Wide Margins is where I write about things that are actually useful and things that are arguably not useful at all.
Sometimes that's a practical guide to teacher gifts or creative ways to wrap a gift card. Sometimes it's an essay about the existential weight of punctuation or why z-index feels like high school.
The name comes from Thoreau, who wrote about sitting in his doorway from sunrise till noon, doing nothing productive, losing track of time entirely. He called it loving "a broad margin to my life"—the space you leave for reverie, for things that don't need to justify themselves.
This is the margin.