It’s been a minute.
The last time I wrote, I was gearing up to ride my motorcycle from North Carolina to Arizona to spend time with family. That trip took me through deserts, mining towns, bad diners, good questions, and the occasional sideways wind gust that reminded me: control is often an illusion.
What started as a long ride west became something deeper. I thought I was going to visit my parents and my brother and his family, and to chase a few personal stories. And I did. But I didn’t expect to be chased back—by memory, myth, and a reckoning I didn’t know I was ready for.
As I rode 4,820 miles across 11 states, the road became more than a route; it became a catalyst. Each mile drew out memories I thought I’d left behind, shook loose old assumptions, and forced me to examine the myths I inherited about strength, womanhood, aging, and a mother I never quite understood.
The Muse Has Terrible Boundaries
And once I got home, the real trip began.
Thoughts became journal entries, which became a feature story for a magazine—and then morphed again into something more demanding. A memoir I’ve named Buckskin Rides Again showed up uninvited and promptly took over my life.
I’ve gotten out of bed at night to scribble lines before they disappeared. More than once, my spouse has come home to find me still in my nightclothes, surprised that the day has passed. I forget to eat until I’m ravenous (and then eat badly to fill the gap). If not for my workout partner and trainer, I might not have ever left the house.
Over the next few months, I’ll be sharing the full story here in 25 weekly dispatches. Each one follows a stretch of the road and the memories that surfaced alongside it—snapshots of family, identity, and what it means to stay emotionally awake through change.
You don’t have to ride a motorcycle to come along. Just know what it feels like to keep going when the path ahead is unclear.
New dispatches begin later this summer and will land in your inbox on Sundays. I’ll be narrating each one as a podcast, too, in case you prefer to listen on the go.
If you’re already subscribed, you’re on the ride. If someone forwarded this to you, you can hop in for free:
Writing this story is changing me. Because Buckskin isn’t just set on a motorcycle—it could only have been written because of one. If you're writing your way through something too, I see you. We'll talk more about that later.
In the Family Way
A few weeks after coming home, and in the thick of drafting Buckskin, I became a mother-in-law. My eldest son tied the knot on June 6 in a lovely garden ceremony.
Arizona-based family joined us in North Carolina and we played cards, had a cookout, and sorted through a big box of old family photos—some that made us laugh, others that stopped us in our tracks. Oh, the memories.
Also: At the time, I thought I was a fat teenager. The photographic evidence says otherwise. Oh, women and body image… what a terrible cost American culture has extracted from us all.
What I’ve Been Reading and Watching
If I’m honest, I haven’t been reading much lately that I haven’t written myself. Most of my “leisure reading” has come via headphones. I’m midway throughMarble Hall Murders, the latest in Anthony Horowitz’s Magpie Murders series.
That said, I did finally watch the 2024 film The Friend (based on the 2018 novel by Sigrid Nunez), and starring Naomi Watts with Bill Murray.
It’s a quiet, elliptical story about grief, companionship, and writing—as told through a woman mourning the suicide of her best friend and unexpectedly inheriting his Great Dane (in a tiny apartment). No shoot-em-up scenes or head-banging music, but plenty of reflective moments that make you reconsider what really matters.
What I loved most: it doesn’t try to resolve grief. It simply stays with it. Much like the dog does. I think Buckskin has some of that same DNA—grief as a quiet companion you learn to walk alongside.
If you're looking for something understated and literary, with a slow burn and real emotional payoff, The Friend is worth your time.
PS – If you’ve done a cross-country trip yourself (on two wheels or four), I’d love to hear where the road took you. Hit reply.
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