In retrospect, I think I felt I couldn’t start writing until I had a title. As if a title, somehow, legitimized what I have to say. I’ve spent a fair amount of time since then trying to “pick a topic.” Methodically, I thought often about those topics that I thought were both interesting enough to me to write about and had staying power.
Books, film, art, food, reform, social justice, law, politics, pop culture, people, psychology, tragedy, animals, travel, media, medicine, beauty, nature, religion… writing suddenly became that sexy, black dress in my closet. You know the one – the one that turns heads and makes me feel gorgeous all at the same time. I love it, and yet half of the time I want to wear it, I don’t for fear that I will be misread.
It’s time to not think and just do. Otherwise, I’ve got nothing to wear these great heals with.
