Choosing Happiness
By Leah Pearlman, January 12, 2017

Today is my 35th birthday (36 if you count the original) and this year I’m giving myself Happiness. Real happiness, lasting happiness, not just the kind that bounces on trampolines (though that too, of course!) This is the kind that sustains, nourishes, creates, honors. The kind that is friendly, inclusive, honest, real. Actually “giving” myself […]

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Is this Traveling?
By Leah Pearlman, December 14, 2016

Whoever says that traveling is glorious and magical and something everyone must do, was not telling the story from the beginning.   Or perhaps they are made of different stuff than I am, like ease and confidence and a perpetual sense of inherent belonging. Perhaps they more easily take risks or they don’t perceive risks […]

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Eat The Marshmallow
By Leah Pearlman, October 25, 2016

There is a famous study in which researchers left kids alone with a marshmallow. If the kids waited to eat their marshmallow until the researcher came back, they would get a second one. Some kids ate the first marshmallow right away. Others waited a minute or two. A few made it to the end. Researchers […]

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By Leah Pearlman, October 10, 2016

There’s this thing in nature where animals, deer, ducks, and others, shake after a stressful encounter, relieving the tension that forms during a fight.   Last night after watching the debates, I shook. There’s a baby in my house now, and she cried, unusually distraught. It may be unrelated, but I’m not so sure…   […]

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You’re Gonna Want To Know
By Leah Pearlman, September 17, 2016

A few weeks ago, my brother took me to get my first Tattoo. As I sat in the chair with my arm extended, he put his hand on my shoulder and said to me, “Pay attention. Nothing else feels quite like this. You’re gonna want to know what it feels like.”   It was great […]

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A Broken Door, A Broken Heart, & A Cat
By Leah Pearlman, August 22, 2016

Three months ago, the latch on my brother’s basement door was broken. This wouldn’t be a problem if it wasn’t for Momo, the cat.   When I visit my brother’s family, I sleep in the basement. In that black abyss, full of computers and machines that whir with deafening white noise, I get the best […]

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Please Call Me On My Shit
By Leah Pearlman, August 15, 2016

  Please call me on my shit.  If I hurt you. If I leave you. If I make you feel unseen. If I drop you. If I miss you. If my motives seem unclean.   Please call me on my shit  When I say something that’s rude. Call me out at times you feel run […]

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This is me. I Love you.
By Leah Pearlman, July 10, 2016

  When I was in first grade, I had a crush on an older boy named Tim, a second grader. Our school had the two grades combined so I had the good fortune of sitting only a few feet away from him every single day.   Each morning before the school day began, we had […]

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Boats On The Water
By Leah Pearlman, June 14, 2016

Several years ago, Annelene Decaux changed everything when she taught me about Boats on the Water.   “It’s like this,” She said, or something like it; time has faded the specifics.  “Love is a lake, and each of us is paddling around in our own little boat. Sometimes we paddle toward each other, sometimes alongside, […]

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Broken Indicator
By Leah Pearlman, May 1, 2016

My mom’s car had an indicator that her right blinker had gone out. You know the one: tickticktickticktickticktickticktick.    For a week we rode around together, she, freaked out to switch lanes, me, waving my hand out the passenger side window asking cars to let us in. Today I asked if she’d taken it to get […]

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The Story of “Mine”
By Leah Pearlman, April 28, 2016

Last week I was on an airplane next to a woman eating Pringles. Though they smelled delicious, I did not reach over and take one.   Why? Because they were “hers.”   I never even considered having one. The only thought I had about the Pringles was that I wished she’d put the lid on […]

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The Strange Beautiful Side of Death
By Leah Pearlman, April 19, 2016

It’s no surprise to anyone who knows my family well (or perhaps anyone who has a teenage daughter themselves) that growing up, my mom and I had a strained relationship.   Simply put, she insisted that I sit at the table for dinner, go to bed at nine, periodically clean my room and go to […]

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