Bobby and Dorothy

Above, scarf: New York street vendor. Sweater: K-8 uniform. Polo: American Eagle, brother's. Jeans: Forever21. Boots: Hunters.

This (fake) pashmina is seriously fluorescent. It doesn't show in the pictures.

After a long talk with Jocelyn a few weeks ago, I decided to reread Franny and Zooey this morning. It is still a work in progress, like everything else in my life.

I can't tell anymore if it's the mark of a learned individual to believe in something godlike. I can't tell if it's braver to deny organized religion and its motions or embrace it and its uncertainties and criticisms. I can't tell if it matters. I can't tell if religion and belief are related, or if they're supposed to be, or if spirituality can't be an individual experience and practice.

I don't know if there's some ideology out there with all the right slots for my thoughts on the way things work to fit into, and I don't know if that scares me or makes complete sense.

The questions I'm asking are too big for spring break. And I don't know if they have answers, or where they are.
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