I’m here because this isn’t work we can do alone.

Showing up, telling our stories, and taking good care of ourselves and each other through how we live and write — that’s why I’m here. Thank you for being on the other side of the words — and for sharing your own.

*If you’re curious about the official stuff, like where I went to school, you can see that here.

I’d rather tell you…

…how I love the way the light kisses the houseplants on the southern-facing windowsills in my little kitchen, which doubles most of the time as my home office. I’d rather tell you that I’m a recovering overachiever and perfectionist, dedicated to living these words from Mary Oliver: “It’s not a competition, it’s a doorway.”

…that kids teased me when I was little because of how my eyes scrunch up when I smile, and how in my mid-40s, I’ve come to love my deep smile lines.

What you won’t find on any resume: I’m an extroverted introvert, a lover of trees and fresh water swimming and babies and bulldogs, and a rabbi at heart. That I’m more committed to intersectional feminism and dismantling white supremacy than I am to having everyone like me — and that this, too, is a practice.

All of my work, from writing groups to retreats to individual coaching, is devoted to creating safe and brave spaces where we get to connect, learn, and grow.

I live in Amherst, Massachusetts with my kids, Aviva and Pearl, my beautiful wife, Mani, and our bulldog, Chalupa.

My life and work have been anything but predictable, which is how I wound up here, promptressing and poeting and practicing. I talk a lot about practice. It’s the basis for my writing and life, for how I parent and how I work with writers. To me, practice means we don’t have to hit the bullseye, we just have to throw the arrow. Permission to stumble, self-forgiveness, fierce compassion for the ache and beauty of being human — these inform and guide me. I’m not interested in love and light; I’m interested in the truth.