Divorced after a disastrous relapse from sobriety marriage, I was finally on my feet professionally, a writer, teaching creative writing at Rutgers. I had been asked to interview for several full-time teaching positions at good colleges. I was sober and had several ideas about my future. I wanted a child and a partner but not necessarily in that order. I wanted to leave the cage-fighting world of Manhattan real estate and relationships and live somewhere normal.
Read MoreYou receive a letter from an arts organization you’ve never heard of and certainly don’t recall applying to. They want you to come to the side of a mountain and do nothing but write for five months. You tell your husband, and he is not happy. “That’s too long,” he says. “The cat will die of missing you. I will be very mean when you come back and who the hell needs to live on the side of a mountain for five months?” Well, no one.
Read MoreMy early experiences with dating sober had been disastrous. I was gun shy and skittish and had left the table during several dates, never to return. I developed a massive crush on a brilliant man who had been sober for years while I had just finished my ninety days. Although he suggested we remain friends, I invited him to dinner, determined to dance the Dance of the Seven Veils and finally have sober sex. Halfway through this plan, before the chocolate mousse, I burst into tears.
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