K.M. Cookie

I started the day the way I do every Friday. Dream catchers on. Essential oil from an artisan in Kauai dabbed at my wrists, the scent I use to remind myself that every day can feel like a vacation if I begin with the right intention. Comfortable shoes on my feet, not because I love them, I miss high heels, but these days I dress for survival, not style. My phone started ringing before I even got to the parking lot. Emergencies. Crises. New interpretations of old rules that were fine yesterday...

There was a song playing on the radio during this trip — one of those simple lines about not needing a perfect plan, just a hand to hold. That's exactly what this trip was. Nothing about it went the way I expected, and everything about it was exactly what I needed. The First Sellout Since I published Song of Hummingbird Highway and started doing signings, I've never sold out of books at an event — until the Belize Diaspora Summit. Every copy, gone. But the number wasn't the real story. The...

The windows here are high. Above me, the sky is doing that particular Chicago thing where it's neither dark nor bright — a light fog laid over everything, a smoky haze sitting on the water. Out past the glass, Lake Michigan holds exactly one sailboat. Soldier Field sits in the distance, quiet today, though recovering from the days the World Cup crowds fill the stadium. Behind me: a mural of a stag standing among flowers, all color against everything else that's muted. Blackstreet plays on the...