Every house has one. The place where the things go that don't quite fit anywhere else. The things we're not ready to look at. The things we meant to deal with eventually. The things we loved once and outgrew and couldn't bring ourselves to throw away. The things we're ashamed of, or proud of, or confused by, or simply — not sure what to do with yet. The attic. In most houses it is dusty and dim and slightly awkward to get into. You have to pull down the hatch, unfold the ladd

Most attics contain treasures. The problem is that we forget they're there. A photograph. A letter. A piece of music. A memory. A glimpse of who we once were. I sometimes think about the younger version of myself. Not because I want to go back. I don't. But there are things about her that I would like to keep. Her curiosity. Her willingness to try. Her ability to become completely absorbed in something she loved. Somewhere along the way, many of us become very good at being a

Every attic in our "houses" contains old stories. Mine certainly does. Some were handed to me by teachers. Some by family. Some by society. Some I invented all by myself. Stories like: "You're not artistic." "You're too old." "You're not the adventurous type." "People like you don't do things like that."... The strange thing about old stories is that we stop questioning them. They become furniture. They sit in the corner collecting dust while we quietly arrange our lives arou

Yesterday I was thinking about all the invisible boxes we carry through life. Not the ones in our garages. The ones in our minds. You know the ones. "I'll do that one day." "I'll learn that one day." "I'll write that book one day." "I'll take that trip one day." "I'll start painting one day." For years, I thought those dreams were safely stored away. Waiting patiently. But I have started to suspect something else. I think every unopened dream quietly takes up space. Not becau