My theory is this: Women falter when they're called on to be highly self-conscious about their talents. Not when they're called on to enact them.

Our minds are mysterious; our conscious brain is like a ship on a sea that is obscure to us.

There is always tension in women's gymnastics between athleticism, grace, performance, and eros.

Our minds are mysterious; our conscious brain is like a ship on a sea that is obscure to us.

All love stories are tales of beginnings. When we talk about falling in love, we go to the beginning, to pinpoint the moment of freefall.

I think about my mother every day. But usually the thoughts are fleeting - she crosses my mind like a spring cardinal that flies past the edge of your eye: startling, luminous, lovely... gone.