The first place I ever lived alone was a third-floor walkup with walls the color of depression and windows that looked onto a brick wall approximately eighteen inches away.1 I was twenty-three

I was standing in the produce section of a Trader Joe’s on a Tuesday evening, still wearing my work clothes, holding a bell pepper and experiencing what I can only describe as

Have you ever found yourself in a meeting¹ watching someone two levels above you try to explain your team's roadmap to a visiting executive, and suddenly realized: they're not

I was twenty-four when I turned down the dream job. Not the job I dreamed about as a kid (nobody dreams about enterprise software sales) but the dream job in the sense of

There was a period in my mid-twenties when I carried a small notebook everywhere, not the Moleskine (Or is it Leuchtturm now?) kind favored by people who want you to know they'