It’s been ten years this month since that scared, uncertain girl in that photo packed whatever could fit into her tiny two-door coupe and moved to Texas.
At the time I thought I was leaving a broken relationship with a boy, but unknowingly I was moving toward a better one with myself.
For the first time since I was sixteen, I was single. I secured a random MALE roommate off Craigslist (we’re leaving that part out when I tell this story to my daughter). But instead of being the Craigslist Killer, he turned into my best friend. The breath of fresh air I needed to begin again.
I spent the next year drinking Bloody Mary’s on my brownstone porch, free and alive. I met the most magical group of friends, the kind who don’t care about anything except your core. And I also made one crucial choice:
I did the work on myself—and reaped …