Ten years ago I was still picking up the pieces and trying to find my footing after the 2008 financial crisis–an event that not only cost me my fortune, but the respect of someone who was closest to me. To make up for what I saw as my own personal screw up, I did things I didn’t want to do, like moving away from the city where I felt most at home.
The pain, frustration and torture from that time is what pushed me from being someone who told stories at parties to being a writer. This means if given the change to undo that failure, I wouldn’t be who I am now. And I like who I am. It also means I wouldn’t have befriended all the wonderful friends I’ve made as I flailed from coast to coast, especially my friends in San Francisco. And I wouldn’t have met the love of my life.
One thing you might not know about me is I’m scrappy AF. I can make things happen, and I can make something out of nothing. And I’m proud of that. It’s a useful skill that might have atrophied had I not lost everything and not had to climb back while bouncing from place to place.
A woman is born with all the eggs she’ll ever have, and since I was a late surprise, I was born from an old egg. I’ve always felt I should be about twenty years older than I am, and have bonded with those in that age group. When I was in the seventh grade my favorite show was Thirty Something, and when my friends came over I’d carefully plan the lighting scheme, dimming the chandelier and serving them sodas on a big silver tray. Entertaining in the home is one of my favorite things, and as a consequence of moving around, the divorce, etc. I haven’t been able to properly do that (which has been incredibly frustrating) until the end of last year, when we acquired Villadiva. It’s big, old, haunted, and needs work, and we absolutely love it.
Today, I’m preparing Villadiva for Mac Taylor’s going away party. Never do I feel myself as much as when I’m preparing to entertain. The Little Liberace from my childhood is very much still here.
As I look at the past decade, I can say that I have very few regrets and much that I’m proud of and am thankful for. I’ve never been as true to myself as I am now. In retrospect it really seems a catastrophic failure was just what I needed.
Life at 44 (45 in a few weeks) is more fun than I ever imagined.