Every time I start my car, my phone connects to the bluetooth and, for whatever reason, it starts playing recordings from my earliest student newspaper interviews. Every time they play, I scramble to change it to anything else at all, filled with embarrassment at my shaky voice and awkward questions. An Urn of Things that Embarrass is a jumble of those recordings, layered to the point that it’s tough to understand any specific words. Originally this urn was meant to be an attempt to put to rest something that haunts me. But as I relived, painfully, each of those interviews, I realized that what I was feeling isn’t about embarrassment, but a sense of guilt and loss for stories that, for the person living them, meant so much, but that I, constrained by the parameters of journalism, had to squeeze into 500 words.