With a swanky new address and a bona fide new biglaw gig, my blog should be teeming with the sort of obnoxious, self-congratulative ramblings you'd hear during an evening out with Gwyneth Paltrow.
Yet despite recently pitching a no hitter, I've been dragging my feet to share it. At first, I thought it was because I literally couldn't, having just moved and taking three days to realize I'd been trying to use the cables from my television to assemble my computer, but long after I'd established a working computer/internet system, I continued to stall.
Yet despite recently pitching a no hitter, I've been dragging my feet to share it. At first, I thought it was because I literally couldn't, having just moved and taking three days to realize I'd been trying to use the cables from my television to assemble my computer, but long after I'd established a working computer/internet system, I continued to stall.
Around my third glass wine, I realized that I'd been scared that if I put something out there, once I showed my hand, it would all go away. Like if I was too flashy about my achievements, the gods of ironic cosmic balance would notice and quash my new accomplishments the same way they did Kim Kardashian's marriage.
Why is it that we're more comfortable with our setbacks than our successes? Why are we okay with the idea that if we reach for something, like a lofty promotion or fairy-tale relationship, the universe will slap our hand and sternly say "No, that's not for you."
Maybe I can't keep myself from expecting the other shoe to drop, but for right now I can say that life is good.
