work in process has been under the weather this week, so I’m going to take my own advice: Don’t ask for permission or wait for someone to come knocking. Say the thing you need to say. In that spirit—and in protest of this week’s heartless equity + care cuts and for ALL the girls out there, listen up bitches:
Here’s a teaser from my forthcoming book, How to Disappear.
The Men
The men at work were divided into two groups: the safe ones and the threatening ones. The threatening ones punched glass doors and screamed in the hallways and broke chairs. They snuck up behind us, licked their index fingers, and stuck them in our ears when we were bent over our desks, doing our work. We got paid minimum wage; they got the plum assignments to far-away places. Some of them were dangerous in more sinister ways: They spoke nicely at meetings but behind closed doors they sneered at us, at everyone. The truly terrifying ones harbored grudges that were as cold and impenetrable as winter in a Mongolian yurt. They waged a silent war of resentment. For years, they would get up and leave the room—any room, dinner parties, restaurants, holiday parties at bars—the moment we entered, for reasons we would never know. Maybe no reason. A frozen dead stare in our direction would reaffirm our teminal transgressions. Their weapons were cynicism, rage, contempt.
Some were dangerous because they were self-destructing. These men were sadder, more complicated. They knew which group they were in, and wanted to be in the other. They were the ones we wanted to help, but they could not see through their shame and dishevelment, and if we weren’t careful they would take us down, too.
The safe ones were gentle. There were far fewer of them, but we knew who they were right away. They were the tender men. We could come into their office and slide into a chair and not be afraid of what was said or not said. We did not have to brace for any sudden movements. They had smile lines around their eyes. Some had wives. We knew they meant what they said. They were not trying to kill us with their fury and disrespect, with their flung chairs and withering stares. They were soft in the right ways, in the way in which men at that magazine—or men anywhere—were not supposed to be soft.
We did not get to be soft at work. We had to be men, too. All the women did. The only other way to be a woman there was to be a mother, and mothers were aliens from another galaxy. They left early for doctor’s appointments and pre-school pick-ups while the rest of us worked hard and long like real men. Their empty, darkened offices were proof that their careers were going nowhere, anyone could see that. Eventually the mothers left.
Sometimes when I think about those days, about what I had to give up, my softness, and how long it took to get it back, I wonder, which type of man was I?
SEE YOU IN TEXAS! work in process will be offline at Flow Camp in Big Bend next week + back with more tastiness the week after next. If you have a wild hare to join us + can get yourself down to Terlingua on Wednesday, we’d love to have you. 1 spot remains to fill a last-minute cx. It’s going to be a love-fest of writing, running, hiking, yoga, wildness + flow at Willow House, the sweetest spot in all of west TX.
BRIEF FLASHINGS IN THE PHENOMENAL WORLD Audio Book Release!
For those of you love to read on the run, I’m thrilled to announce that the unabridged audio book of Brief Flashings in the Phenomenal World, narrated by me, will be published on Tuesday, February 18! Get it on Audible or wherever you buy your audio books. This is the must-read listen of the season for anyone who’s been injured, sidelined, or is seeking a deeper way of being. Inspiration guaranteed!
Registration is now open for Mountain Flow Camp at High Camp Hut, outside of Telluride Colorado, Sept 5-8, 2025. Join us for this magical creative retreat at 11,000 feet in the San Juan Mountains. Writing, running, hiking, Zen + flow.
xx k
