Someone once gave me a dishtowel that says But Did You Die?

I thought about the writing classes I have with adopted people, and how, 100% of the time, when they read their work out loud, I feel in the presence of something holy.

You said your daughter’s therapist wondered how many times your daughter would hit bottom.

I took To Be Real, the sequel to You Don’t Look Adopted off the market after I spent seven hours in the recording studio reading it for the Audible version. I kept saying to the guy at the controls, Is this over yet?

I was pulling out the Dunkin's parking lot when a woman walking her dog came out from behind my car and walked in front of me. She gave me a long, mean look as she walked in front of my car, like, You almost ran me over.

On Instagram, I asked adopted people what emotions they did not like to feel.

So many people want to write some version of their life story and, even though it's something they lived, something they know, they can't do it.

I created six groups of three adopted people and gave them ten minutes to act like one brain and come up with a list of what they believed were the negative messages …

I was trying to figure out how to turn the air conditioner on with my key fob so I could leave Bird in the car while I ran in to grab some things

1. My helmet cost over $400. I thought the price was a code. Remember when candy bars were a quarter?

2. 2. The love I had for horses as a kid has been replaced by fear.

When my daughter Keats was a little girl, she and I went to 4th Street in Berkeley one day to get away from the Los Gatos heat and to do a little don't-really-have-money-but-we-can-look shopping.

Someone got a macro lens and is seeing the world--bugs and flying creatures you might tend to swat–like a person deeply in love. Maybe not like a person.