I feel like I’ve failed at being a writer and businesswoman when I can’t be equal financially, especially because I lived on my own in New York for over a decade and, save for a few bouts of unemployment, that wasn’t an issue.
I’ve been writing about sex for 15 years, but one thing I’m not and would never claim to be is a sexpert.
For the first six months, it was hard for me to appreciate my new home, even though we were greeted by groundhogs racing around our backyard.
The staggering level of public disgust with Lewinsky speaks volumes about how uncomfortable we are talking about sex and power, and just how comfortable we are judging, shaming and attempting to silence others.
“He’s in charge of his own narrative.”
I do actually give things away, which is my preferred way of purging possessions. I hate throwing them directly in the garbage; it makes me feel guilty and wasteful, whereas if I donate clothes to Goodwill or books to a charity bookstore like Housing Works, I feel okay about it.
“What is kale?” The question is left as a comment on my Facebook wall after I post a photo of a sign from one of my favorite restaurants, Westville, touting one of my favorite green leafy vegetables on its outdoor bulletin board. At first I think it’s an ironic query, but the more I ponder it, the more I realize it’s sincere.
I’m not arguing that there aren’t times when one should put one’s phone away, even if it’s a challenge, but I don’t think that holding it in my hand at a museum, or even a meal, is an inherently rude gesture. Certainly, alone at EMP, I’m not being rude to anyone around me or taking away from their cultural experience.