Back to the beginning

I attended precisely one session of a Beginning French class at MATC fifteen years ago, just after Valentine's Day, just before I found out I had mono, just before the boy I worked with and thought I loved ("That's what love is: thoughts," said Bill Adama) cracked my heart and sent it packing, just before he started dating the roommate of the girl who sat at the desk behind mine, just before I lost 20 pounds and six months of my life trying to turn myself into a different sort of person in order to win him back again. (I lost.)

"We lose things, and then we choose things," wrote Mr. Sondheim. So I chose, and the only goal I had in mind was to never again measure my own worth through the eyes of another person. It took three more years in Madison, ten years in Chicago, and two years in New York to be able to say that I might finally be turning into who I was meant to be. Also: my Beginning French class at NYU starts on Wednesday, and in six months I am going to Paris. (I won.)