Louis. Several of my fellow authors from Your Other Brothers also attended, and we’ll have a full recap/conversation coming to our site next week. But for now, I wanted to shed some more personal thoughts on the conference and my life-on-the-road at large. The main one being: I’m tired.

God See Me

I want more, I want all of it, and yet I also want to rest in the futility of this earthly conquest. I want to wander where I will and when I can, but also to find contentment in the conquest of a single place. I’ve a feeling where that single place will soon emerge, at least for the foreseeable future. But for now. I will wander. I will be purposeful.

Joy Terrifies Me

It’s so clear now — something I’ve always known to be true about me and yet see anew. I’m terrified of joy. Joy just terrifies me. For how fleeting it is.

When Jesus Slides Into the Shadows

Before you even know it, Jesus slid into the shadows long ago. You thought he was still there. Like he’s always been. Like he always will be…right? But if we don’t intentionally keep Jesus atop our bookshelf…I think the Father is willing to let us turn other pages. To let us wander without for a bit.

Go to Hell

Maybe instant healing and freedom do happen like that in other contexts, in other humans. I don’t know. I don’t know what that’s like. Maybe for the rest of us, though, the fight never ends. Maybe the enemy comes back, over and over.

I Need to be Sad

The sadness. I can’t ever let myself forget how sad and broken everything is. From the inside out. I can’t, or I go on autopilot. I become a monster of a human I’d never want any of you to see.

Oops, My Readers Are My Friends Now

It’s been a wonderful thing, and it’s been a debilitating thing, all these Internet friends. On the one hand, the Internet has filtered out “real life,” so to speak, connecting me with the people I deeply want to connect with. People with common interests, common sexualities, common faiths, common cross-sections of all these things. And on the other hand, the Internet has totally spoiled “real life.” Real life relationships — or the hapless pursuit of them.

I’m Writing Fiction Again

I’m writing fiction again. Or at least dabbling. I don’t know why or for how long or what my goal even is, but the change of scenery is sure nice. I’ve missed this realm.

I Will Stay in This Rubble

I don’t know. I’m in a season of not knowing. Which means I’m doing a lot of listening these days. But I hear the whispers. I’ve been unintentionally heeding them these last 8 months as I’ve turned over stone after stone. I will rummage through this rubble until there are no more boulders or pebbles left to turn.

This Isn’t Real Life

When real life gets hard and messy and not as it should be, I have an inner sanctum I return to, again and again. One rotted by dopamine-laced falsities.

Nothing Makes Sense (And the C Chord Lingers Still)

I don’t know where this particular tune in time is taking me. I hear a lot of silence right now. Resolution feels far off. The last note lingers, and I want to hear the final sound.

Do Not Calm This Storm

Jesus won’t calm the storm with a single word. His way is a way of work. Of picking up crosses daily. Of lugging said crosses up mountains. Of taking the narrower way of all the broader ways available to my wanderlust.

End of Year Emo Blizzard

As 2018 winds down, I find myself in my most emotionally raw, volatile state of the year, probably ever. The North Carolina skies opened with a blizzard this week, and how I wanted this snowy downpour to cleanse it all away.

Jesus Loves Me. This I Know?

Yes, Jesus loves me. For the Bible tells me so. But does he like me? Does he find me enjoyable? Why? Does he only “have” to love and like me because he’s Jesus? Furthermore, does his Church love me? Do they like me? Because so often I feel that they do not. That they just don’t have time for me. For my struggles and emotions.

Fucking Feel It

I know, I’ve already sworn and I’m not even past the first line. Please don’t be turned off. Please stay with me. When I worked in wilderness therapy a couple years ago, everyone made such a big deal about feelings. For example, you’d never answer “How are you feeling today?” with “I’m feeling good.” Because […]

A Man of God I Am Not

Upstream, of course. I’ve always been swimming upstream. Against the current. The current of sexuality. The current of introversion. The current of inferiority. The current of separation. The current of brokenness and deficiency. The current of not being quite enough of a man, if even at all. Let alone a man of God.

Death and Death and the Coming Tide of Death

Today I learned that my church died. Not my current church. Not my previous church. Not even a church I’ve attended in four years. But the first church that felt something like home.

My Weird Little Introverted Internet Life

Like, this is actually my life now. Meeting folks from the Internet wherever I go. Near and far and down the street. I mean, I’ve lived this life for years now. I’m not oblivious to it. I’m just feeling it really strongly today. Realizing I hardly translate my weird little introverted Internet life to others.

Waking Up from a Thousand What Isn’ts

Being present. I find it so difficult. Perhaps my greatest challenge. I entertain a thousand fantasies on any given day. Many of them “harmless.” Or maybe not. A move to this city. A quick wandering to that one. Staying here in the Blue Ridge the rest of my life. Leaving tomorrow. Old friends, new friends.

I Want This Plane to Crash

All we have is this moment. The key is being present. It’s always being present. Not giving more weight to the past or more to the future but just enough weight to all three. Whatever that perfect ratio is, I have no idea. I do know the present must get the largest piece of pie.

City of Macaroons and Broken Dreams

I entered Charlotte with gargantuan hopes. Hopes that wherever I landed after #RunningTo would be the city I’d call home the rest of my life. A city of dreams fulfilled that simultaneously kept adding new ones. I stare at this Queen City skyline with kind of a hopeless sigh. I failed this place.

Gravity Is Pulling You and Me and All of This Down

He is God. He is here. He has shown up. There is nowhere we can go, be it among the Biltmore sunflowers or on a lonely college road, void of God’s presence. Are we blind? Are we just not seeing him?

I Don’t Know What I’m Doing Anymore Except

The slate is wiped clean. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. Nothing makes sense anymore. Except for ten minutes every morning.

Where (and Why) I’m Wandering Next

Back in the height of my wandering (have I reached the valley yet?), I read a blog about the importance of traveling. I have no idea who wrote it or where the link stands today, but there’s one tip from the post I’ll never forget. I’ve implemented it ever since I read it, and it’s […]

Cleanse

For the next two weeks, I’m embarking on a body cleanse. I’ll be taking fiber supplements along with liver and digestive supplements every morning. And every night. I’ll finally be scrubbing out my insides after thirty years. I’ll probably be pooping a lot. But don’t worry. This post goes beyond my bowel movements. That part […]

Some Days You Have A Lot. Some A Little. Others Nothing.

Now that Running To has run to Amazon and other online booksellers, I find myself with a lot more free time. More free time to practice guitar and work out. More time to post on Instagram and Twitter and Facebook and engage with my following. Engage with my friends. More free time to read. More […]

When Writing a Book Isn’t Worth It

I completed writing my second book in September — a mammoth project three years in the making. For weeks and months and, yes, years, I legitimately wondered if the thing would ever get finished. I faced a lot of demons during the writing of this book: Despair that my epic journey was over, a reality […]

Back Before the Darkness Found Me

A year ago, I was blogging every day of the month as part of my #MakeNovemberTolerable campaign. I’ve long despised November for all the negative things that seem to converge upon this month, and last year’s effort was to see the beautiful things among memories of my dog dying, my Internet friend dying, and the […]

Like a Lost and Groaning Gandalf

I’ve long been drawn to the wise old figures in story — “the mentor,” as the archetype goes. The Yoda crawling around Luke Skywalker’s lunchbox. The Gandalf showing up at Frodo’s round door. I’ve always wanted my own mythical mentor to show up when I least expect it, breaking my tedious present, leading me into […]

Who Am I Now?

Once upon a new year, I promised I’d blog here weekly all year long. I also made a short list of other so-called resolutions, and ten months into this new year I realize I’m only hitting with about 50% success overall. I am so great. At least I still have two months to finish the […]

I Need to Hear Again: or, Why I’m Quitting My Job and Hitting the Road

In third grade, my music teacher told us the story of Beethoven. I think it was Beethoven. I’m too lazy to google it now. When Beethoven first started losing his hearing, he inserted a metal tube into his ear to help him drown out the excess noise and focus his hearing. As his hearing worsened, […]

To be still, yet still moving

I moved recently — four whole doors down to another unit in my complex. It wasn’t ideal, but life rarely is. My roommates and I had hoped to move into a house — an eclectic one with a porch, a balcony, a big yard, tucked into the hills over Asheville, perhaps with a long driveway […]

Old Life and New Life and the Life in Between

My grandfather celebrated his ninetieth birthday last month. Family from coast to coast — West to East and North to South — converged upon Langhorne, Pennsylvania for our biggest family celebration since my grandparents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary in 1998. A lot’s happened in the last two decades. I’ve written previously about the one I call […]

I Love/Hate California

Six months ago, I decided to be reckless. I was out running by a lake near my home in Asheville as that all-too-common feeling of stuckness squelched my every step. I needed a change — what else is new? — something to plan, somewhere to run. As I literally ran in this moment of desperation, my thoughts latched […]

kill the twentysomething

My twenties are gone. Forever. I’ve often been accused of being too dramatic, both on this blog and in “real life.” I’m too emotional. Too heavy and melancholy and not enough amounts of light-hearted and sunny. So, in an effort to balance out my being, I’m going to reminisce on my greatest hits as a […]

The Best Worst Year in the Blue Ridge

I’m the kind of guy who compares anything to everything: my favorite TV show (Survivor) to my least favorite (The Bachelor), the best month (April) to the worst month (November), the greatest year of my life (2012) to the very worst (2006). I can’t help it. I compare. It’s what I do. It’s why I […]

A Broken Record with Yellow Lines

I traveled to Chattanooga over the weekend for a conference on sexuality in the church (you can read my recap on YOB; another post of mine premiering today). I packed up Jude in a pretty rotten headspace on Friday night, and then I hit the road home for Asheville two days later singing to the Backstreet Boys. […]

Love is Not the Greatest

I’ve watched approximately seven Boy Meets World episodes in their entirety, though plenty of passing clips. I’ve blogged about this show in the past, including its spinoff, because my younger sister would watch it after school, and the strong friendship between Corey and Shawn always kept my eyes craning. Lately, life circumstances have again caused me to […]

You’re just gonna leave me, so what’s the point?

I’m a sarcastic fellow. A dark fellow. A sad and sickly fellow with a twisted sense of humor that must often be tempered among the sunny masses. The older I get, the more cynical I’ve grown — or devolved. However you look at it. More and more frequently, I tell myself there’s just no point in reaching […]