never married, over forty, a little bitter

the political as personal

Beneath highly manicured glam shots, each “member” or “partner” reveals her personal “Lean In moment.” The accounts inevitably have happy finales—the Lean In guidelines instruct contributors to “share a positive ending.” Tina Brown’s Lean In moment: getting her parents to move from England to “the apartment across the corridor from us on East 57th Street in New York,” so her mother could take care of the children while Brown took the helm at The New Yorker. If you were waiting for someone to lean in for child care legislation, keep holding your breath. So far, there’s no discernible groundswell.


Despite everything going on here and the fact that my allergies and hormones are turning me into a giant misery ball this week, I do not wake up thinking “I hate my life,” as I did for the better part of the last two decades.

Despite the blowout with my roommate, I have not remained as angry as I would have in the past. I let myself feel the anger and hollowness for a few days, and then I let it pass.

I have not turned on myself with self-destructive thoughts.

I have quelled some of my initial impulses to run back to L.A. in the face of everything going on (wrong?) here, making the rational decision to wait things out a bit longer and enjoy this time off. Life is long.

At the same time, I’ve made peace with the possibility that I may eventually have to leave. I don’t think I will, but all I can do is give things my best shot. If nothing pans out, I can only interpret that as a sign that this is no longer the place for me.