In 2005, Adam bought a used Nissan. It was a good car, solid and reliable. But the thing about reliability is that it isn't interesting. And it certainly isn't meant for drifting. So he did some research. He watched some YouTube videos. He ordered some parts and had them shipped 6,000 miles from a Japanese junkyard to his parents' garage. More YouTube, more parts. He swapped in a turbocharged engine after the second shift at the fuse box factory. He added a manual transmission. He learned a lot. Eventually, he rolled it out of the garage. Proud, with only one thing left to learn: how exactly to drive a stick.
Spiritual insight number one: notice synchronicity. The coincidences, the happy accidents, the points of connection. Follow them. You'll find yourself in due time at spiritual insight number five: inner connection. Call yourself a mystic or a creative. Feel lightness, feel love. Find insight number nine in the cycle of birth and death, of new friends and missed connections. After all of this, you may find yourself looking for spiritual insight number ten. And on your journey - somewhere, out there you'll find Ingrid.
Brad was 15 and the world was suddenly rich with possibility. For the first time, he realized that a book could speak directly to him. Soon, every book on the shelf was reaching out and around the furniture, fighting for attention in the recesses of his young mind. He made his peace with it, learning to accept their knowledge with grace and hunger. He found balance. Until he started to wonder: what if I can speak back?
It’s 5 o’clock on a Wednesday. We all punch the clock (metaphorically) and head home (so to speak). Some of us are thinking about the weekend. Some are thinking about the big game. Oscar is thinking about physics. He’s thinking about how he might teach a child rotational friction and the gravity of black holes. He’d build an app, something as intuitive as it is complex — just like gravity. So he does. He’ll show us tomorrow.
Evan measured out his life in coffee spoons. He lost track years ago. His first cup of coffee comes immediately after he wakes up. Say, 6 AM. Black. Dark roast. The second and third cups come before work, too. By the time he walks into a 10 AM meeting, he's on cup number five. He can see electricity, converse with colors. He's running simulations in his head and answering questions before they are asked. His peak performance begs a couple of questions: 1. What happens if he puts down the coffee? 2. What happens if we join him?
She turns the corner, new shoes hitting the sidewalk in perfect rhythm. She straightens her blazer and looks up. Chin high. A picture of poise. "There She Goes" plays quietly from her Discman, echoing her confident early-summer buoyancy. You open the front door, feeling a little unkempt. You reach for a handshake. She extends a teenaged hand holding a business card: Anne Dean. Founder and president. Babysitters club. You exhale, "thank god, come in."
You're three drinks in at the work holiday party. Tim's telling you a story about something he read this week. You're pretty sure he said it was in the New York Review of Books, but what he actually said was that he read it while he was in New York, reviewing books. Magazines, technically, in the airport bookstore. Southern Living. You'd been looking for a good pecan pie recipe anyway. And besides, it's nice to be in cultured company.