Dear twenty-seven-year-old Caroline,
Quit your job.
What if we chose to invest like we’ll be here for ten years or more, and that investment became a reality?
Perhaps my first mistake was expecting that I would ever entirely grow out of it.
So Happy Birthday, Kendahl, and cheers to twenty-nine. This year is going to be the best one yet.
I don’t like change, and I am an anxious person. Nice to meet you.
First, this is a poem to say thank you
for taking me back to Budapest.
I scour the wall for any ledges, any possible edge to rest a hand or foot. Nothing. The drop to the next balcony I would guess is eight feet. Not impossible.
Nowhere else in this big wide world of ours can you find a life-size Michael Jackson and Princess Diana made entirely out of marzipan.
Don’t look back, keep walking, project confidence, don’t run, keep calm, almost there, almost there, almost there – RUN! Lose yourself in the crowd!
However, when I found my predecessor’s clipboard, book of short stories, and spatula scattered around my room, I was tempted to see my move as a predictable step on an already well-worn path.
