I want to talk about identity, and how we have become more than accustomed to equating our work as our singular identity. I’m guilty of this, too: from about 2010 through 2017, I would only identify as a writer. If you’d asked me, I’d tell you it was the only thing I did, period. And it was mostly true; my work and my creative life were separate, but my work was also as a writer. If I wasn’t teaching it, I was doing it — legal briefs, marketing content, and grants. At the same time, I was attending grad school for creative writing, writing my first (unpublishable) and then my second (admittedly better) novel, and publishing my short fiction and essays. I was a writer, writer, writer.
I’m in an interesting space in my life. If you asked me a year ago if I’d be here, no longer working in an office, co-running a fashion business, and steadily beginning the writing career I had only dreamed of having in my twenties, I may not have believed you. And so while I still don’t believe in any one faith, I do believe in energy exchange, and I believe giving in a bit to universal intelligence — whatever that is — has helped me to get here. (That and being thankful for each moment.) I’m still working on myself every day, and I’m doing it with gratitude.