I take partial responsibility for the mess I made out of my education. High school was a matter of survival, with little cognitive or emotional reserve left for learning. Afterwards, I managed to hop around to five different universities; most of which turned into a triumph of skipping classes and margin doodling. While fumbling my way towards an English degree, I even once managed to set my alarm clock incorrectly and slept through an invitation for breakfast with Gloria Steinem. I still wear that blunder like a hair shirt.
By grad school I’d pulled it together and earned my degree. I ended up studying social work and did not pursue the snooze fest that was my English/writing track beyond undergrad. But I’d loved writing. I’ve been good at it from an early age. Teachers encouraged me to run with it. And here I am, nearly two decades since steering away