Sarah Hepola
Blog: Page 2 of 5

November 21, 2018

Saturday in New York City

A small and lovely adventure

Last Saturday morning, I woke before dawn in the cozy loft bedroom of my friends’ Tribeca apartment. For mysterious reasons, I’ve been waking up early for the past two months, sometimes as early as 3:30am. I badly wish I could sleep longer, but I’ve also grown fond of these dim and hushed hours before the . . . Read More

November 7, 2018

The age of fertility

The first in a series examining the complexities of choice

I wrote a story for Harper’s Bazaar about the push to educate younger women about their fertility. If that sounds dull, it shouldn’t. Fertility is a thorny topic that touches on hot-button issues about women and their bodies. The push to make women more aware of their fertility is also tied up with a push . . . Read More

October 25, 2018

Max, who lived upstairs

On the perils — and joys — of a three-day relationship

In my last year of college, I lived on the lower level of a condo on a side street so quiet it was almost spooky. My two roommates and I spent a lot of our time on the front patio chain-smoking and drinking beer and wine at a bistro table placed there for that purpose. . . . Read More

October 17, 2018

Pictures of people with their eyes closed

‘Who is that woman?’ I don't know, but I like her

I bought a framed portrait of a woman at a vintage store several years ago. I had been walking through an aisle crowded with peeling cabinets and rusty kitchen utensils when the portrait grabbed me. The woman’s eyes were closed, but she was smiling, and I wondered what the story was behind this disjunction, between the deliberate . . . Read More

September 29, 2018

Indelible in the hippocampus

It is both easy and common to drink, act and then have no memory of it.

I did not expect to write a story about the contentious nomination of Brett Kavanaugh to the Supreme Court.  Some of my best friends are lawyers (did that sound weird?), but this is not my territory, riveting as the drama may be. But on Thursday, I watched the hearing, sitting on my parents’ couch from . . . Read More

September 16, 2018

The gala, alone

A moment in time, snapped back to reality

I was trying to get a picture of the red neon pegasus outside the Omni Hotel. I was standing on the sidewalk, in my high heels and the dress I’d worn to the gala, angling my phone to capture the Reunion Tower in the background, whose lights were flickering in such a way that if . . . Read More

August 28, 2018

Palm readings, past present and future

Two people are blocking my path to happiness. Please reveal yourselves

I was walking down West 15th in Manhattan when I saw the street fair, and a sign caught my eye: Psychic Readings, $5. The sign was old and maroon and marked by excessive cursive, like a laminated menu that hasn’t been updated since the 80s. The woman in the fold-out chair waved me toward her. . . . Read More

August 12, 2018

Gus the dog.

Memories of a family pet

My brother’s friend spotted the dog in the park. Shivering, starving, skin pocked with flea bites. “Someone needs to take this dog home,” the guy said, and my brother — perhaps even surprising himself — got an idea. My brother and I never had a dog growing up. Our family rented a modest home, and . . . Read More

August 5, 2018

Roads you haven’t been on yet

"I felt like an arrow that could shoot all the way"

A couple years ago I started taking pictures while I was driving. This is a terrible habit, one I would never endorse, and completely borne of the social media age, with its tug toward performing rather than experiencing your life, trying to pin down exhilaration for later consumption as opposed to enjoying it in the . . . Read More

July 28, 2018

Status

A brush with a compulsive liar

I wish I could remember how she came to me, what detail opened the door that I would walk through to meet her. Did we have a friend in common? Did she name-drop some magazine? This would have been 2011, or thereabouts, and my inbox was a game of whack-a-mole, where the moles were always . . . Read More