B&N

Yesterday I was looking at the table of new paperback fiction at Barnes & Noble. I was reading the back cover of a book that looked moderately amusing and learned that the authoress was a 26-year-old student at the very writing program that I attended. Not long ago such a discovery would have caused a tortured fit of jealousy, anxiety and insecurity.

But now it didn't really bother me. I take that to mean that I'm doing the right things with myself.

Of course, if it didn't bother me at all I would have forgotten all about it by now.