The births of our first two sons took place in the Northeast at two very well-respected and innovative research hospitals. Yet the family-centered birthing experience we had been longing for took place right here in Jackson, Tennessee. At times I can become cynical with the issues facing our city. We have complex challenges, and there are not always clear solutions.
Read MoreIn his essay collection Heretics, G.K. Chesterton extols, “Once men sang around a table together in chorus. Now one man sings alone, for the absurd reason he can sing better.” In other words, as our scientific age has grown in competency and achievement we have become isolated from the rootedness which gave rise to our confidence in the first place—experts in everything but being human. Can there be any question this is more true today than when Chesterton wrote almost a century ago?
Read MoreStill a little confused as to what the Our Jackson Home journal is and why you should subscribe? Here's the perfect answer to your question. 1. It's the perfect thing to take on-the-go. With our new, hand 6" x 9" sizing, it's never been easier to take a piece of Jackson with you on the road, whether you're throwing it in your bag for a reading break or passing it off the a friend who's visiting Jackson for the weekend. 2. It looks pretty darn impressive on that coffee table of yours.
Read MoreWe're so pumped to finally introduce the Our Jackson Home journal—our makeover on the look, feel, frequency, and price of our magazine. Mark your calendars because a month from tomorrow we'll be premiering Vol. 3, Issue 1: Identity at A Night of Storytelling at the CO. Check out this video by Shelby Kee highlighting the exciting changes, then head over to our shop to sign up for a one-year subscription for just $20 (shipping included). Music courtesy of PSALLOS.
Read MoreIt can occasionally seem desirable to be someone else. Perhaps to be someone who doesn’t feel what we feel or who says the right things (or who doesn't care that they don’t). Sometimes I’d like to slip out of myself like an outfit poorly chosen at the beginning of the day and roam about for the rest of the afternoon as another person, as someone who is not me as I or others know myself but who in some way still reflects something essentially true about who I am.
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