It is not easy for those in the public eye to find balance, to find normalcy in the midst of fame. I don’t know if Lou Reed ever managed to. But I do know he married a smart woman, Laurie Anderson, and, together, they abided by three simple rules they felt were central to who they were:
While waiting for my friend to get ready, I browse her bookshelves. What leaps out immediately is a brand new copy of a textbook on XX century Italian literature, a compendium that every high school student simply refers to, since time immemorial, as “il Guglielmini”, from its author’s name.
There exists a black and white photograph of me, taken over twenty-five years ago in the Lake District, next to a horse. I am wearing a long silk skirt and hold the bridles, while keeping the animal at an arm’s length. I look positively terrified.
I needed some prodding this week, in terms of trying to get through my days as joyfully as possible. When I feel particularly sluggish or unenthusiastic about the day ahead, I get into my car and I challenge the day to surprise me. It often does, when I am paying attention.
Facebook has a funny way of making one collide with the past. It has a habit of dredging up, from the murkiness of days gone by, people who lay dormant for years, in the guise of friendship’s requests that pop up, unannounced, from time to time.
When I turned 50, on my actual birthday, I challenged myself to do something I had never done before. On that particular occasion, a strenuous hike that required some climbing with the aid of a rope was involved – a tad foolish, thinking back, but I think I wanted to prove to myself my body was still young.