So, a friend of mine is convinced, or claims to be, that I’ll write a couple of novels some day, within in the next ten years or something. Supposedly I’ve just been gathering material so far and I’ll be ready to start soon, at which point some other things in my life will come together as well. I always tell him that I write every day, which is true; I write every night before bed, in my journal, at least a little bit about the day that’s just ended and often a little about what I expect or hope for in the following one. But that’s writing for myself, he says. I need to start writing for other people. Aren’t successful artists of all stripes always saying that you need to practice the art for yourself alone?
About what would I possibly write, if not the trivialities (vagaries?) about my day? I have no idea. I’m not about to write non-biographical non-fiction, that’s clear. Am I to write about my own life in a thinly disguised sort of way? Am I to write essays, memoirs? Is that really different from what I already do? And did I just sneeze all over my monitor? I think I’m getting a cold.
I admit that I’ve had an interesting life. Probably not interesting on the Grand Scale of Interesting; I’ve never been molested or lived in exotic places or shot a man or overcome great and unique obstacles. It’s more the combination of things I’ve done in my life that seems interesting to me: sure, plenty of people went to work for start-up companies during the internet boom of the 90s and traveled to Europe to lecture to heads of multinational and multimillion dollar companies… and plenty of people teach kids to dance. It’s just unusual that one person has made her living doing both of these things by age 28, like I have.
I’ve lived in four states: New York, Florida, Massachusetts, and California.
I’ve been to 14 (16?) countries outside the US: Mexico, Canada, Venezuela, Poland, Israel, France, Great Britain, the Czech Republic, Germany, Russia, Norway, Turkey, Belize, Honduras (Roatán, not mainland), and maybe the Netherlands if you count a few hours on St Maarten, and maybe the Bahamas if you count a day on Princess Cay. (Hell, I was once in the Austrian airport, but that *definitely* doesn't count.)
I’ve studied two languages besides English: Spanish and Hebrew, and I’m fluent in neither of those.
I’ve been in a four-year relationship, a five-year one, and a few months-long ones, including an eight-month one. Only one was truly bad.
I read a lot, I dance a lot, and I spend a lot of time alone. I’m not very good at making phone calls, or returning them.
I am beginning to think that I do an inordinate amount of physical exercise, possibly to compensate for the truly inordinate amount of food I eat.