In a dream last night, I stumbled upon an interesting image of my work. Each book I write is a footstep, marking where I am at that moment in my life.
As American lawyer, orator, and memoirist Rufus Choate once said, “A book is the only immortality.” Books are my way of announcing, “I was here.”
I suspect I came to this dream/thought because yesterday I was reading Dominique Browning’s new memoir, Slow Love, an account of how she rediscovered herself after losing her high-powered job as a New York magazine editor. In it she writes: “I begin keeping notes about how I am feeling, what I am doing. Writing has always been my way to absorb things; I often write out my troubles.”
Me, too. And through that process, I define who I am.
Right now, I am trying to decide where to place my foot next.