Last week, I withdrew from a course.

This was a decision most people find easy and obtaining little importance. But for me, oh for me, this decision was in the simplest term – hard. Deciding to withdraw from this course was like creating a giant neon sign that said, “Look what Morgan cannot do!” for all my friends, classmates, and family to see.

Did you read the first-person accounts of women, mothers, who had made a long and difficult journey hoping to find asylum, only to have their children taken away from them?

I don’t usually feel claustrophobic, but I did in that tiny room with glass walls, putting us all on display. We were at the San Francisco airport, entering the United States.

I’ve been thinking about the word “grace” a lot lately.

Do you remember that scene in Evan Almighty when Morgan Freeman is talking to Noah’s wife and he says to her, “If someone prays for patience, you think God gives them patience? Or does he give them the opportunity to be patient?

I turn 30 in a week. A few days before, I am supposed to organize my thoughts and say something wise to a group of twenty-year-olds about what the next decade holds for them.

Crap shoot. Whiplash. Roll of the dice. Circus. Polar opposite of what you imagine and want.