Author: Jack Ward

Before a significant storm arrives, a certain silence descends upon Donner Pass. There is less traffic. The sky takes on the hue of worn pewter. Without being asked, truck drivers slow down. Then, as if the mountain has been waiting to make a point, the snow begins to fall—not slowly or gradually, but all at once. This past weekend in the Sierra Nevada started pretty much like that, and by Saturday morning, the point had been made quite forcefully. For the West Slope of the Northern Sierra Nevada and Western Plumas County, the National Weather Service upgraded an earlier Winter…

The email arrived in Nina Froes’ inbox on a Friday afternoon while she was in the middle of an asylum hearing. She silently signed off after pausing the virtual session and telling the attorneys on both sides that she needed to leave. The hearing had concluded. Her career as an immigration judge was equally successful. In what is quickly turning into one of the more depressing episodes of the second Trump administration, she was fired along with five other colleagues, including Judge Roopal Patel in Boston. Along with four other judges, Roopal Patel and Nina Froes were fired on Friday.…

Some people find a certain type of stillness to be nearly intolerable. It’s the stillness of waiting rather than the stillness of peace. It’s a good relationship. For the first time in years, there isn’t a financial crisis. The health test results were negative. However, there is a low hum of dread somewhere in the chest, just beneath the typical rhythm of a Tuesday afternoon. There’s going to be something. There must be an impending event. It always does. As a philosophy, this is not pessimism. It’s more than that; it’s a nervous system that has been trained over an…

A woman sits on the edge of her new bed in her new city and feels, for some reason, like crying in the middle of what should have been a very good week—the job offer accepted, the apartment finally secured, the long-distance relationship closing its gap. Not because there’s a problem. Because there is something seriously wrong that cannot be explained. She is aware of the situation’s logic. She made the correct decisions. The results are precisely what she had anticipated. However, the sensation in her chest is unrelated to any of that. This is one of the most confusing…

The Effects of Living Without Emotional Language on Emotions Around the world, therapy offices engage in a specific type of conversation that goes something like this. “How did that make you feel?” queries the therapist. After a brief period of silence, the intelligent, articulate, and frequently successful professional person seated across from them says, “I don’t know.” This isn’t meant to be a diversion. Not by avoiding it. They just have no idea. There is a sense that something is going on inside, but it has no name, no form, and no way out. It resides in the chest like…

Every workplace has a certain type of professional—the person who shows up early, completes all tasks assigned to them, never escalates a complaint, and somehow never advances. They are warmly described by coworkers. Managers are totally dependent on them. And every year, the accolades, promotions, and intriguing tasks go to someone else. Someone with more volume. Someone who occasionally pushes back, expresses opinions, and occasionally prolongs the meeting. The laid-back worker observes this from a safe distance and questions what they are doing incorrectly with a bewilderment that is subtly draining. They are not acting improperly. That’s practically the whole…

High-functioning people are often caught off guard by a specific moment. It occurs during retirement celebrations, the week following a job termination, or when the final child departs for college, and the house becomes quiet in a way that feels more like exposure than tranquility. The job title, parenthood, and being-needed roles that kept everything in order vanish. And what’s left is a self standing in its own living room feeling strangely naked, one that hasn’t been examined in years or even decades. This is the anxiety that comes from not having a part to play. Not the fear of…

When someone describes a certain type of discomfort, most people can identify it right away, even though it doesn’t have a clear name. When a friend brings you soup when you’re sick, you start worrying about whether the gesture creates an obligation, whether you owe them something now, and whether they will think less of you for needing it instead of just saying thank you. You feel a little uneasy for the remainder of the evening. The soup becomes chilled. Eating it by yourself on the couch, you secretly wish you had told them you were okay when they called.…