Kharma Amos is a UU minister who came out in 1990s Tulsa, Oklahoma. This Campfire Conversation explored queering as a verb, the fear of freedom, and why love sometimes looks like resistance.

This was the first time on the adventure that I shared someone else's words instead of my own. David NeSmith wrote a poem that asks the question at the heart of this exploration: who deserves love?

Tremayne Seymour is an artist incarcerated at Lawrenceville Correctional Center. We connected through a painting. What started as a simple exchange turned into one of the most meaningful friendships of my life.

Every Saturday morning I go to Reverie. It's a coffee shop in Brunswick, Maine. It's my anchor. But Reverie is more than a coffee shop. It's what sociologists call a third place.

I've been asking men about their emotional lives for months. They'll talk about almost anything. But ask them what they're afraid of, and the air changes. The silence isn't empty. It's full.

I was sitting in a drive-through line and I started thinking about convenience. Not the good kind. The kind that quietly replaces the things that make us human.

I was standing in the cold at a tree lighting ceremony, watching hundreds of people do the same thing, and I kept asking myself: what are we actually doing here?

Kerem Durdag came to the United States as a young immigrant. Along the way, he developed a philosophy that sounds simple but is anything but: decency is a radical choice.

I met a man at an AMVETS Hall who changed how I think about mortality. He wasn't a veteran. He was a guest, like me. And he was dying. He didn't lead with that. He led with survival kits.

Elmer Moore is my oldest friend. We've known each other for thirty years. He was the first guest on Campfire Conversations, and there's a reason for that.

At the Common Ground Fair, I went to a session called "Power of People vs. Power of Money." I was expecting a conversation. What I watched instead was a room of like-minded people default to correction over curiosity.

I walked into a room full of people who had collectively served around 3,000 years behind bars. I expected to find guardedness. What I found was one of the purest expressions of joy I’ve ever witnessed.