Searching For Space In A Jam-Packed Nation
A Letter From The Space In My Mind
There was a time I loved going to the supermarket with my parents. I’d race to the car afraid they’d leave without me. Dad would carry me in his arms and get me grilled corn and Chiclets.
Eighteen years later, a supermarket trip feels like a gnawing nag in the back of my head. I — an acclaimed anti-procrastinator in the extended…