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Here is all I’ve got today.

I used to write when I needed to find my best self. I would erase my first and most visceral reaction, then by the third or fourth draft, I would find my true voice: one that found some tiny diamond of redemption and sought to magnify it, in hopes of inspiring others to do the same. I engaged and endured the many ensuing (frustrating) conversations, because I believed that in doing so, in some small…

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a ghost town, a ruin, a monument; hello.

I remember who I was here, though if you had asked me at the time, there’s no chance I would have claimed to have a grasp on that. I still wrestle with who I’ve been since. I haven’t touched my guitar since last August. I took a job as a full-time baseball writer. I haven’t cut my hair in two years. I am a time-traveler here in this place, giving a slightly-more-wrinkled smile, a knowing…

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A Year, Reviewed (The Macro)

It would be a book, really. If I tried to write it all down, every meaningful, discouraging, and/or hilarious story. There have been years of my life that could be summed up in a chapter or paragraph (or, in the case of “9th grade sucked.”, a sentence) but this was not one of those years. When we were in Nashville recently, a friend at church attempted to pin me down on an answer: “Okay, so…

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