I recently experienced a visual about worrying. It was a mountain where the highest point is the peak of worry.

To the Editor:

I’ve never written a letter to an editor but I cannot sit silent after reading Mr. Hoffman’s opinion that “fertilized eggs are not living beings.” Obviously he has never carried a child in his body and heard the heart beat nor felt the movement of the child.

As I think ahead to 2024, I can’t help but feel so lucky to live here, in these mountains. 

Stepping outside the small log cabin, I took a moment to collect my thoughts. Vast farm fields and ancient dirt in the rural countryside outside of Goldsboro, the cool air of an impending fall was felt with a sense of relief in a place where heat and humidity reign supreme. 

Figuring out life is hard. Watching everyone around you figure it out at a faster rate is even harder. I know that everyone is on their own timeline, but it still feels like getting left behind.

I can hear my son rolling around upstairs.

Pop culture wants to kill us. At the very least, it wants to make us miserable, to ensure that from an early age we are well on our way to a lifetime of chronic disappointment.

With my 38th birthday right around the corner, I went on a first date last week. It seemed to go well enough that we met back up the very next night to continue our enjoyable conversation from the previous rendezvous. 

It’s been another hard news week. It seems like that’s becoming the norm in modern American society. No matter which news outlet you favor, there are a slew of heartbreaking or alarming stories. Even if you simply pop on your phone to get directions or check your bank account, it’s hard to avoid the headlines. 

By Sabrina Matheny • Rumble Contributor | I was visiting the nearby town of Shepherdstown, Virginia yesterday when a zealous young fellow around the age of 5 approached me with an offer that I could not refuse:  he would draw anything I requested.