Over the past few months, I’ve heard a familiar refrain from people professing concern over what they deem my more aggressive posture on events of the day: Be careful, you don’t want

Resistance is not futile, but it is exhausting. In the middle of the night following the election, as the sick reality was starting to set in, I began to get frantic texts, emails,

On really bad days I always miss my father. Since he died, that reality has never surprised me; the way moments of failure or depression rarely come without grief following close behind.