The right words, the right time.

sara barnard

Fourteen years ago, I wrote a story about a girl.

I was thirteen at the time, and writing stories was what I did. And not just about girls. Planets that spoke to each other, mice who lived in the Underground, magic meerkats and friendly boats. Writing was my thing; it was beyond a hobby and more than just something I enjoyed. It was how I understood the world. Words had all the magic and possibility anyone could ever need. Put them in the right order, and you could create a world of your own. And maybe, if you got them just right, that world would be a place that would mean something to other people.

I’d written countless stories by the time I was thirteen – the first at age 6, in which the acknowledgements page listed all our family pets by name, including the guinea pigs – of varying length…

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A poem from the future

ideas.ted.com

Editor’s note: This poem kicks off a new “Question Worth Asking” series: “How weird will the future be?” First up: a piece from poet and TED Fellow Ben Burke.

[Dear Helen- So sorry. Didn’t have time to write that poem. But my future self sent me one yesterday. So we’re good. Crazy, right? It’s totally legit and actually from the future, so no need to double-check, you’re probably too busy anyway. Happy New Year!  – Ben Burke]

Edited_RECORDER

THE TRANSHUMANIST’S LAMENT
or
TOO MANY RIVERS, NOT ENOUGH LAKES
or
OH, FUTURE — YOU SO CRAZY

I arrived in the basket that was weaved here before me
And I stayed in any place with a roof that would store me
I have lots of belongings
But didn’t pack for the trip
I got here, they put pants on me
And then the world gave me the slip

I’ve lived as slowly as…

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Fog

WANDER HOME

There’s an unpredictability to the grayness of days in our cove by this water, us in this dent on the edge of the west. As if caught in an eddy, our Bay sends swirls of dark air to engulf us and wrap our landscape in mystery. It is something circadian, yet somehow always sudden.

When I was young, we would visit my grandparents in the Oakland hills, winding up and up the steep streets to the top where on a clear day you could see San Francisco glinting like a toy in a blue pool. But most visits, we’d arrive fresh out of the hot valley where we lived, full of sun and heat and sweat, and find that an eerie world of cool clouds had swallowed everything around us. In the dead of summer, when home was shining bright, we’d find ourselves in darkness.

Now this fog is a part of…

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Sunflower Self

Broken Light: A Photography Collective

Screen Shot 2015-02-02 at 7.25.14 PM

Please welcome first-time contributor Erika, a 29-year-old artist and mother who has battled with depression and anxiety (both social and generalized) for 15 years. She also spiraled into addiction, particularly opiate addiction, after years of domestic violence. Erika is now free from the abuse and starting a new life with her two children and her art.  She is living at home in North Dakota, but hopes to move back to New Mexico to continue a Master’s Degree program in art therapy and counseling at Southwestern College. Erika currently is immersed in the study of the art process which has truly saved her life.

About this photo: “I have recently spent a lot of time connecting through photography to my home state of North Dakota, with which I have always had a love/hate relationship. Most of my photos have been purely aesthetic, but this one in particular has great meaning to me. When I…

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