#personal-reflection

#personal-reflection

This was a very small plot of land. He was a tenant farmer, so it wasn't his. He didn't have money, and he needed to move on because it wasn't working; probably not enough to eat, couldn't sustain. So, he left and went to America, and here I am a couple of generations later.

And it would be ridiculously clean, with very, very beautiful sheets, very clean and very tidy. It would be so boring, actually. Luxurious bedsheets, a reflective Dame Tracey told Kuenssberg, is her reward for having lived through a much messier youth and young womanhood.

A gloriously clear day cold enough to warrant a coat and gloves yet brilliantly sunny-light shimmering on the water like Christmas baubles and a sky so blue that the tides appeared joyously high. Rainbows entered my suite at the exquisite Venice Venice Hotel; a snowy white heron perched itself on the railing of the balcony, seemingly as enchanted by the activity on the canals as we were; a pianist dressed in a long printed cape that swept the floor played into the night.

The thing that surprises me most about these personal GOTY lists, which I've been doing most years since I started working at Kotaku (including in the delivery room for my third child), is just how little I remember them after they go up. I could guess what was on the 2020 list, or the 2018 one, or my very first one from 2016, but I would probably get half of them wrong.

1. What would you change, if anything, about our experience growing up? 2. What do you admire most about Mom and/or Dad? 3. In what ways did Mom or Dad let you down? 4. What's something you wish you could have told me when we were kids? Why didn't you tell me then? 5. How could I have been a better sibling to you when we were growing up? 6. What's your favorite childhood memory of us?

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I want to see the world, experience different cultures and give myself space to reflect on what I really want in life. Lately, though, whenever I bring up this idea to friends or family, they tell me it's irresponsible. They worry I'll fall behind in my career or lose my momentum in such a competitive industry. Some even say I'm being selfish for stepping away from a stable job when others are struggling to find one.

"I had enough money but not enough time." That's what my stepmom said, multiple times through her two-decade journey with metastatic breast cancer.

When we die, I believe we'll get to watch a supercut of our best bits, like when a contestant gets voted out of the Big Brother house.

In those quiet moments, I am reminded of the bustle of the city, or a lover's hand in mine, or the words that I couldn't quite say.

I had to put off calling my own mother, in case my future father-in-law said no. We drove up the road to my girlfriend's father's house, where he lived with his second wife.

"I'm the type of person who, if I'm happy, everybody in the room is going to be happy, and if I'm sad, it's going to be very quiet and tense. I'm a temperature guider in the room."

I surfed a bit. I was a gymnast as a child, so I can ride a wave no problem, except that I'm five foot three and surfboards are, I don't know, closer to six feet, so if the wrong wave ever catches me-boom-I'm dust.

I fed this woman the same line, told her a story, and quite literally waved my hands fleetingly as if running a household of four young boys and managing a traveling spouse while working full time was no big deal.

Although I lost parts of my body, I am still here to tell the story, to represent those who are not.

I always envisioned my wedding being an intimate affair, with my son walking me down the aisle, as I wanted it to reflect both our desires.

Like a fine wine, I like to pair my books with my travels. So I was going to Madrid for the first time and read Death in the Afternoon [by Ernest Hemingway].

Kreizman’s wit and blunt self-reflection animate her collection, as she delves into her journey from a 'good Democrat' toward a profound disillusionment.

But once I'm out there, there's no turning back-and I don't want to. The rhythm of the rain blends with the cadence of my legs, and suddenly, the world quiets.

I've shared Josh Comeau links many times here and his ability to explain technical matter with incredibly simple and well-built demos is easily the best in the industry.

After a series of unsettling events and a diagnosis of obsessive-compulsive disorder, the author reflects on past neurotic behaviors and questions whether to share his experience with loved ones.

As a mom of four, I feel guilty I can't give my kids the same summer camp experience I cherished, despite its initial challenges.

I never thought I'd put that much of myself in the film... I was very concerned at one point when we had half filmed it, and tried to get it stopped.

"Seeing family for the holiday?" The Lowe's cashier asks me as he rings up the shovel. "No," I answer, too quickly, recalling that first disaster of a trip."

In lonely strip malls and dusty markets, I began scribbling in notebooks. The boy on the metal table was the first ghost to come forward.

I had theories, of course. Looking back, these tended to change quite frequently, and yet the fear was always the same: in short, that I was dying, that I had some dreadful and no doubt painful disease.

Without us, the chickens wouldn't have been hatched. With us, they must live by our rules. And we, by theirs.

For better or for worse, it's my name and I won't change it.

I wore a fake engagement ring for a week while traveling and was surprised at how emotionally resonant the experience was, reflecting my readiness for marriage.