Should I be surprised at how unnerving it is to write a memoir? My mother died of Alzheimer's disease, so someday I may forget who I have been. I better finish the story before it’s too late. I recently reread a poem I wrote years ago, a kind of memoir in fewer than two hundred words. It includes references...

When I was in high school, I discovered a cure for anxiety-driven insomnia: sleeping outside. When I returned from a summer in Afghanistan between my junior and senior years, I suffered reverse culture shock. I’d lived a slow, down-to-earth life in Kabul, where homes seemed to grow out of the soil. I woke up to rooster crows and donkey brays...