There's Nothing Special About Your Fear.

Someone Has To Write All Those Stories: Why Not Me?

There Were Times, Especially When I Was Traveling For 'eat, Pray, Love,' When, I Swear To God, I Would Feel This Weight Of My Female Ancestors, All Those Swedish Farmwives From Beyond The Grave Who Were Like, 'go! Go To Naples! Eat More Pizza! Go To India, Ride An Elephant! Do It! Swim In The Indian Ocean. Read Those Books. Learn A Language.'

And We Have A Little Herb Garden, Which Survived The Winter Thanks To Global Warming. It Makes Me Feel Like A Cool, Old Italian Housewife, That I Kept My Rosemary Alive Outside All Winter.

It's What I Call The Haute Couture, High-end Version Of Fear Perfectionism. It's Just Fear In Really Good Shoes. But It's Still Fear.

I Know What It Feels Like To Be Bruised; I Know What It Feels Like To Carry Things Around With You That Never Totally Heal. There's Closure And Then There's Stuff That's Kind Of Like, Well, I Guess It's Going To Be In The Minivan Forever. And You Carry It With You And You Continue On Your Journey With Your Minivan Full Of Stuff, Which I Think Most Of Us Do.