Essays

That ain’t gospel

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Many moons ago, I had a mentor who liked to tell a story about an intern they’d once worked with. So...

Swimming with whale sharks

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I’ve been riding my bike a lot, and we had tens of thousands of cycling miles between us, but I haven’t had...

Just a Dawdream

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Bar 40 is assaulting my will to live. I’ve spent two hours clawing away at this brief descending figure...

Boulder Weekly’s 6th annual essay issue

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Welcome to Boulder Weekly's 6th annual essay Issue. Please use the following links to connect to all the essays in this years...

The ones we let in

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I’m not a pet person. It’s not that I don’t like animals. Like people, it just takes me time to warm up...

A masochist’s love letter

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I love telling the story of my wisdom teeth. Anytime someone mentions a tooth extraction or dentistry mishap, I weasel my experience into...

The garden

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I sat on a wooden stool in my garden one mid-September evening enraptured by an orchestra of crickets. They sounded louder...

The quick and the dead

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I was 16 years old when my father asked me if I wanted to be a hero. The year was...

In defense of burning books and abalone

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Some books should be burned. At least one book should be burned. That book should be Ulysses. THE WRONG...

A portrait of the small town as a young man

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I turned off my phone and put it in my desk. I quit Facebook, and closed my email accounts. I deleted my LinkedIn profile,...

The hidden path

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I called a good friend heartless this year. Who have I become? I’ve always prided myself on being a rational, reasonable person. I don’t offend...

‘Cold or not, God is present’

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I think about the shoes. I think about the shoes; 60 of them, lined along the east bank of the Danube River in Budapest, Hungary....