Since I first heard about the AI revolution seven years ago, the notion that I could be practicing a superannuated profession has lurked at the back of my brain. Now it's on the glossy pages before me—yes, a physical magazine—and I can't stop thinking about my daughter.
On a winter trail run, a fallen beech tree with 67 rings and a hollow core sparks reflection on what's coming—and whether running can still clear my head.
Standing nearly alone during military songs, I realized good writing begins by noticing what unsettles us. In divided times, we risk losing the shared trust that some things matter more than our differences—and that’s worth standing for.
