I realize what a strange in-between place I am in. The Young Woman inside has turned to go, but the Old Woman has not shown up.
Into every life a little rain must fall.
We write to taste life twice, Anais Nin wrote, in the moment and in retrospection.
But I've discovered being a writer is an ongoing apprenticeship, just like everything else in life that matters to me-being a mother, a wife, a daughter, or simply a woman alive in the world, content...
Ms. came into practice, to give a woman an alternative to being recognized by her marital status, and thereby known as herself. How do I want to be known.
Yet I remember the rule I set for myself-that I do something different from my mother. . . I started to believe I couldn't really do that if I was following in the path of either of my parents... That...