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Three Decades and a Lightbulb
The first words are always a chore. The cursor goads me to fill the page, yet the words trickle out like droplets from a pressureless hose. It’s clear that a change is due—a change I’ve long avoided. I must outline my writing. Dread! Outlines, like diagramming sentences, are trigger points for those of us educated…
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A Thought on Myths
“Myths are the stories we tell ourselves to make living tolerable. To make shitty lives seem worth enduring. The gods lived on Olympus, a climbable mountain within plain sight.” – Kaveh Akbar, from his novel Martyr! On Thanksgiving Day, 2003, I climbed Mt. Olympus while studying abroad in Greece. A friend and I set out…
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Conversations That Matter
I think about the hours—the ones we’ve spent plunged in deep conversation. You, with your inquisitive eyes, asking questions and probing for clarity. Me, with a head full of scattered thoughts, trying to string some coherence together. It is not that the world confuses you. Age gave you wisdom and you’re slick at tracking history’s…
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Lowering Your Own Temperature
The news this week felt like a wet towel snapped against our national backside. Did you feel it? Stinging pain on the skin, followed by a healthy, growing welt on one of our cheeks? It was a week of cultural tremors: the attempted assassination of a former president; Houston residents left without power; unrelenting temperatures…
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How Writing Ideas Arrive
A reader recently asked me how I chose ideas to write about, so I thought I’d share a short piece on how these ideas arrive. I can’t get it. I can’t find a thread to pull. Why is writing so slippery? Topics slide through my hands like melting ice cubes. In a flash, something jumps…
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A Conversation With The Inner Critic
Maybe you’ve heard the term “inner critic” before. I’m certain you’ve listened to the salty bastard jabbering in your ear on occasion. The self-doubter, the belittler, the defeatist—these are hallmark traits of the inner critic. It’s bound within our programming and uses the concept of comparison as a weapon. Why am I less successful than…
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Buzzing in Karachi, Part II
I let the offer sink in: a personal guide through the Swat Valley who happened to be from the region? You bet your ass. Of course, I’d have to wait a few years until I returned to Pakistan, but that’ll come soon enough. Like freshmen in a college dorm, we traded bands and watched music…
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Buzzing in Karachi, Part 1
*The following is a snippet from a memoir I’m writing. It reflects on a scene that took place in Karachi, Pakistan, while meeting a new friend. Next week’s essay will complete the piece.* It was a late night in Karachi and the air was thick with mischief. I’d come to the city with a friend…
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52 Weeks
For the past 52 weeks, I’ve published one essay every Sunday morning. I’ve taken cracks at fiction, travel writing, and personal reflections. Each piece averaged 1000 to 1200 words, bringing the year’s total to approximately 200 pages posted on Stirring Point. I hope that each essay contains—at minimum—a thought or phrase with enough ass behind…
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The Faces We Remember
Some faces are impossible to forget. Squinting eyes, furrowed brows—these details sear our memories and attach themselves to moments in our lives. Like scar tissue, they heal lumpy and imperfect and remind us of times when the world was beautiful, or when it all came crashing down. I remember his face hovering above me as…
Stirring Point 