the examined family
the examined family
I love...

I love...


Inspired by Alex Dimitrov’s incredible poem, “Love,” I wrote this. Write one, too? Or even just a few lines?

I love rye toast at diners.

I love finishing a book.

I love being cold alone in a bed at the moment when he slips in and spoons me, his body warm with residual motion.

I love my neighbor’s comedic timing. I love watching her make my other neighbors laugh.

I love when 2-year-olds say things they don’t fully understand, but get the rhythm and tone of adult communication perfect.

I love sinking a 3-pointer.

I love walking beside honest, smart women.

I love eavesdropping on my daughter’s imaginary world.

I love the first swig of Racer 5 from a glass bottle.

I love the smells of lilac, eucalyptus, coffee, and basil.

I love finishing leftovers. Nothing wasted.

I love when I feel like there is so little time left—it all matters. I love when I feel like there is so much time left—none of it matters.

I love listening to people saying something vulnerable and true to a group of other people listening.

I love how insignificant Redwoods make me feel.

I love my mother’s cowgirl boots and oxtail soup. I love her garden art.

I love when the subway finally pulls into the station at 3am. Relief.

I love how boundaried cats are.

I love reading to children. I love the questions they ask when I’m reading to them.

I love chickpeas.

I love being alone.

I love freckles and gap-toothed smiles. This is because my best friend in 3rd grade had both.

I love old people’s hands, especially if their knuckles are bulbous like my grandmothers were.

I love Lauryn Hill’s verse on “Ready or Not.”

I love making eye contact with a very pregnant woman and saying with my mind, “You got this!”

I love all the men who have been so loving towards my body.

I love the first and last scene in a movie. I love sitting in the dark watching.

I love Ruffles, cottage cheese, and The Oprah Winfrey Show circa 1996.

I love wrestling with my daughter.

I love noticing something with a stranger.

I love asking questions.

I love giving toasts.

I love treating money like energy rather than an object.

I love the river, how it obliterates time.

I love being of use.

I love only one pair of earrings.

I love having friends outside of my generation.

I love the feeling of a well-organized drawer.

I love my brother’s exuberance, the scar on his finger, the boys he is raising.

I love a hot bagel, iced coffee, the newspaper, and a blanket in Prospect Park.

I love not quite understanding, wanting to.

I love when people surprise you by changing.

I love when I surprise myself by changing.

I love giving up sometimes, the lightness of that.

I love fireplaces.

I love cemeteries.

I love nursing babies.

I love reading in silence in a room with other people reading in silence.

I love Bonnie Raitt and Patty Griffin.

I love nurses and teachers.

I love the euphoria after a headache.

I love collage and street photography. Romare Bearden. Sally Mann.

I love introducing people.

I love keeping the main thing the main thing.

I love when my baby says, “For real?”

I love when my dad says, “Is that right?”

I love many people who have died and some who are yet to be born.

I love that.

the examined family
the examined family
figuring out how to be and raise ethical, joyful humans in beautiful, horrible times
Listen on
Substack App
RSS Feed
Appears in episode
Courtney Martin