It all started when...
Sometimes I write words that don't end up in songs.
It's a feeling many women know all too well: your heartbeat slows to a nearly undetectable rate, you suddenly become aware of every expression that flashes across your face. You don't cry. You don't know what to say or do.
At 25, I've officially crossed into the territory where more of my friends are married than not, and many are starting to have children of their own. I can't even commit to more than a two-week long affair with a particular variety of Fernet-or rather, it can't commit to me.
When I graduated from college I had two majors, a corporate job lined up, and an apartment that looked like a Pinterest board come to life. I felt good about the future and couldn't wait to meet the woman I was about to become-"I'll bet she wears turtlenecks!"
For the postgraduate seeking to transgress or assume an affirmative stance on an issue of importance to her, resistance comes in the shape of familiar inquiries: How will that pay your bills? Who's going to want to buy that? Do you really think you're capable?