A stock photo. But somehow, even on a blue-collar income, my thirty-something father always managed to give his family of four an annual beach vacation. Then there’s me, his thirty-something daughter, occasionally too cash-strapped even to book a bunk in a hostel dorm. (Photo: sarahbernier3140 on Pixabay)

A Millennial Reckons with the Grit She Doesn’t Have

Or, my nostalgia for low-density polyethylene, and the struggle for daily bread

I’ve been writing this thing about letting the senses reconnect us with our emotions, and there’s a part that I can’t write without bawling. It’s just a childhood memory of being loved very much, combined with the adult understanding in…