There was a time when finding a job meant walking through a door. You dressed your best. You shook someone's hand. You looked them in the eye. Before anyone read your resume, they met you.

I realized something horrifying the other day as I was looking for writing positions outside the home: I had painted myself into a proverbial corner, and the only way out was to write.

Mya looked around the table, though, she also saw her friends who had accomplished just as much as she had while finding time to date, form connections, marry, and have children. They were full entities, and Mya was still moving as a lone star. Bright like the north star, but alone nevertheless.