Monday I’m taking the One train downtown for a meeting on Wall Street. I know very little about the NYC Metro system and even less about the stock market, but here I am.
I don’t belong there, but I am doing my best to blend in. Wear your black winter jacket and knee-high boots. Don’t make eye contact. Walk fast, and with a purpose. Don’t let them get a whiff of your insecurity. Answer your emails with one hand and sip your overpriced coffee held by the other.
No one notices that I’m ten thousand miles away from my comfort zone.
Tuesday I’m writing a short story in a coffee shop tucked somewhere between my hotel and Times Square. Just start with a sentence. Write fast and with a purpose. Brush off the impostor syndrome that sits with the devil on your left shoulder. Scribble notes with your right hand and sip your overpriced latte held by the left. I haven’t taken a class or written fiction in years, but here I am.