Loss of Morality Means George Floyd Died in Vain

Thinking about the masses today. My friends can’t come to my socially-distant backyard birthday party at my parents’ house on Long Island because of the NYC curfews. This is a negligible iota of importance, but it’s one person’s experience affected by the lawlessness.

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George Floyd deserves justice, and his death should not be in vain. That police officer should rot in jail for the rest of his sad days. Police academies need education and severe penal reform that will forcefully remind them that their actions have consequences.

But Chanel is not responsible for police brutality. Fendi did not kill George…


As with everything, it’s all about timing.

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I have a (yet again) new business plan to develop. It never ends. Thank God. It’s not intentional. I just have a lot of ideas. I keep reading the “Jack of All Trades is a good thing” logic on Medium, so hey, go figure.

I’m trying to internalize the concept that writing in the morning will be helpful. Even though I’m a morning worker, I actually prefer ironically writing at night, I think? I think my thoughts are more fluid, less strict, certainly more creative somehow. But I suspect my vocabulary recall is far higher in the AM. Or not…


364 days of the year, I tell my all-too insistent computer to “Remind Me Later” that it’s time to update my software. But in 2019, on the 365th day that I finally submitted to the “update” troll, I lost my beloved Dashboard — the screen that was to the left of all your Desktops that had the gadgets. The calculator, thesaurus, weather, and my beloved Stickies. Obviously when I updated, I didn’t know would remove the Dashboard. If I did I’d probably still be on 2015 software.

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I am not a nostalgic person, but damn do I miss this Dashboard

It was so devastating because I kept a list of vocabulary words on…


Keep moving forward and don’t fall in the gutters.

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Photo by Kalle Stillersson on Unsplash

I spoke in one of my earlier posts about the publishing idea in vague terms. In the last 12 hours, I got two messages from people sending posts my way that demonstrate exactly the problem I’m trying to solve. In the Alchemist, they call these things omens that God places in front of you.

Over the last weekend, I’ve had a huge reckoning with Tikkun, Personal Legend, life’s mission, whatever you want to call it. I realized something this morning:

We are all living in God’s world, and he carefully placed each of us here to assist in the divine…


It takes a good dose of self-discovery, struggle, and life to truly appreciate the power of Coelho’s most famous work.

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Photo by Mikael Kristenson on Unsplash

I read the Alchemist for the first time this week. I know it’s the classic high school reading book, which I see why, I guess, but for teenagers who haven’t endured hope, loss of it, rejection, and subsequent redemption, the moral will be undertaken as much as in a sexual abstinence class. All to say, it won’t sink in. They listen, but it can only impact, I think, someone who has been rigorously beaten up by perils and injustices and freak unpredictabilities of life, by the consequences of ones own poor decisions and by, worst of all, consequences of ignoring…


Is it just me, or is everyone regurgitating empty words?

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Is it obtuse or ignorant to say that everything that isn’t death toll reporting just feels like empty, useless words? Outside of raw case numbers, is all the rest not commentary, tangents of those affirmations of mortal finitude?

It’s life and death. Everything else doesn’t matter.

I rather read text messages and local Instagram pages reporting about people I know or who my friends know who’ve passed away, local figures that really meant something to me or my loved ones or my community. That’s where there’s a story. Humans of…


Hannah Horvath’s sartorial nonchalance is a statement on my greatest insecurity and fear. Why HBO’s Girls is still a spitting image of many young women’s twisted psychologies.

Hannah always looks as if she’s on a morning walk of shame: greasy, hot, and wearing yesterday’s underwear. To be sure, that’s Dunham’s and costume designer Jenn Rogien’s intention.

The crop top and acid-wash shorts riding up her bum, the infamous mesh rave shirt, or clips in her sweaty hair like the Spice Girls — that is Hannah. She wears things way after the shtick expires, which is sad and cringe-worthy. …


Is Sexual Liberation the Greatest Imprisonment? A Genuine Question.

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Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

I feel bad for girls who freely have open, no-strings attached sex, whether it’s a one night stand or a fling. It’s not healthy for women, mentally, I don’t think. I suspect no girl every feels fully comfortable in her own body after. Not in the long term, at least. Because if you like him, you leave with a psychological ping-pong game rallying in your head of does-he-love-me-not, tormented by the fear that maybe you put out too early, that maybe you didn’t play your cards right. …


If you’re thinking these thoughts, they’re not real.

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Photo by Eric Muhr on Unsplash

I suffered from acute anxiety towards the end of my freshman year of college. I discovered that what I thought was universally-shared opinion about morals ethics, well, wasn’t, which forced me to reckon with my own values as a human. That interim period of cognitive dissonance was sufferable, because before I realized that it was other people whose morals were askew, I thought there was something wrong with me. I felt like I’d somehow missed learning up from down and right from wrong, and because of that I didn’t trust myself. You’ll see that in these words. …


March 8, 2015

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Written at the end of my freshman year at University, sitting in my tiny dorm room bed at 1am. I was going to transfer to University of Pennsylvania, but decided not to go.

So I suppose if I wanted to get into University of Pennsylvania I’d have to write the best thing I’ve ever written. Some of the best things I’ve ever written were not for assignments or essays, rather at 1 in the morning when the jumble of my inner dialogue was bursting for escape as my hands clasped together between my ear and pillow. Ironically, I’m not a…

Sarah Tables

Born on the cusp of Millennial and Gen-Z. A voice for the ambitious young navel-gazers.

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