530 Words. 2 Minute Read.

He exists in mountains and oceans I visit. He’s in eddies that swirl, in wind that races past peaks I’ll never climb. He’s everywhere I want to be—but I can’t go.

1,701 Words. 7 Minute Read.

I just read an article in the Wall Street Journal on the insane cost of real estate in Jackson Hole, and it got me thinking about my college summers there in ’97 and ’99, and how to start a revolution.

444 Words. 2 Minute Read.

The St. Moritz is sparse but comfy; the bedrooms have no televisions—just a chest of drawers, communal showers, and coffee in a 1980s lobby.

1,636 Words. 6 Minute Read.

We rounded up a few dozen waiters and house cleaners to go on strike. And by strike, I mean spend the day skinny-dipping in the hot springs and not working until our needs were recognized—all of which were unclear.

392 Words. 2 Minute Read.

The land is bulbous, oddly seductive in its curves, like a '36 Bugatti. Subtle earth tones resemble the scales of a rattlesnake—from tall blades of blonde grass to khaki-colored mounds, to patches of sagebrush and granite outcrops that change colors with the path of the sun.