I was nine years old when my father died and while I was too young to understand its significance, it was indelibly tattooed on my young flesh. When I hit my early forties, that trauma came home to roost. I left my predictable life in New York City and hit the road...
This is my second shot at writing a monthly column and I slammed into a wall sometime between the first and this sophomore effort. Initially, I wrote about the downside of social media, while bringing the world together, it has also created the potential for a kind of...
