I am a fruit, if you remove my first letter word
I become a crime, my second letter word I will become an animal

What am I

JOKE
Kemi was praying hard to God and God decided to answer him

God: kemi what do you want
Kemi: I want a job, a big car and lots of girls around me
God: your request has been answered
Kemi: thank you Lord

Kemi was a bus driver in a female school, was his prayer answered or no

Who no that my father is the first man that buy house in American and carry it to nigeria

Who no that my father is the first man that buy house in American and carry it to nigeria

brilliant creative community, and the enduring satisfaction of a right-sized job, and the warmth of being chosen by others — we have also experienced how temporal each of these things can be, and how unbundled many of them are with each other. We’re feeling the loss of each of them, and loneliness that comes with it, and the social undertow that insists we must rebundle some in one particular way, and subsume the others. We have learned to open up the range for which aspects of human life and relationship get priority — for where, what, and whom to orient our lives around. But we’re lacking social scripts to help us meaningfully navigate and prioritize from this newly expanded decision set. Loneliness, now, plays in a thousand places.

Living alone requires us to live with real intention and vulnerability, and when necessary, to use our words. This is the soft spot I’ve learned in these last weeks: To allow myself to admit, “Right now, in this season, I am not just alone but really lonely.” To say this to others, trusting that real ones will hear it without dismissal or silver-linings. And, in saying it, learning that others, too, are really lonely. That sometimes the best thing we can do for each other is simply to talk about our lonelinesses, and help each other feel the edges of where we long for more.

A close friend came to town, walked into my small, dim apartment, and said, “Ok, I know you — how will we bring in opulence and light, how will we increase expansiveness and hospitality?” (One of those surprise lines that friends sometimes pull out, just to reveal how well they see us…)

A ceramicist friend made me a kitchen set of mugs and bowls on her basement wheel; an entrepreneurial friend sent me handwoven silk carpets for my floors, with process videos of his mentor weaving them the same way he’d learned as a child; a tailor friend is, right this moment, handcrafting a quilt for my bedroom, covering it with talismens that represent me / my past lives (and asking other friends to weigh in…)

For the last twenty years, we’ve heard about the tyranny of choice — the paralysis that comes with the perception of near-infinite, abundant options. In our social script, that’s often come with a thinly-concealed generational condemnation: that Millennials can’t settle down, we chase experience highs, we’re obsessed with fear of better options. Maybe this is true, and probably it was especially true in our 20s. But through many conversations with others, I’m learning just how many of us are feeling the poignant, grownup side of this. For the lucky ones of us who have tasted beautiful romantic partnership, and a lifegiving place, and a

And last week, a dear friend and former longtime housemate-turned-life-collaborator stayed for the weekend and helped me rearrange my furniture — physical, psychological, existential! — into a space that suddenly started to look like it was mine, like it had been created from love and context, and at least a few attempts at modular/hacking

It’s a wonderful surprise. But it’s only the first step to restoring our confidence and trust in our core principle as a nation: That a democratic system of governance can be used to build a better collective future.