Musing

A reader asked me to define narcissism. I’m happy to oblige — it’s a word I know intimately.

A glossary of sorts — what I actually mean when I say “compulsion” and “addiction,” and why the distinction matters more than you might think.

I keep circling back to this one, because smart people I admire keep getting it wrong in the same way.

The feeling I fear most is the one I’ve spent years seeking out.

Freud is my bartender, and I’d like to tell you what he’s been serving me.

What girls wanted wasn’t badness. What they didn’t want was niceness. It took me decades to understand the difference.

Pubescent girls affect me in ways I wish they didn’t. Here are some thoughts about all that.

It wasn’t the sex I was addicted to — it was the endless, shimmering promise of it, glowing on screen after screen.

I want, and I want to be wanted — but not too much, and only if I might not be.

Just like a toddler, what I want isn’t to have — it’s to get.