Recently, I lamented an obnoxiously writerly desire to my husband: I wish I had more of a window into other people’s lives.
He gave me a puzzled look. “Katie,” he said. “You’re an editor. A personal narrative editor.”
This made me laugh out loud. Of course! How obvious. I’d been too busy imagining something more literal—going inside people’s homes or something, like in a Samanta Schweblin story. It’s a desire born from a larger want: to better understand others, to connect more deeply. But this is, indeed, a privilege I already have, and one I hope to never take for granted. Through reading, editing, and publishing personal narratives, I spend each day connecting intimately with writers and their personal stories. And while I might get to do this more than most, it’s something any of us, as readers, can do. To engage with art is to be a voyeur of sorts, one who peers only into windows left intentionally open. We look with a goal of better understanding one another or ourselves or—more often than not—a bit of both. It’s through this looking that we become more expansive, and more bound to our collective humanity.
Each of the essays below, our most popular of the year, is a window into a distinctive life and moment, each unique and emotionally resonant. This year, our readers were especially drawn toward reflections on the meaning of home and the forces that shape us in youth. In “Southings,” Thomas Dai reflects on how the American South has stayed with him many years after moving away, probing the meaning and experience of being an Asian Southerner. Maggie Andersen’s “Bus Chasers” looks back on how her father guided her through her hometown of Chicago—where she still lives in the home she grew up in, now a parent herself. In “That Old House,” after moving back to the New England of her youth, Lydia C. Buchanan faces down a reality shared by many: What happens when you realize you want to own a home but may never be able to afford it? All five of these essays take on similar topics and feelings, but their authors shift the prism each time, such that they become brand new.
Take a walk back through our most-read personal narratives of 2025, where you can peer into the open window of someone else’s life, and maybe find a piece of yourself in the process.
– Katie Henken Robinson
Senior Editor
We Were Teens Seeking the Attention of Men, and They Could Smell It on Us by Sarah Gerard
In “M.A.S.H,” Sarah Gerard details her experiences with mistreatment at the hands of predatory men, particularly one who worked at her father’s advertising firm. The piece is punctuated by painfully clear markers of awkward tweenage years and subtly pervasive sexism. Through variations on the refrain “It was a different time” and meditations on the fickle nature of memory, Gerard’s essay stands out as a powerful testament to the lifelong impact of a cultural disregard for the wellbeing of young girls.
I Can Never Own My Perfect Home by Lydia C. Buchanan
You might know the feeling of coming across the house: The one in the nice neighborhood you travel through on the way to your (far less charming) home, the one that calls to you; almost convinces you that home ownership couldn’t possibly be as arduous as you’ve been led to believe, the one that makes you overwhelmingly jealous of the exceedingly lucky family inhabiting it. In “That Old House,” Lydia C. Buchanan considers the impossibility of owning this perfect home, writing: “We have things our parents had—Puritan work ethics and loves of beauty—and things our parents didn’t have—graduate degrees and student loans and two-career households—but property ownership isn’t for us.” In an age of horrible housing prospects, anyone who has chased their literary dreams at the expense of financial stability will relate to Buchanan’s lament.
Losing My Dad in Installments by Mariana Serapicos
Mariana Serapicos takes readers on a journey through life before, during, and after her father’s battle with ALS in “When The Ocean Retreats.” Serapicos reflects on the strain of losing a parent to a debilitating disease while crafting a beautifully rendered portrait of her dad and his influence. Oscillating between a myriad of memories and places, this heartfelt essay pays close attention to the value of record-keeping and learning how to move forward after loss.
Being an Asian Southerner Means Being an Anomaly, Squared by Thomas Dai
From cicada shells to blue mountains, stunning images of the South abound in “Southings.” Thomas Dai writes concisely about what it means to consider a place—including both the bad and the beautiful—your home. Excerpted from the memoir-in-essays Take My Name But Say It Slow, Dai’s considerations of the American South, immigrant identity, and the experience of being an Asian Southerner are compelling and truthful.
My Father Tries to Teach Me His Map of Chicago by Maggie Andersen
Fueled by the turbulence of Chicago’s busy streets and the process of adapting to adulthood, Maggie Andersen’s “The Bus Chasers” is an essay about the lessons parents teach their children through unwavering, well-intentioned guidance. Throughout the essay, Andersen references her father’s internal map of Chicago, marked by historical anecdotes, landmarks, and direct paths to the best diners. As her father’s map once guided her while she navigated bus rides and a new school, Andersen finds the same support as she enters motherhood and a new chapter of her life.
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