For the longest time, I was stingy with the word “favorite” — I felt a need to preserve how I used it, scared that generosity would make it meaningless.

But now I understand language as water — it is restricted by where it exists, not always by what it is, and the containers holding it are meant to be broken continuously.

This is all a long winded way of saying that I’m trying to break free from limiting my use of “favorite” because what a privilege, to know many things to love.

My most recent favorite read is poet Saeed Jones’ memoir, How We Fight for Our Lives. Here are some of the many moments that I resonated with, excerpted the book:

People don’t just happen. We sacrifice former versions of ourselves. We sacrifice the people who dared to raise us. The “I” it seems doesn’t exist until we are able to say, “I am no longer yours.” My grandmother and I, without knowing it, were faithfully following a script that had already been written for us. A woman raises a boy into a man, loving him so intensely that her commitment finally repulses him (pp. 34-35)

Everyone has a lie we’re quietly waiting to believe. Sometimes we just need someone to show up at our door, keep quiet, and let us do the talking (p. 100).

Tears don’t always just fall; sometimes they rip through you, like storm-painted gusts instead of mere raindrops (p. 170)

Good memories had become self-inflicted cruelties for us (p. 186)