I am five feet tall, have lived in Seattle for decades without owning an umbrella, and photograph every face I find — in museums, on walls, carved into the ends of pews. These things are related.
No Shadows Allowed
For 28 years I've illustrated patent applications for Fortune 50 companies. You've never seen my name. Here's what that work actually looks like.
Part IV: For 1956 and For Now
Sixty years after leaving Baltimore as a child, my mother finally met the siblings who had been standing on that sidewalk watching her go.
Part III: Where Home Is
On choosing forward without losing love. This essay is Part III of a short series about my mother’s adoption in 1956. The scenes are imagined, shaped by the stories she carried with her and shared with me over the years.
Part II: The Last Letter
In this imagined scene from my mother’s adoption, a young girl learns what it costs to belong when a letter home is quietly taken from her hands.
Part I: No One Said Goodbye
This is part of a short series about my mother’s adoption in 1956. The scenes are imagined, shaped by the stories she carried with her and shared with me over the years. Some names have been changed to protect privacy.
Soft Armor for Hard Days
A personal essay about dressing for comfort and care on migraine days, exploring how clothing choices can support the nervous system when no one else is watching.
Finding Warmth in Zurich’s Chocolate Labyrinth
I went wandering through Zurich’s old town in search of vegan chocolate. What I found instead was a moment of warmth tucked into a tiny shop and offered freely.
When Memory Becomes Light
Mrs. Bryan taught me to memorize paintings when I was ten. I didn’t know the map she was giving me that year would lead me, decades later, to the Rijksmuseum—and to a part of myself I had misplaced.
Don’t Judge a Fox by Its Socks
I judged a woman by her flaming fox sweatshirt. Then she and her mother danced circles around me—literally—and taught me a lesson I didn’t know I needed.
Getting Lost and Found in Strasbourg
I went to Strasbourg expecting a quiet morning alone—a city park, a little breathing room, a chance to recover from a hard year. Instead, I found two new friends, two unexpected strangers, and a small river of kindness that carried me farther than I realized I needed to go.