My story today is centered around the idea that many people make their permanent homes in places where most people only vacation. There were never any curtains here. Something about the beach air made people forget that sunlight could be blocked out and that morning would come anyway. Where do you like to go to get away from it all? Tell me in the comments. That’s my story. Tell me one of yours.

Stories for Grown-Ups

My Story: The Whimsical Whale on the Corner

My story today is about the way we can put our trust in perfect strangers - like our hair stylists. Maralyn insisted on maintaining the often-seen short spiky hairdo that older woman gravitated toward when they give up. She resisted Hannah’s efforts to soften her face with another style. Hannah regretted missing out on the chance to dye all those spikes Barbie pink. What is it about certain strangers that makes us feel like we can trust them? Tell me in the comments. That’s my story. Tell me one of yours.

My Story: Instructions for Care

My story today revolves around something most of us thoroughly enjoy – sleep. But what if you didn't need to sleep anymore. How would you spend that extra time in your day? Stella had started a late-night crafting group and she kept sending me pictures of hip homemade wreaths, hand-stamped stationary and throw pillows with inappropriate phrases stitched on them. Her pictures came at all hours of the night and there were clusters of them waiting for my attention in the morning. What did you dream of last night? Tell me in the comments. That’s my story. Tell me one of yours.

My Story: At Night I Dream of Mermaids

My story today echoes in silence - from children, from heartbeats and from the things that we do not say to the people we love. At pickup time my sister is late. Or rather she is always late for our agreed-upon pickup time, but since she is consistently late, maybe she is actually on time. She looks tired despite the day off, so we do not talk. What are you putting off saying to the people you love? That’s my story. Tell me one of yours.

My Story: The Days Between Heartbeats

My story today is built around the idea of strangers on the bus. The shared intimacy of taking a long trip together can take its toll on people - both for the good and the bad: A thin young man in his mid-20s flopped down next to Robyn and immediately assumed the wide-legged spread all men assume while seated. Robyn watched him under lowered lids: The wider the parting of the legs, the more space he was trying to claim for himself. Being fat and taking up more space was one thing, spreading out your knees to take over an unrealistic amount of real estate for your crotch was another. Robyn thought some guys were really only one evolutionary step above peeing on their territory. Listen to Bus People and tell me about the worst bus trip you've ever taken. That’s my story. Tell me one of yours.

My Story: Bus People

My story today is set in the same way all parents tell stories to their children: With certain details omitted. What you want your children to know and what actually happened are two completely separate stories: Of course, there is a flip side to this story: One of perpetual light in which the birthrate dropped a bit and people were less likely to have one-night stands when faced with a potential lover in the bright accusing light of day outside a bar. But I’ve never met someone from the opposite side of the world to tell me that story. And I really don’t want to tell my children about one-night stands so close to bedtime. Sex education should take place in the daylight. Listen to Once Upon a Midnight Summer and tell me what you would change about your life if it was suddenly left in darkness. That’s my story. Tell me one of yours.

My Story: Once Upon a Midnight Summer

Sometimes a story buzzes around in my head for a while before I am able to get it right — this is certainly the case with my story for today. I like to ask people what their first memories are of. For some people it's just a fleeting impression and for others it is in amazing clarity with lots of details. Christine’s first memory was a flood of orange juice. The cascading fall of it as it slipped out of her grasp and spread into a large puddle in front of the fridge, the pulpy bits lodging themselves between her toes. Why mom kept it in that glass pitcher, she never thought to ask. Her mother was the one who found Christine standing in the juice puddle, and she lifted her onto the sink counter to wash her ankles and toes with warm water. Listen to A Brilliant Shade of Blue. And tell me what you would think about if you had the time to sit still with your own thoughts. That’s my story. Tell me one of yours.

My Story: A Brilliant Shade of Blue

My story today is a little more personal than most of my others, because the mother in the story is based on my own mother — a woman I greatly respect, admire and love. Children retain so many memories of their parents, but only in the role of parents. So few of us get to know the person outside of the parental role — the coworker, the friend, the person they were before becoming a parent. My Mother was still waiting. Sitting at the kitchen table with a snack for us, or to take our wet jackets and umbrellas. Sometimes even in the same spot we had left her at breakfast. In my child’s mind she was always waiting for me there – her life at a standstill when I left the room. She is waiting now. For the rain to stop and her grandson to wake from his nap. And maybe even for me. Listen to: When It's Enough. That’s my story. Tell me one of yours.  

My Story: When It’s Enough

A familiar, soft buzzing noise is at the heart of my story. It's amazing how that little buzz/ping/beep has integrated into our days. There is the phantom buzz where you think you heard your phone, but aren't sure. And there is even the buzz check where you haven't heard a buzz in so long, you have to check your battery. But what if there was just silence? Imagine that your phone stopped talking to you. There was once a time when he had to corral people and demand they stack their phones in the center of the conference table just to keep their attention for the 15-minute meeting. He thought of how they would look now – a tower of empty boxes. Listen to: The Virus Is the Cure. That’s my story. Tell me one of yours. subscribe to us on iTunes

My Story: The Virus Is the Cure

My story today focuses on the idea that we all have very different childhoods. But what if yours was so unusual, you had to hide it? In The Separated Life of Annie Good, we meet a woman who lies about the abnormality of her upbringing because the lie is easier to explain. Even to her boyfriend: In her defense, she had spent the first four weeks of their relationship believing it would never work out between them. He was, after all, a calculus major. During their first date he had tried to start conversations with her about social economics and politics before they were able to settle on classic cinema as a mutually satisfying topic. By the time she had realized her miscalculation on his viability as a long-term boyfriend and started believing in his potential, it seemed too late to delve into childhood issues. Abnormal is the new normal. That’s my story. Tell me one of yours. subscribe to us on iTunes

My Story: The Separated Life of Annie Good

In my story today, we take a look at the repercussions of our final words. Some people claim that if they could repeat their lives, they wouldn't change a thing. That can't be true — just think of all the heartache and pain that you could save yourself if you could relive your life. But what if you truly couldn't make any changes? How would you feel about being stuck in an endless loop of living and déjà vu and memories? The next afternoon...he saw the few words he had scribbled on the crinkly brown paper bag: Your life is a repeat and you have to go through it all again. You’re not crazy, Gerald. Just drunk. Gerald sat there on the floor, holding the cracked words from his paper bag confession and wondering about the sanity of a drunken mind. Drunks were always honest, he thought, although they might not always make sense. And it was this reasoning that lead Gerald to believe himself. Enjoy today's story: The Repetition of an Unlived Life. That’s my story. Tell me one of yours. subscribe to us on iTunes

My story: The Repetition of an Unlived Life

My story today is a bit darker than usual. Today's story, After the Kidnapping, is a single-person perspective from a woman trying to deal with a traumatic event in her life, but it's hard for her to keep all her thoughts straight. I stole the neighbor’s cat on the second move. He was a friendly, scrawny guy who sat on the porch of my parent’s house always in the sunshine. He spent all his days outside of his own home — three doors down from my parents — it was filled with the barking of little yappy dogs. It's a jumble of emotions, but a story that takes surprisingly few words to tell. That’s my story. Tell me one of yours. subscribe to us on iTunes

My story: After the Kidnapping

My story today includes a little motherly advice. We are all familiar with motherly advice — that nagging (and usually correct) voice in our heads. In today's story — I Should Have Peed Before I Left — we hear advice on common issues, like cleaning: Alyssa was standing naked in her kitchen admiring her clean floors. She had mopped them when she first moved in, but this was her first real chance to give them a thorough scrubbing. Alyssa had woken earlier than usual that Sunday, and had scoured her new apartment. As the faux tile floor dried, Alyssa walked into her beige-on-white bathroom to freshen up before putting her clothes back on. The wisdom of our parents spans across all topics, including love. We just have to learn to listen. Tell me your favorite bit of motherly advice in the comments section. That’s my story. Tell me one of yours. subscribe to us on iTunes

My story: I Should Have Peed Before I Left

As my story today shows, the edge of something can be razor sharp or a bit blurred at times. But, no matter the case, you have to be careful when approaching it. In Growing Up Along the Edge, the narrator takes a look back at the things that made his hometown special and his childhood seem a little ominous. In my later years, I had passed along my tales of the edge to my own children – all mature stories venturing into middle age: Of the time I lost my father’s flashlight to its bottomless depths. Or the day the wind was so strong it lifted the blackness over the edge and it rolled over our ankles in scorching waves. Of my last visit, when I celebrated my 21st birthday with a drink by its side. Think back to what your childhood memories are like in your town. Anything unusual you'd like to share? Tell me in the comments. That’s my story. Tell me one of yours. subscribe to us on iTunes  

My story: Growing Up Along the Edge

My story today — Malibu Barbie; Roller Skates; Concert Tickets; Fuzzy Socks and Tulips on a Rainy Day — is a story about lists. We all keep those secret lists in our heads: Of things we've done, things we'd like to do, the things we have to do and all the things we are afraid to try. Some lists are easy to share, but other times it's hard to share those secrets — even with the people who know us best. I almost told her then. About Michael. About 14 months of my life wasted. About the boxes in the basement that held all my things. His things. Our things. Instead, I said, “What’s really wrong, Betty?” What is your top 5 list of things you want the world to know about you? That’s my story. Tell me one of yours. subscribe to us on iTunes

My story: Malibu Barbie; Roller Skates; Concert Tickets; Fuzzy Socks & Tulips

Once upon a time, adults loved stories, too.