the stories we tell ourselves

a Maine recap + some journaling prompts

I gained sentience in 1995 as I was doing a semi-coordinated toddler run up a path to a lighthouse in Maine. I remember nearly everything about the moment: late afternoon, my dad right up ahead on the path, my mom walking my brother in a stroller nearby, a sweet and thick smell that for the past 29 years has stopped me in my tracks. I thought it was the…