Living out of a van, without an address to pin you down, can be blissful and carefree, and occasionally miserable. But the same goes for love.
When celebrities are candid, they tend to go all out. Reddit’s “Ask Me Anything” interviews—edited for the seven deadly sins—provide an Idolatry of Self so big, it produces Zen koans.
Here comes summer, when the yoke of responsibility loosens. We all have our past indiscretions, but they’re too sordid to sign our names to—so we’ve changed the names and rearranged the text to protect the guilty.
The instinct to applaud boot-strapping and the comeback kid is as American as apple pie. So why does schadenfreude make us feel so good?
A youthful pledge to become an essayist gets lost.
Twice a year, a group of friends gathered in a coal-mining pocket of Pennsylvania—friends in their twenties with fragile identities, who didn’t know yet what would happen.
Dreams of a Matalin-Carville romance tempt a young Washington journalist covering the death of a dictator to cross party lines in pursuit of love.
Two men, separated by more than 150 years, discover the folly of attempting Western-style capitalism in Micronesia.
The only thing worse than Valentine’s Day is a crappy Valentine’s Day. A handful of TMN writers and editors dish (anonymously) on their worst dates—crying men, rugby brawls, and a dislocated sacroiliac joint.
When illness erases the fine line between love and obsession.
A newborn wavers between life and something else. For the father, a walk in the woods elucidates the struggle between nature and nurture.
When dementia gets its grip on a father who always loved slasher movies, a daughter struggles to hold on—if only to the ghost of recognition.