When I was a kid I believed a monster lived under my bed. I would run and jump onto the mattress from as far away as possible so it couldn’t grab me. No way would I sit on the edge with my ankles dangling in front of that black empty space beneath the mattress.
Eventually, I was convinced there was no monster. I grew up into a reasonably confident person, able to do things like quit my steady job for the insecurity and freedom of a career as a self-employed freelance writer. Later I moved to New York City without a job or knowing anyone who lived in the city. I was sure I could find work and a place to live and build a life a thousand miles away — and perhaps further in cultural terms — from my native Texas suburban existence.
“Nah, that’s not going to happen,”…
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