The Slate writer and Becoming Baba author reflects on Newark and mosques as home, making sense of Egypt on long flights, and becoming a father.
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Posted inEditor's Pick
It’s Not What the World Needs Right Now
“It’s 2016. I’m a contemporary artist and have been living off of Medicaid, food stamps, and $20k annually since graduating from art school five years ago.”
Posted inUncategorized
Shifting Identity, Shamans, and the Week’s Top 5
“So long as there are nations, there will be people trying to get out of them, tracking ceaselessly from one to the other while maybe wishing they could belong to the world instead.” In making a cross-country move recently, I realized that I can be a different person in a new place. There’s a certain […]
Posted inEditor's Pick
Can Video Games Replace the Outdoors?
“Maybe not in our hearts, but certainly in our brains. Plus, they can make you love the indoors far too much—which is why there’s now a full-fledged, woodsy rehab center for joystick addicts who need a soothing pathway back to a normal life.”
Posted inTop 5
The Top 5 Longreads of the Week
In this edition: ICE fighter, tectonic researcher, prairie preserver, regal grandmother, wild timekeeper.
Posted inTop 5
The Top 5 Longreads of the Week
In this edition: January begins, finding beauty, powerful blues, toxic water, and begonia batons.
Posted inFeature
The Bad Thing
Sometimes the most haunting part of trauma isn’t what happened—it’s wondering what could have happened if you hadn’t trusted your gut.
Posted inTop 5
The Top 5 Longreads of the Week
This week’s stories include techno, New Zealand, relationships, background music and doodles.
Posted inNewsletter
Loneliness, Power, and the Top 5 of the Week
“I want to be left alone, but I don’t want to be lonely.” Hanif Abdurraqib writes this about a tension that dominated the career of singer Phyllis Hyman—but it also feels like a familiar plea in this dim, early-January week, when many of us leave the chaos of extended family and drift back into our own homes, our own jobs, and perhaps our own small pockets of solitude.
