I’m one of those people. I rehearse. I practice. I study. I read, ask questions. So it takes me a while to reach the larger questions one might be confronted with at various stages of their life. Since 2015, I’ve contemplated a career change. …


It’s one of those journey-not-a-destination kind of things

Recently, I had heard Dr. Robert J. Wicks on the podcast called Encountering Silence. The Loyola University professor was talking about his book on humility called The Tao of Ordinariness. I was very impressed because what he was saying rang true in this current age of social media braggadocio, and…


It’s always a good idea to once in a while take stock of yourself as an essayist. Here’s mine —

It was dusk and I was lying in bed with my wife Dyan. We luxuriate in weekend afternoon naps. In our decades of marriage, weekends have been for errands, movies…


Somewhere in mid-Missouri it struck me: Phillip Lopate wasn’t Phillip Lopate.

Let me unpack this.

This was probably 2008. I was still in grad school. Lopate was arriving from New York to be a guest lecturer at the school I was attending. On this particular day, he was in the…


At heart, a personal essay is an attempt to arrest oblivion by wrestling into some kind of shape, or purpose, the mess of life. After all, its progenitor, Michel de Montaigne wore a medal around his neck, when attempting such a feat, bearing the motto — what do I know…


This piece is inspired by a friend, who recently decided to become a vegetarian. She made the decision public on social media, and inevitably the thread contained a reference to veganism. I tried veganism a few years back and loved it, but returned to being a pescatarian shortly after my…


In recent discussions on memory, a controversial issue has been whether collective memory or repressed memory is indeed authentic calling into question the eminence of memory in general. On the one hand, some argue that both narrative and recovered memories represent undistorted reality, past experiences, either traumatic or dramatic that…


I’m on a long, and winding road.

And, I’m afraid it’s not entirely pleasant. In fact, sometimes it’s down right frustratingly long and winding. I chide myself for taking the road at all, less traveled or otherwise.

Really, I have only myself to blame.

Well, partly.

It comes down to…


A dream. An opium-induced haze. Famously, either a dream or a drug helped or hindered Samuel Taylor Coleridge to realize his poem “Kubla Khan.” But a third spectre surely had a hand as well — the so-called person from Porlock.


It’s the middle of the night, and I am twelve, maybe thirteen, when I awake in terrible pain. The pain is coming from between my legs. I had been sleeping. Now, I’m not. The pain is killing me. It’s my testicles. My boys. My balls. I reach down with my…

Dr. Wm. Anthony Connolly

PhD. Author of Psalms & Stones, The Obituaries and The Jenny Muck, and the forthcoming The Smallest Universe.

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