A bunch of great people have reached out over comments and email in response to our Apartment Therapy tour, so thank you thank you thank you! I'm actually quite flummoxed because the response is in such contrast to what I had steeled myself for in that very healthy you are wrong and bad and everyone hates you and everything you do type of way. (I don't endorse this method, I just write about it.)
I was so convinced that we would be received with hostility that I was very close to calling the whole thing off. I think this is how I live a lot of my life. Actually, I know it.
I made sure to snap a picture of this after seeing it on the wall at the bookstore last weekend:
|You can nab a copy of Wild here.|
I love me some Cheryl Strayed, but I still don't know that I'm quite willing to trust her (or myself) and let fear go. Then my brain will be able to say "I told you so, dummy!" when disaster strikes.
But... maybe... disaster... won't strike? Question mark?
That is the therapy talking, in the shaky, tentative voice of a college freshman who still ends declarative sentences with upspeak (?).
Also, I'd like to admit that every time I look down at my hand I feel like a five-year-old who is playing with her mother's ring.
That is all.